Suzanne took the fact that her two sons went skydiving (for the first time) on the day before Mother's Day fairly well, considering how she feels about flying. (Basically, she's against it.) She had a suspicion that they weren't "golfing" Saturday, as they'd told her. For one thing, they left the skydiving information on the kitchen counter.

So as soon as they asked her to sit down and watch the video they made for her, she knew what happened. She also knew that David and Eric had survived it, so she could relax and enjoy it. I think seeing what a great time they had doing it probably softened her up a little, too.

Now, when David decides to go bungee jumping, I think he's going to have a harder time getting his mom to like it. Eric won't have anything to do with that particular adventure.

Last night we took Mom to see Bill Cosby in concert at the Luther Burbank Center. They've redone the interior of the hall since the last time we were there. It was once a church, and they used to have pews for the seats. Now they have theater-type seating, making it a much more enjoyable place to see a show.

Cosby was very funny, and more personable than he was when we saw him in Reno fifteen years ago. He's 63 now, so maybe he's relaxed more. He definitely interacts more with the audience in this kind of setting than he did at the club where we saw him. His material revolves around family relationships, and he used Mother's Day as a starting point for some of his performance.

I first saw Bill Cosby as a skinny, young comic in the early sixties. In those days, television was still black and white, in more than one sense. His act was fresh, funny and clean, relying mostly on everyday situations as told from an innocent viewpoint. He was the child awed by the giant, his father, but more afraid of the wrath of his mother.

It was a new way to tell stories, a step beyond the shtick of comedians who did jokes about the wife, the job, airline travel and showbiz. He was playing a different kind of character — himself — and we believed him and liked him. He's expanded and refined his act over the years, but he's still that essentially likable man coping with family life.

He's still good at it, too. We laughed so hard our sides ached, and none of it was at the expense of an appreciation of the humanity we all share.

There's a new regime in my yard. The mockingbirds have taken over, especially one particular mockingbird who sits on the peak of my roof and shouts orders in a cross voice. One day last week I heard loud, raspy chattering coming from the oak tree across the way. After a while, a hawk flew out of the tree, harassed by a pair of mockingbirds.

This afternoon the cream-colored cat who thinks it belongs here was meandering through the yard. My mockingbird got its feathers ruffled and dive-bombed the cat all the way across, making it clear that it was not pleased. The cat was none too happy, either, but all it did was cock its head at the bird and then keep on walking, never changing speeds.

When I was outside pulling weeds this afternoon, the mockingbird wasn't very thrilled to see me, either.