Going as far back as I can remember, I’ve loved sending mail. Hand-written letters on creamy bond stationery. Typed missives on whisper-thin aerogrammes. Heartfelt notes jotted on Hallmark cards for birthdays and anniversaries, births and deaths.

My friend Tina is a hugger. A toucher. An exuberant high-fiver.

Hi Ann, it’s me, Ivanka. Can you hear me? The connection’s really bad.

People who know me will be unsurprised that I couldn’t do today’s prompt. I don’t like being the center of attention. I don’t like seeing photos of myself or hearing my voice on the answering machine. I can’t imagine writing about how others see me.

There used to be this Maybelline mascara commercial back in the 1980s. It featured two attractive young models – I believe they were supposed to be sisters – who proclaimed that they were “opposites, right down to our lashes.” (Cue: bold, smoky eye vs. tasteful, natural eye.)

For the past couple years, ever since my brother died, I’ve made it a practice to fly from San Francisco to Northern Virginia every two months or so to visit my parents. My 85-year-old father always picks me up at Dulles airport even though I tell him I can take a Lyft. It used to be that my mother would have one of my favorite Korean dishes waiting for me at home – spicy soft tofu stew, tender braised short ribs, savory sliced rice cake soup – but in the past year, her health has declined, and she hasn’t felt up to cooking. Now, we mostly order in.

“Where do you want to go for your birthday lunch next week?” I asked.

We sat in front of the TV watching the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. It was my dad, my mom, and me. We’d heard about a boy from a small town in California who’d been admitted to Harvard despite never having gone to a real school. He grew up on a farm raising goats. Like the rest of America, we were curious to gawk at this novelty sideshow.

“Keep passing the open windows.”

My brother and I said those words to one another countless times: at the close of our letters and emails, before we ended our long-distance phone calls, when we hugged each other good-bye. It was our favorite line from one of our favorite books (The Hotel New Hampshire) by one of our favorite writers (John Irving).

We saw it in the JC Penney’s showroom: the princess bedroom. Plywood furniture painted in Marie Antoinette white and gold. Canopy bed with pink gingham bedspread and eyelet trim. Locked pleather diary and fuchsia feather-plumed pen. I wanted the whole package, but my parents could only afford a few pieces. We improvised the rest.

To Annie at 3: That moment when you’re outside in the snow with Daddy and you put your tiny cold hand in his. You’re surprised by how soft and warm it feels. That’ll be your first memory and one you’ll revisit countless times. Enjoy.

This morning, when I saw today’s prompt, I felt both dread and excitement. Dread because it sounded a little like meditation, which I’m terrible at. Excitement because it gave me permission to go into my bedroom, lie down, and close my eyes, which I’m awesome at.

My neighbor has a lemon tree. I can see it from my window. I’m pretty sure it’s a Meyer.

I stood there on Market Street waiting for the light to change. I’d just gotten my hair cut, and I was feeling unusually sassy. Mary Tyler Moore in the opening credits throwing her hat up in the air sassy.

Well, it’s my third week at the Hotel San Francisco, and it’s everything I hoped it would be.

“How you doin’ today?” she asked. The name on her badge said Ivy.

I’ve been riding the 31BX Balboa B-Express for exactly 23 years. I know because I was three months pregnant when I first moved to San Francisco, and my son will turn 23 in September. Of the many SF Muni drivers I’ve had in all that time, you were the kindest. I’m sorry I never told you so.

Living in San Francisco, I’m used to being on the leading edge of change. That’s one of the things I love most about my adopted hometown. Gay marriage. Electric cars. Artisanal toast. What starts out here as unthinkable or laughable or radical eventually becomes acceptable or trendy or even mainstream in due course.

Last August, when I had lunch with Miracle Creek author Angie Kim, she gave me lots of great advice, but perhaps the most helpful was to join the private Facebook group for 2020 debut authors.

One of the quotes I repeat most often is, “If you want something done, ask a busy person.” In my previous post about Jayci Lee, I hypothesized that there is something in kimchi (that quintessential Korean food) that promotes overachievement. Well, no one proves that theory better than my next author friend, Lydia Kang.