a best book

i am almost to the end of LOCAL WONDERS. since the words are like cream to be savoured on the tongue, i read in small snippets. the author's account of an one hundred and seven year old's rememberance of an indian dance reminded me of a story told me by my grandmother. she and her mother went down to the airport in sioux falls, south dakota to watch the flight of the plane carrying the first "air" mail out of town. they had had quite a long discussion regarding the sinfullness or not, of sending an air mail letter that day. it was the sabbath. they finally decided it would be all right to put a letter --which i still have-- on that plane.

having grown up in eastern nebraska and eating polish kolachies, the stories of party lines, wind, and outhouses are very familar.