uncle Bob’s kitchen table. My husband’s grand-mother’s couch. Pots, pans and utensils I could do without. Our daughter, Micah, a college sophomore, had been collecting household hand-me-downs in advance of her move with a sorority sister into a place of their own for junior year.
I stood in the doorway of Micah’s childhood bedroom while she was busy coordinating. In the corner, she’d stacked the towels and bedding she intended to take. On top of the pile was a blanket. I was halfway to the linen closet to return it to its spot, when Micah caught me. “Mom,
