What My Mother Can Do Like Nobody's Business

Dominate a game of Scrabble.

Befriend any child, instantly, anywhere.

Grow green things.

Make a Beef Bourguignon that turns your knees weak.

Turn a sterile, impersonal hospital room into a cozy safe nest.

Put any employee of the hospitality industry into a trancelike state where they believe they exist to give her the very best deal on the exact room she wants in their hotel, and they want to bring her cookies and treats throughout her stay.

Make any guest in her home feel like long lost relations who should really take a seat on the screen porch swing and visit for six or seven days.

Get teenagers to talk.

Work magic with travel reservations.

Program not only the VCR, but also the DVR, her iPhone, her computer, and any other technological gadget that may intimidate others of her generation.

Navigate every Target in the land. Probably blindfolded.

Intuit a better arrangement for the living room, and if there is at least one person in the room who looks like they might could budge a couch, that couch is moving.

Navigate a city with almost Jason Bourne-like accuracy within 24 hours of arriving.

Be at home in a city as busy and fast as New York, New York.

Be at home in a city as sleepy and slow as Greenwood, Mississippi.

Remember interesting stories. Or make them up. Who cares? They’re still interesting stories.

Talk me into it. Whatever it is.

Talk you into it, too, probably.

Hug.

Laugh.