Last night Justin and I saw Memory House, a play at the Seattle Rep written by Kathleen Tolan. Despite the strong language and the trip that it took me on to my life as a late teen, I enjoyed it. I almost teared up because of the strained relationship Katia had with her mother. I laughed at her mother’s desperate antics to bake a blueberry pie and define herself as a baker. I was amazed at the set, which looked like a real, tiny, NYC apartment. I saw many a sullen teenager reflected in Katia’s slumped posture, her rants against her mother’s beliefs, her ability to change the tone in her voice in an instant when a friend calls. Katia stored all of her memories in a broken and fragmented “memory house” due to her adoption from Russia in her early childhood, and it pained her to write about it in a college application essay. I enjoy most of my memories, though I feel like so many of them are fading. I wish I could remember some of my most life-defining moments, as well as some of the most mundane. This play was one of the better ones I’ve been to recently, if not for the simplicity and reality of it, yet the complexity of the issues brought to light between mothers and daughters. Oh, and I enjoy pie, so that might have something to do with it. And I love my mom.

I love you, Mom! Thanks for helping me build a rather awesome Memory House. See you soon.