Yesterday, I write an unusual email to a friend who lives in a different part of the country. We rarely talk on the phone. We haven’t seen each other for years. But this week, I think about her several times for interesting reasons. So I write a numbered list of all the times her face came to mind.
She’s the friend who introduced me to the joy of cooking on a baking stone, and whenever I bring it out, I think about her.
I think of her when I order elaborate coffee drinks because we did that together years ago.
I think about her when I see pistachios because she once told me about a delicious recipe involving a pistachio crust.
Random things. Fleeting things.
But I was thinking about her. And it occurs to me to tell her this. How would she know otherwise?
Later, she emails me back to tell me she printed out my list and put it in her journal. I think about that little list–baking stones, coffee, pistachios–that seems silly and unimportant.
It matters so much.