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Column: The sense of common sense
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The other day I was at Mama’s house, digging through kitchen cabinets trying to find a cast iron skillet that had once been there, when I stumbled across a large blue glass jar filled with various utensils that Mama had long used. The slotted spoon, with a coated handle that she had once laid too close to a hot stove eye and melted it in a spot, brought back a tug of memory. Mama had used that spoon all of my life and many years before I was even born.

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