My grandmother visited yesterday and brought an unprecedented amount of junk. I now have a small pink bowling bag purse and black high heels from the 90s that I will more than likely never use, but can’t bring myself to throw away. We had several boxes and bags full of stuff that we decided we didn’t need, things like southwestern vases and spaghetti spoons and mugs and a wooden shelf.

We kept some random stuff, like the blue vase and the glass lamp (my favorite) and the Cuba poster. Most of the stuff we kept was kitchen stuff even though we already had more than enough. The matching plates and glasses with birdhouses on them were too precious to get rid of, and the beer mugs and margarita glasses are just fun. I can’t remember if we kept the little chef that held a wooden spoon. Probably not.

There was one shoebox filled with old cards that I thought were kinda cool, so I started looking through them today. It turns out they’re all written in, signed, “Love, Sis.” It’s kind of heartbreaking, actually, because there’re dozens of different events and all for different people. For Thanksgiving, Christmas, a six year old’s birthday, an anniversary, a brother’s birthday, and then some are just pictures on the outside, of Native Americans and art by Monet.

I want to ask my grandmoter who Sis is but it seems too sad. I wouldn’t want anyone to know if I did something like that. But I also want to know why she never sent them, you know, what happened?


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