These are the reasons.

My parents have played Scrabble every evening after dinner for forty-three years. They keep a running score in a notebook. The current total is my mother ahead by 3,412 points.

Every Sunday, I walk to the bagel shop on the corner with my two-year-old on my shoulders. The man behind the counter, Murray, has worked there for forty years.

When I was a girl, my father would put a record on every Sunday after church and dance with my mother in the living room. All of us children would join in, tripping over each other.

When the mangoes come into season in Florida, my mom calls me every single day to report on her tree.

The used bookshop on my street has a resident cat named Professor, a huge gray Maine Coon who sleeps in the poetry section and judges every customer.

Our city orchestra gives one free concert a year, in the big park by the river, on the last Saturday of August. This year, my husband and I went for the first time.

I left a copy of my favorite novel on a bench in Lisbon this spring, with a note inside: "Please read this, then leave it somewhere for the next person. Write where you found it." I wrote my email address at the bottom.

My neighbor bought an old ice cream truck at an auction this spring, for no reason that he could explain. It plays "Turkey in the Straw" very loudly and only sort of in tune.

I grew up in Houston and had never seen real snow until this winter, when my job moved me to Minneapolis.

Eleven years ago, waiting for the 38 bus in the rain, a woman next to me sneezed seven times in a row. I said "Bless you" after each one, getting louder every time. By the seventh, we were both crying with laughter.

My daughter has been struggling with reading since kindergarten. Letters swim around for her. She'd get frustrated and close the book and hide under the table.

My roommate and I have rated every dumpling spot within walking distance of our apartment in a shared spreadsheet. There are forty-one entries. There are columns for "wrapper chew," "soup factor," and "would bring my mom."