My grandmother worked at a textile mill in Manchester before the old buildings became apartments and offices.
She said the noise was the first thing you learned to live with. The second was standing all day. She did not tell the stories like they were beautiful. She told them like they were true.
Later she worked the front desk at a dentist’s office and kept every appointment card written in perfect block letters. She had a way of making ordinary things feel orderly, even when life was not.
New Hampshire gave her hard work, cold mornings, and a stubborn kind of pride. She passed all three down.