When I was a kid, every summer my Dad and I went to a magical place called Missouri. Now, maybe you don’t think Missouri is magical (though you might understandably think it’s beautiful), but as a child, I sure did.
It was the place where Grandma lived, and it was a radically different world from the suburban California where I spent my early years. It was a place with summers that lasted forever, sweet tea, a hand pump in the front yard, and Grandma’s huge, musty basement with a huge musty bed for my cousins and I to sleep in. Plus cows in the nearby pasture. And a pond to fish in and a “crick” to play in.
Tips my Grandma taught me for easier and better use of the laundry line.
