People who equate truth with fact are missing the point.

One Final Roadtrip

In the end, after almost everything was finished and her life was coming to a close, my grandma found joy. . . . → Read More: One Final Roadtrip

Duster

On a summer day in 1935, a few weeks before she turned 13, my grandma Margery was in the yard of her family’s southwestern Kansas home, pulling laundry off the line. She dropped the clothes and underwear, sheets and towels, gray with dust and baked dry in the┬ávillainous┬ásun, into the basket at her feet, . . . → Read More: Duster

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