Liz West

Every year, the little glass salts are unpacked from their square blue box and placed on the table for a festive meal. Then they are repacked and put away. I can no longer even tell if I like these birds. I just know that they remind me of the home where I grew up, a big Victorian house with a large dining room, set each evening with linen and silver. Not only is the house in my past, but that entire way of life is vanishing.

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