My Grandmother would entertain us with her stories. Some evenings, at our urging, she would recite
The Spell of the Yukon by Robert Service, the sad improbable tales of Sam McGee and Dan McGrew.
There were lessons in the lyrics.
Nearly every weekday evening after dinner, my brother, Jimmy, and I would do dishes and homework with the help of our maternal grandmother. She was the one who quizzed us on spelling, arithmetic, and things like state capitols. Having gone to school when memorization was key to learning, she was the rote memory queen.
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