Here is a button box that belonged to my grandmother.I remember sitting beside...

Here is a button box that belonged to my grandmother.
I remember sitting beside my mother as she sewed (or tried to sew—my mother found everything about sewing frustrating and baffling). I remember tracing my fingers over the picture on the lid of the box.
I was six years old, maybe seven; I could read a little, but not much.
I loved stories.
“Is that a little boat underneath the bridge?” I asked my mother.
“Who knows,” said my mother. She looked at the box. “Yes. That is a boat.”
“Is the wo...