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Grandma's Summer Cottage It was thrown together, like a scene from Popeye’s town, amiable host to breezes off the lake-- I loved spending summers there. I called her my Wrap-Around Grandma; everything from sandals to dresses, from hair to hats-- was wrapped and tucked. Her 50’s vintage Royal typewriter clacked night and day. All the closed letters were filled in with sticky ribbon ink. She wrote stories, she said, and poems. They got stacked until they yellowed and curled, like stillborn children, eternally silent, but they were Grandma’s heart. My first summer I was eleven, and had never been all-day free before. Grandma saw no need for rules or curfews. Heaven’s Sake! I was eleven, wasn’t I? When I was fifteen, summers with Grandma had not changed too much I met a boy in July down on the shore. He had a boat, of sorts, and he was terribly attractive. When we kissed I was fifteen going on twenty. That season we found things, and we lost things, but I’ve never regretted it. Grandma never asked any questions. She expected me to look after myself. Heavenly days! I was fifteen, wasn’t I? |
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