Mom picked up on the first ring. She’d been thinking of me. She had just finished dinner and was thinking about sitting in my chair.
“My chair?” I asked.
“Your chair,” she said. “The one you sit in after dinner. When you’re not doing the dishes.”
News to me.
I’ve made many a meal at Mom’s. And, I suppose, I’ve sat in that chair — the comfy leather one with the footstool — afterward. I suppose there have been times I’ve sat in the comfy chair after cooking and before cleaning up. Or after cooking and instead of cleaning up.
But I didn’t realize I had a designated not-doing-the-dishes chair. Worse, a designated not-doing-the-dishes-chair so designated by Mom. Who knew she was taking notes?
I couldn’t remember why I’d called. I hung up and patted together some salmon cakes, which always make me think of Mom. Their core component — cooked salmon — appeals to her enduring campaign to repurpose leftovers. Their supplemental components — lemon, dill and red onion — appeal to my enduring campaign for spring.
After the cakes were chilling in their crumb jackets, I washed the dishes. Then I sprawled on the couch, wishing Mom was on hand to take note.