a sealed box of books for $5. Nestled
among the hardbound fiction was an old
diary. I read a few pages of captivating
entries before looking for the owner’s
name on the inside cover. It was written
by my grandmother! I was certain it was
her, not only because she and my grand-
father had unique names but also because
she had written of the birth of my mother
in 1925. The entries ended soon after that
event, presumably because caring for an
infant left little time for writing.
My grandmother is no longer living.
That day, years after her death, serendip-
ity brought me closer to her. I now know
her as I hadn’t before—as a young
woman. How my grandmother’s diary
came to be in a box of old books, 2, 200
miles away from where she had lived her
entire life, is an enigma I marvel at daily.
–Boo Heisey, Janesville, California
One day I was walking home from work and
noticed a tag sale at a two-story house.
Upon entering, I was informed that I
should feel free to sashay about the home.
Each room brought a new discovery, but
it was in the upstairs bedroom closet that
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