Originally Published Via newsletter on 8/5/2025
I’ve been thinking a of writing a series of good morning letters in honor of my mom, who was Yelp before there was Yelp. She wrote on paper, and went out of her way to pass on positives. No complaints. That was done by others, “no one needs more of that crap.”
My mom is alive, kicking, and still bopping around town. She finds her way to various places, even with very little connective tissue of time or memory between them. We had lunch the other day – one of her favorites – caprese salad with me and her granddaughter on the side. When she got home, she had no recollection.
That’s the way memory can go sometimes. Leaving some people in a state of perpetual nowness. And all I can hope is that now feels really good.
When my mom’s mind was fully firing, she was sharp “like a steel trap,” and brilliant. And she could write like nobody’s business. Letters mostly: all searingly loving and astute. She’d write deep “I see you” and “thank you” letters to chefs whose food had moved her. She’d write to people she knew, letting them know she witnessed their gifts and struggles, and that they’d make it through okay.
She’d name dragons and archetypal way stations, which would help folks know they could name and pass through these things too.
She wrote of ridiculous things, funny things, and love. She wrote truth.
Even my late and absence notes to school as a kid were whimsy: “Elizabeth was late to school because she saved a skunk,” “She was absent because we played hooky.”
And my mom wrote from love.
So, as I see her memory slip, I often feel grief, and sometimes annoyed. And then I wonder if I can carry on the best of what she did, write from love to those who may need that. I can call out some love, these days via the Internet, on purpose.
Thank you mom. Good morning, and good mourning, to anyone who needs to notice the sun has risen once again.
With gratitude and light,
Elizabeth
