I loved listening to my grandmother Sears’ stories and I imagine that if she were asked, “Where are you from?” she would say:

I am from black swim boots meant for wading not swimming

And itchy wool bathing dresses with hair tucked under mob caps.

I am from Entenmanns’s Danishes instead of dinner and

Gold therapy treatments in tiny, dark duplexes.

I am from riding trolleys to stenography school and

Clam chowder served in rooms adorned with Salt cellars, chiming clocks and Sandwich cup plates.

I am from co-ed baseball and games of Pinochle, Cribbage and Whist;

Repurposing eyeglass lenses into hand painted jewelry;

Post cards, letters and occasional telegrams.

I am from learning to drive a car before women could vote.



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