I’M 80, I GUESS I’M NOT SO OLD—PART I

The airliner sinks slowly over the quilt-work brown and green landscape of southeastern Washington state as it approaches the Tri-Cities Airport.  The Tri-Cities are Pasco (where the airport is), Richland, and Kennewick—where a woman who was my girlfriend when we were in the eighth grade, sixty-seven years ago, lives.  Her name is Barbara. Yes, eighth…

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