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December 8, 2006
These things were left behind when my grandmother died: her Lady Esther face powder; her signature Muguet des Bois perfume; her many birthday cards, still on the mantel over the dark living room fireplace; boxes under the bed filled with jars of buttons, each bottle holding a different color; countless bottles of jams, jellies, preserves, and pickles, befitting a woman who grew up on a farm and wasted nothing; a box, tied with a bow, in the bottom drawer of her dressing table, containing the outfit she wished to be buried in, right down to a new pair of stockings.