the fashion plate doesn't fall far from the tree

Living most of the year in Africa when I was a child had a lot of awesome perks and there was none more awesome than buying my entire school wardrobe in one glorious shopping binge every summer. My mother and I would spend hours in the department stores of central New Jersey and then the clothes would mostly travel home to Africa un-worn, crisp and delicious for the start of a new school year. Often enough, the clothes were new in a school that was new with people, completely new. As rituals go, it was comforting.

One particular New Jersey summer shopping trip stands out. I was at the most nine or ten years old. We were in Sealfons, or Lord & Taylor, or maybe Macy's, my mother and I, at the business end of some very full bags of new school clothes. We must have been done with the shopping but were still in a browsy sort of mood. I spotted something, and I don't remember exactly the moment I did, but they were eggplant cotton cordoroy short-alls, and I fell in love. They were paired with a tee, dotted with little matchy eggplant-colored flowers. We can sit here and mock all we'd like that I fell in love with EGGPLANT SHORT-ALLS, and trust me, there's ample mocky material here, but it's really not the point.

My mother pointed out that we'd done all the shopping already; she pointed out that the short-alls weren't even school clothes, that I didn't need them. And she - and this is important - gently said no. And I remember being nine or ten and accepting that, walking away, not throwing a tantrum like I might have done when I was younger. We were walking down the polished department store aisle, away from the eggplant short-alls I'd set my heart on (perhaps because they matched my glasses?) and my mom turned to me.

She asked me if I was sad about the short-alls. I nodded. She asked if I felt all achy inside, like my heart hurt, because I was so sad not to have them. I said yes. And then she said okay, if I wanted them so badly to be heart-achy, then I should have them.

And my mom turned us around with all our shopping bags and bought me one pair of eggplant short-alls I didn't need, and I used them to distraction for about two years.

And aside from the fact that hey, I wore eggplant short-alls for TWO YEARS, the point here is that what my mother saw. Because she turned to me in a moment of quiet, a moment my tiny young brain was determined to overcome, and saw straight into me and understood that I might have been nine or ten and they might have been EGGPLANT FOR CHRISSAKES and I might have had more than enough clothes for that year, but I wanted them. And so she got them for me.

And that moment came back to me today, and I'm not sure why, but I realized it was something I needed to say to her for Mother's Day, something I could give her and show her, because she's in Greece and I haven't got a wrapped parcel to give. I need to thank my mother for being the sort of mother that could understand that heart-achy feeling when you just need a piece of fashion and there's no explaining it but you've got to have it. Maybe that wouldn't make the perfect mother for everyone but it makes her absolutely and without the shadow of a doubt the perfect mother for me.

And perhaps this is something that someone out there is going to judge, because some of you are judgy, but a gift my mother has given me is style and the times she gave it to me were sometimes, in those teenaged years of teenaged anguish, when we went shopping. It didn't matter how we clashed like the Titans over a million other things, my mother and I could always go shopping together and have an absolute riot of a time. We still can, the clashes having long faded away.

Thanks, Mom. For the eggplant short-alls you bought for me eighteen years ago to the three-inch patent black heels you bought me a month ago, when it comes to style and so many other things, you just know me better than I know myself and for that I love you. Happy Mother's Day. Let's go shopping when you get back.

and everything is beautiful when you're young and pretty

Best part of the weekend: driving over the Manhattan in the jeweled sunshine, singing aloud to "New York City" by They Might Be Giants with Stuart and thinking how that was our song from the very week we met, and looky there! Here we are.

you know what's annoying?

When you finish the riveting third book of a trilogy on the subway ride in to work, and have nothing left to read for lunchtime or the ride home.

Anyone?

The Cross Off List, twenty six through fifty

Since I started this list last week, I've been more attentive to the opportunities around me. I've always been the sort of girl who carries a small notebook for various reasons but this list has had me pulling it out the minute they occur to me, so as not to lose my grasp on the wispy skirts of cool ideas.

26. Know enough about architecture to recognize the major schools and movements, particularly the churches.
27. Fill up a moleskine front to back with nothing but writing and story ideas.
28. Go back to the town in which I was born (BA, Argentina).
29. Own a Vespa.
30. Teach a writing workshop.
31. Drive a four-wheeled car through a shallow riverbed crossing.
32. Climb Kilimanjaro.
33. Have dinner with Bill Bryson.
34. Be involved with my alma mater.
35. Adopt a dog who suits the name Caspian (this one's about a decade old but still important).
36. Learn Greek.
37. Buy (and look great in!) a moderately expensive pair of amazing jeans.
38. Have Adirondack chairs, and a great porch to put them on.
39. Publish a short story in Granta.
40. Know my way around the lesser-known flowers.
41. Learn how to make perfect marinara sauce from scratch.
42. Hold a baby wild animal in my hands (or arms).
43. Throw the perfect anniversary party for Stuart and myself, in our tenth year, and then again at 25.
44. Serve on the Board for an organization close to my heart or ideals.
45. Live in England.
46. Give a toast at a close friend's wedding (Erin, Beth, I'm looking at you).
47. Take my parents to dinner at Peter Luger.
48. See the Alhambra with Stuart.
49. Take portraits of all my friends.
50. Own the complete unabridged OED, in twenty volumes.

some thoughts on easter

I like going to the Greek church with my dad every year, which surprises people who know me but shouldn't surprise anyone who really does. I like the moment the lights go out and the old is extinguished and the new is brought out, and the slow progress of candlelight through the church. I like symbolism even if the deeper meaning isn't ultimately mine.

I like the sounds of the cantor, and the arch of the priest's eyebrows as he reads the Epistle of St. John, and the stiff, nervous altar boys as they progress through the church with the sacrament. I like singing the Christos Anesti bit, even though it's all phonetic, and I like seeing the origins of language in the words, like cosmos and photos and necron. I'm not crazy about the standing parts I confess but since a few Alexander lessons have lodged under my belt it's an interesting time to practice.

I like, most of all, being there with my dad. I hope it's not terrible to anyone that I don't say the Nicene Creed or the Lord's Prayer anymore because they feel so sacred, and personal, so meaningful if you're saying them right. I follow along with the Greek, recognizing the letters and recognizing my heritage and I hope that's alright.

Happy easter to anyone who's celebrating today. Let's all eat of meat! That part I'm wholly behind.

The Cross Off List, one through twenty five

1. Sing an old Gershwin or Porter standard in a lounge act, just once.
2. Learn how to eat, and enjoy, seafood.
3. Write a novel and have it published.
4. Drive across the US. Slowly.
5. Walk across all the major bridges in New York City.
6. Spend New Year's Eve on a beach.
7. Own a boat.
8. Learn Welsh.
9. Have babies. Maybe two. Not at the same time.
10. Take a vacation in wine country. Any wine country.
11. Officiate a wedding.
12. Learn to bake bread, do it often.
13. Go back to Kenya.
14. Scuba dive.
15. Fill a whole wall in our home with photos of friends and family.
16. Learn to garden.
17. Gut-renovate a house, or at least a room in a house.
18. Ride a tandem bike.
19. Try colored contacts, even just for fun.
20. Learn some jazz songs on the piano.
21. Donate to WNYC during a pledge drive.
22. See Bob Dylan in concert before, you know, he dies.
23. Go back to Greece with my parents again.
24. Build my own darkroom.
25. Get a master's degree.

Inspired by the matchless Maggie Mason. Not inspired by that Jack Nicholson/Morgan Freeman vehicle. Suggestions welcome on how to cross these off, or do share some of your own.