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  • I have sons and I adore them. I have grandsons that I cherish beyond measure. But growing up in a gaggle of girls, I admit I expected the same as mother and grandmother. Wouldn't I, most naturally, have a family most female? Of course, I have since learned that it doesn't matter. I have surmised that girls, in fact, would have been more complicated. I have memorized the male language and have become so accustomed to a world of boys, i cannot imagine... wouldn't want it any other way.

    And yet, and yet... My mornIng began with a rare, delightful breakfast of girls - my daughter-in-law, my niece and my cousin-once-removed, Makena, who has been my weekend guest. The four of us toasted ourselves and talked about where to buy clothes, new and vintage, a subject never once broached with my own progeny. We talked about books and food, we talked about actors and plays, we talked about, dare I say it? Boys. Men. It was a rush, for me, of gender and generational confusion and pleasure. So good to hear the young and most female perspective.

    Makena helped me while away the afternoon. I taught her how to piece a quilt. She finished two squares while we watched delicious, ridiculously romantic comedies - four at last count - and danced around conversations we don't know each other well enough to have.

    It isn't a yearning, I feel tonight, not the anticipated regret of too few opportunities to bond with female generations beyond my own. It is simpler than that - just a quiet appreciation of the intimacy of girls.

    -- Photo: Makena Quilts, 35mm, f/1.8, 1/125
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