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Rich: The yarns of life
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Something the other day took me back to a time, many years ago, when I followed the tight, winding roads of the mountains to present myself at the door of my maternal grandmother’s house. She was happily surprised to find me on the porch of the humble house which was far from where I lived since I was living several hundred miles away. There she stood in the attire I will always recall as hers: A simple cotton, print dress that fell in length almost to her ankles; flat, black shoes; a fresh apron with a pocket; and her long, gray hair pulled back into a tight, neat bun.

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