Mothers and Daughters

Four generations in one picture.

Nana, Grandma, Mom, and me

That’s Velma in the big chair. Arms crossed, stoic caution written on her tired face. She was always old, to me. Old lady hair, soft body shrouded in old lady shifts. Voice of a tentative crone, she would speak when spoken to. Or when delegating. Or calling us to meals. Always tending something, someone. She was somehow joyless, but always kind.

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