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When my grandma got older she went back to the place where she grew up in South Lancaster Ontario. She swam in the river every day with her sister and they took turns cooking for eachother. When she was no longer able to care for herself she moved to a long term care home where her neices worked. My grandma was the 11th of 12 children who joined the army at the age of 17 to see the world and pursue adventure. But in the end she returned to her roots and appeared to be better loved and cared for that many much more affluent seniors in bigger towns.

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The chat box exercise was frightening.It was so ………I’m not sure .

Lush?Undisciplined?

Quite unfair really.

You are a wonderful disciplined craftsman

Thank you for the piece Is it possible your wife has a point

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nice thoughts, pertinent - even the ones where the hometown is despised and fled.

Amazing piece of machine writing, though. I'm afraid it is pretty close to the real thing ... but will it segue into something interesting and broader, the way you do, or just carry on low-key and charming...

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May 20·edited May 20

God gives us many things: parents, looks, health, a hometown. I loved the town where I grew up (Langley, Virginia). As a boy I sawm in the Potomac River despite what they said about it. Most of it is now gone, but you never stop loving it. I know every nook and cranny. I haven't been there since my mom died, but it awaits me.

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Who needs a 'self' when a machine can be 'it' for us? Sometimes I think death cannot come soon enough. But then I think of my two daughters who I rarely see, and my two grandbaby boys who I've only met three times. I don't know where home is. I'm just killing time.

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Follow this author! https://waynebonnett.substack.com/p/the-insistence-of-memory

Sausalito-based publisher now writing historical fiction after years in regional history of California.

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Liverpool, Nova Scotia reporting in from Sausalito, California! Great to follow you on Substack. Haven't been back to Liverpool since 2017 but spent the entire summer in Toronto in 2018.

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AI doesn’t know you. A decent piece of writing, sure, but not you at all. It was far too impersonal. No irony. No reminiscence. No wit. As Jack would have said: feh.

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