When I stopped the bus to pick up Chris for preschool, I noticed an older woman hugging him as he left the house.
“Is that your grandmother?” I asked.
“Yes,” Chris said. “She’s come to visit us for Christmas.”
“How nice,” I said. “Where does she live?”
“At the airport,” Chris replied. “Whenever we want her, we just go out there and get her.”
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A boy is writing his grandmother a letter.
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