My family. Together in a room with a sax, a piano, and a Ping-Pong table.

A sudden summer breeze on a hot afternoon.

Getting hired. With the possible exception of my daughters’ births and my wedding day, the happiest moments of my life were when someone offered me a job.

A glass of wine, a good dinner with my husband, and a day ahead of me without a deadline is close enough.

I believe that that is a fast-food myth to get us out there buying whatever they’re selling because I know that beans and greens are very, very affordable.

Peacefully, knowing I’ll be composted in a mushroom suit.

The inclination to pretend I read a friend’s book when maybe I didn’t completely finish.

My discomfort with being alone.

And what happens for me is that I make a pot of beans on Sunday. And I also make some greens with chard, whatever I have available. And when I come to cook a meal or even to make myself breakfast, I may warm up some of those beans. I put a little tortilla right on the fire. I fill it up with the beans, maybe a little hot pepper, and I eat it. And that takes me exactly two minutes, three minutes, maybe. But it’s knowing how to cook. Those basic things have been taken away from us.

A lack of generosity. It can take so many forms—it doesn’t just have to do with money—so I’m always shocked when people can’t muster any at all.