I wasn’t born in the state that I grew up in. Neither of my parents was born in the state where I was born, nor the different state where my siblings and I grew up. Two of my grandparents weren’t born in the country where my parents and sibs and I live. I have no idea where anyone came from a generation or two before them.

I don’t remember your birthday. I promise I don’t. And even if I do, I won’t remember to send you a card. And if you have me over for dinner (remember when we used to have people over for dinner?) I will have a wonderful time and enjoy myself thoroughly. And I won’t send you a thank you note, probably not even an e-mail. It’s not a good thing about me. I’m not proud of this. All my life I have wished that I were more gracious in these ways, and I admire very much those people who do send little notes and bring thoughtful house gifts when they come over. Those small gestures show attentiveness and respect. They bring ease and pleasure and communicate appreciation — all things I want to do.