On Being a Pack Rat
My paternal grandmother, Ruth, was a pack rat. At least, that’s what my mom would tell me with a note of defeat when she implored me to clean my room every day.
It’s true. Gramma’s where I got it.
Going to her place was an archeological expedition. There was always treasure:
Books from the 1800s, leather-bound and dusty; mid-centu…
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