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to a faraway friend, almost imaginary

I miss the days of real letters and postcards, not a step forward in my opinion. I'm oddly pleased you're left-handed, as I remember being forced NOT to use my left hand as a child, as if it were a disease or disorder. To this day, when doing artwork, sports or gardening, I favor and am better letting my left hand take charge. I ALWAYS NOTICE LEFT-HANDED people in real life, on TV, in movies. I'm happy for them, for you.

As far as the ocean and God are concerned, my viewpoint is broad; somehow the two seem connected, bringing me a peace I find nowhere else. Except perhaps, gardening, sweeping the porch clean, or surrounded by sons and grandsons...

Speaking of which, both sons are over 6ft, and it looks like my almost-18-year-old grandson will soon be as well. It's comforting; making me feel safer when we are out and about. My posse.

I am obsessed with always having enough toothbrushes for everyone who lives here or visits or might visit, plus extra toothpaste. This makes me feel as though I'm in control, even when I'm not. I carry a screwdriver in my purse for the same reason, plus a boxcutter in my car. Do I care what people think when I pull out a screwdriver instead of credit card at the gas station? Hell, no. I've gotten too many laughs retelling the time when a Russian gas attendent asked if I was a mechanic!

The year my daughter's husband was in Iraq, my youngest grandson was not yet 10. He and I went walking alone; he carrying this baby mussel in his small hand with such tenderness, turning to me at one forever sunfilled moment, saying, "This is the life, Grandma!" as he released the baby mussel into a place where it stood a better chance of living.


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