Some days I have something to hold onto. People can ask what I did, and I can say, “We went to the beach!” “We went to the city!” and we can all be satisfied. Other days pass through with just pieces you try to catch: your daughter’s hand in yours walking to the store for cucumbers, a neighbor waving through the window, the Goodyear blimp, the failed waffles, the blender of mango lassi. Were we laughing at the table?
Today was one of those days, and the sort of day I have a hearty hunger for- tangled noodles, songs I can’t remember: the cadence of conversation, cherries at the table, cups of tea, laughter. Maybe that’s why we care about writing, those scraps that are always getting lost.