I’m one of those people who likes Nora Ephron’s writing more than her movies.  Her prose looks effortless, which is, of course, the hardest thing in the world to achieve, especially if you’re going to make people laugh. It’s way easier to make people cry than it is to make them laugh.

The only tiny upside to Nora’s dying a few weeks ago is that her writing was everywhere, including her lists of what she will and won’t miss when she dies.  It seemed like a no-brainer to suggest to Stasha that we use Nora’s lists as inspiration for our own lists, and in so doing, tip our hats to Nora. She didn’t like technology (and so probably never read a blog), but a blogger could do a lot worse than to use Nora as her writerly inspiration.

I wouldn’t miss:

Calamari

Fox News

February in New York

Clarence Thomas. Also Scalia. Healthcare notwithstanding, not so keen on Roberts, either

Bras

Reality televison

Misogyny

Pro-lifers, ditto creationists

Perfume that stays in the elevator for hours after its wearer has gone

Plastic surgery and the cult of youth

Jerry Bruckheimer movies

I would miss:

My boychicks

Husband

Cheese

Pedicures

Toffee

The West Village in the early morning

The wumph of heat that hits you when you walk outside on an Abu Dhabi summer day

Dinner with old friends, new friends, Husband. Pretty much eating in any restaurant without my children.

Women

Jon Stewart and Rachel Maddow

Books (digital and analog, but mostly analog: the heft of the pages, the object-ness of it)

Mother, brother, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles: what a comfort, to have this extended family. It reminds me always of the net suspended beneath trapeze artists: it’s there to catch you when you fall.

Beautiful shoes

Hearing the call to prayer waft over the city,  reminding me that I live outside my regular life

Things made with butter

Live opera. Also, live Springsteen

Brandi Carlile, Delta Spirit, Habib Koite, Paul Simon’s “Graceland” — the current faves now in rotation

Singing along to loud music (see above) while driving (alone)

The sound of my kids scrabbling through a box of Legos, because when the Legos go silent, their childhood is over

Murray Perahia playing Scarlatti, Handel, Bach

The ocean. Thus also, the beach.

Writing