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  • What I didn't understand while growing up are the things that aren't said in stories. The things we choose to keep and the things we throw away. All true, the stories become a family history. I can journey back to a family spending a Sunday afternoon on a front porch with a ceiling of blue and women sewing a quilt together in a kitchen. Whether I chose this time in history or it chose me, I am nostalgic for a place in time that I never lived.
    My grandmother's stories keep the past alive for me. Today she needs help remembering to take her medicine, balancing her checkbook, and making a grocery list, but after 75 years she can still remember a really good story.
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