
A couple of Sundays ago, I had a phone date with my 90-year-old grandmother, Deenie (aka "Cotton"). The boys were outside in swimsuits with Chris and a water hose and I had an hour-long window and a phone. After a week of family stomach-bug yuck, I called Deenie, cleaner and sponge in hand, ready to scrub every surface of the house while we talked. Instead, I ended up at my kitchen table, pen in hand, scribbling her words onto scraps of paper. Nine years ago, I bought … [Read more...]






















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