I shouldn’t complain. My husband scooped me up, so to speak, from borderline poverty and set me in a world of comparative ease.
The coolest spot in the house was the living room floor. Grandmother would wait for me there, with her arm stretched out, for my head to find its usual resting place for our afternoon nap. I would have followed her anywhere. Like a duckling fallen into a city storm drain, she rescued me from the … Continue reading Memoir: Grandmother