Emphasis Preaching Journal
Sober reflections
Commentary
My memories of my great-grandmother Bolt are very vague. I was a young lad when my parents took my older sister and me to see her at a retirement home in Willmar, Minnesota. I can remember the strange and mildly irritating smell of the place, and the dim incandescence of the corridor with its waxed linoleum. We tried unsuccessfully to turn down the volume of our clattering steps and shuffled into the room quietly, nervously afraid of arousing death before its time.
