Waiting for Bloomers, Or, From Corsets to the MS Hug

Though our political and social attitudes could not have been more different, my paternal grandfather and I shared an intense emotional connection. During the last years of his life we talked on the phone almost every evening and I visited him several times a year. Most often, our conversations focused on the minutiae of daily life, but not infrequently my grandfather lamented the physical distance between us and wished aloud that my father, my sister,…
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