For Nora (E.)

I've tried to change. I really have. I no longer feel my heart speed up when I see a yard sale sign. I know I could be missing out, but then again, what with all junk stuff we own that occupies much of the available space we have, there's nothing I currently desire that comes with a price tag attached (cosmic meaning inferred). My daughter Sarah on the other hand can comb racks of used clothes for what feels like days at a time (I might be exaggerating) while I usually lose interest within the first ten minutes. Then I'll wander over to the books in hopes of finding some first edition of Harry Potter that's worth an astronomical sum and could possibly finance the next year of college tuitions (and if you think I am kidding look it up yourself). During our whirlwind weekend to St. Petersburg, Florida, Sarah and I made a visit to a popular local thrift store. I failed to find any English china, mid-century treasure or linen dish towels and so made my way to the books. Combing all the titles I chanced upon Nora Ephron's  I Feel Bad About My Neck. Suddenly, the whole excursion seemed completely worthwhile for I had found a title I've long wanted to read.

Now I am sad after devouring her book as she died way too young. We have been robbed of her comic genius. I'm not a fan of turtlenecks, and I've stopped coloring my hair but in some strange way I'm glad I named my eldest Nora. At the time it had nothing to do with this extremely  talented woman, but if my daughter's wit, sass and humor approach anything as immense as Nora Ephron's- that would be a wonderful thing.