I remember watching Coal Miner's Daughter on TV with my grandmother, who had come to spend at overnight with me, one weekend during those two years I lived in Dallas. She loved the movie, and I made popcorn for us, and a fire in the fireplace. She was the only guest I had in that apartment, and she marveled at how nice it was.
I remember when my grandmother flew out to visit me in Los Angeles, many years before that. I had a cheap little car, a Pinto, and there was some kind of crappy blue tint painted onto the windows. She was afraid of L.A., and kept her window up. All the pictures have a blue line, from that tint.
I remember when my grandmother first got to my apartment in L.A. I had filled the refrigerator with what I thought was good food—fruit, vegetables, juice, trail mix. She took one look at it and said, "Let's go to the grocery store," and we came home with biscuits, coca cola, peanuts, neopolitan ice cream.
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