Way Out West
The Eagle Plucked His Eye — But the Wheels Kept Turning
When I was a little girl and asked Grandma Bright, my dad’s mother, where the Bright’s came from, she said one word: “Kansas.”
I was hoping for a thrilling immigrant experience, like my mother’s— but no, it was the Bright story, an undramatic yawn.
I appreciate my grandmother Ethel now. I’d give anything to sit next to her at the sewing machine or eat one…
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