“Here she comes, Miss America…” I can still hear my Papa sing it, as he did every time I walked into the room.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“Here she comes, Miss America…” I can still hear my Papa sing it, as he did every time I walked into the room.
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“Your grocery bill must have been cut in half when they left!”
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A couple of weeks ago, we traveled to meet up with my in-laws and family to spend Thanksgiving together.
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