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November 8, 2007
Eight hours west and the signs for Cleveland got more frequent. I don’t think my friend realized the size of this country. I found my way to the tree lined boulevard of matching brick apartment houses. Upscale now, but somehow I knew that they’d been populated by fortunate immigrants for generations.

His daughter invited me in graciously as if I were family, as if they’d been waiting years for me to come. I offered pound cake and the gorgeous earth toned textured silk. I think her eyes teared and her daughter reached to touch it reverently. “It was my mother’s.”