Description: not about fish in the sea. the fish is me. that's the last time I'll rhyme. ugh.
There’s a restaurant in Los Feliz, I’ve only dined at once, but say it’s my favorite. After spending an unusual Sunday apart from each other, my husband and I met up on the East Side to have dinner, and discuss the web series we’d been writing. I was in love. I was in love with everything about this moment, everything about the sentence I just wrote. It was one of those days. The good kind. In between sips of wine and bites of bread, the table near the window caught my eye. A woman and her adult daughter sa
My husband I both agreed this was a place we should take our parents when they visited. It’s charming, it’s old school, and it’s a place we wouldn’t mind becoming regulars. And I couldn’t wait to recreate the memory of the two women at the table by the window. I imagined the daughter was dealing with a dilemma at work and her mother was doing her best to give her daughter advice, though it wasn’t satisfying to the daughter—not in the way it was when her mother would help her with a book report due the next
A little over a month later my mom came to visit. I spent more hours than I’ll admit crafting some kind of itinerary. Nothing we had to stick to, I told her and myself, just a guideline so we were never at a loss of something to do. My mom and I are never at a loss of something to do, because when there’s nothing to do, there’s always something (or someone) to talk about. But I wanted to fill every experience I’ve had since her last visit in March into the six days she’d be here… and maybe sprinkle in a n