Two tiny girls are standing on the bench, fingers touching ornaments. “This one, Auntie Tashe,” the oldest holds up an embroidered square, “what’s this one?” “That one is from Alaska,” I explain, tracing the bright pink fireweed. “You were in Alaska?” Her voice is incredulous. She spent almost a third of her life in the 49th state but I wasn’t there at the time. “Yes, ma’am,” I tweak her nose, “I was in Alaska way before you were born.” Her mouth shapes an “O”. The littlest one latches onto the ornament of a tractor. “Ice Cream!” she says. Tractors equal Uncle Ice Cream in her mind. (The uncle who earned his name fair and square with bowls of ice cream.) The Christmas tree arrives and we’re smelling pine and stringing lights and the house feels warm and full. Then the little ones get picked up at they blow kisses from the door. After chores we sit around the wood stove. A friend stops by for dinner and we joke about bookshelves (should have put “I...
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