There was an inherent pleasure to her hands and movement, a tenderness for objects of all sorts, and objects, in turn, seemed to come alive through her. When she told me that the carbonator she’d been gifted by a customer was really ugly, she made her voice quiet so that the machine wouldn’t hear and be upset, and when she placed it in a cupboard that was already occupied by a plastic coffee maker and a microwave and some other ugly kitchen tools, she did it with the same type of care and methodical devotion that she displayed when repairing furniture or caring for her father’s grave, a
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