hey mom

1. a summer day, driving in the sun after a party, ice-cold can of coke, a bright bubble of joy

2. that afternoon walking in the woods when we entered a clearing and there was—yes, from nowhere, like magic—suddenly a white horse

3. clementines

4. how you taught me to make scrambled eggs

5. how you learned to make scrambled eggs: your first day as a short order cook, when your boss realized you’d talked your way into the job with no experience

6. san francisco

7. alice munro

8. calling to tell you about something I was proud of

9. making work I didn’t want you to see

10. all my work you’ll never see

11. giving each other books — then stealing them back to read first

12. cherry cough drops

13. cookbooks

14. all your ideas for children’s books

15. your long-ago dog vincent, named after edna st. vincent millay

16. shoe money

17. luminarios

18. lemons

19. macneil/lehrer

20. your fondness for a drizzly gray day

21. july 2004, driving in a midwestern night, that keynote speech on the radio

22. your story about driving in a blinding rain

23. your ghost story

24. your imaginary jump rope

25. seeing melancholy play with you

26. red wine

27. sharing shoes

28. libraries

29. your grandmother’s letters

30. rock creek park

31. your aunt katy and her irish setters

32. how mad I’d get at you sometimes

33. summer camp

34. fireworks on the fourth of july

35. talking on the phone with you about that marilynne robinson story

36. st. patrick’s day

37. “cat person”

38. your optimism

39. bacon egg and cheese biscuits from mcdonalds

40. newspapers

41. swimming in the ocean

42. fresh peaches

43. when I was navigating and we got lost

44. “chelsea morning”

45. the way sometimes when I’m driving, I look at my hands on the steering wheel, and I see your hands

46. fog magic

47. anytime I have to negotiate something

48. Idle Time, Astor, So’s Your Mom

49. the year 1947

50. the whole month of march

51. emporium, pennsylvania

52. the sound of a train in the distance

53. swimming pools in august

54. the foods we discovered together: acorn squash, parsnips, goat gouda

55. how come I never asked you how to make chicken and dumplings?

56. all the halloween costumes you made for us

57. calling you to ask for advice

58. all the times I didn’t want your advice but got it

59. tomatoes

60. how I’d get impatient when you couldn’t find your keys

61. the way I lose things just like you did

62. that night in 2003, protesting the invasion of Iraq

63. the march for women’s lives in 2004

64. french fries

65. church bells

66. your voice narrating all those home videos

67. buying hot chestnuts on the street in york

68. cocoa powder

69. hospitals

70. how I wished I could call you before my surgery

71. my friends having babies

72. the way you talked about your mother and father

73. coffee

74. chemotherapy

75. that play we saw about ann richards

76. other people’s mothers

77. old women who are still alive

78. certain times of day

79. having to speak in front of a group of people

80. that blue scarf you gave me

81. more and more my handwriting

82. the way you spelled banana

83. your kindness

84. the red pepper grinder on my kitchen table

85. kitchens in general

86. spices in general

87. john mcphee on structure

88. e. b. white

89. the way you laughed with dad

90. the dream I had, years ago, about meeting you on a train before I was born

91. your stories about your siblings

92. how lucky I am to have a sister

93. good light

94. grocery stores

95. books on tape

96. wool socks

97. the autobiography of malcolm x

98. the thrift store wingback chair you bought me for my chicago apartment, which has since come with me to five more apartments

99. all the things I haven’t included here

100. our long walk home in the snow on christmas eve

     for my mother, pat weiss: march 17, 1947– february 6, 2021