The dress.

I bought this dress at a thrift store yesterday.

I wore it today.

My grandmother had a dress in the same pattern, something I didn't realize until this morning. It was made of polyester, and this is cotton. But it had the same gathered top, and nearly the same colors. All day I've been wearing the dress and remembering sitting on her lap as a child.

I am very like my grandmother: She was small and heavy. She was very blond. She read too much. She had trouble having babies. She was given to flights of wild and angry fancy. She was sharp. She was sarcastic. She didn't dance. She didn't like people very much. She adored me. She longed to travel. She was the smartest girl in her class. She hated her mother and loved her daughter. My mother hated her in turn. She brought me bags full of romance novels that she picked up for free somewhere. She liked bright patterns and skirts. She said "oh baby" when she wanted to create emphasis. She liked driving with the car window down. Her favorite writer was Mary J. Holmes. She died unpleasantly-- cancer linked to a botched hysterectomy. She had blue eyes like my sister.