Sometimes you just don’t feel like doing anything, so you don’t. And if you are lucky, you have a sofa to stretch out on all afternoon, sloth-like; you read selections from the Sunday Times; you watch the clouds drift by; Maud brings out fragrant tea and leftover cheesecake to dig into with a spoon, and you both plan a spring driving trip around America in a Mini. The day sounds like Lisa Ekdahl and Blossom Dearie and João Gilberto and Marvin Gaye, and, as the sun sets and the light dims and your eyes begin to close, and as Gab covers you with a blanket and tucks a pillow under your head, the thought flickers in your drowsy mind that sometimes it is so simple for everything to just be good.