I love race horse names.
Mother and Daddy always came back from the Kentucky Derby bearing gifts. Armloads of goodies. Suitcases filled – nay, Steam trunks filled to the brim with all sorts of things to let us – their three children – know they were thinking about us and missing us the entire time they were away. For my sister, they brought stuffed animals, new dresses with socks and shoes to match, a new bicycle. My brother got footballs, golf clubs, a new four-wheeler. And from behind those cateye-with-sparkles glasses, my eyes glazed over when they put their Official Kentucky Derby Program in my hand along with a fistful of bookmarks.
I was a sophomore in college before I knew that those bookmarks were actually swizzle sticks.
In Our Own Language 4:18
Nancy (my developmentally disabled sister-in-law) draws.
I (the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.
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