Nonfiction | September 01, 1991

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As I lay out my clothes for the trip to Miami to do a reading from my revently published novel, then on to Puerto Rico to see my mother, I take a close look at my wardrobe–the tailored skirts in basic colors easily coordinated with my silk blouses–I have to smile to myself remembering what my mother had said about my conservative outfits when I visited her the last time–that I looked like the Jehovah’s Witnesses who went from door to door in her pueblo trying to sell ticketrs to heaven to the die-hard Catholics…

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