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our pennies and spent pennies. We collected glass Coke bottles for two cents. Five pennies could buy a pack of gum or a candy bar. We were also copper miners.
 My grandfather was forbidden to bring home any of the small chunks of copper or turquoise. They would be the size of peas and fit in the palm of my hand. The color turquoise is the perfect color to lay against the landscape; it brought life to the desert. Turquoise is blue, cool, and a primary color, contrasted with the red and browns of the rocks. Turquoise is the diamond of the desert. This natural stone next to the red skin of an Apache Indian is a perfect contrast and calls the gods from above to look down. Turquoise belongs in the west. My grandfather's train pulled these rocks from the open-pit mine to the top of the earth.
 My grandmother continued to make his lunch, two sandwiches, one butter the other baloney. The butter sandwich was a simple recipe. Two slices of white bread, a layer of butter and then sugar sprinkled on top. The baloney sandwich was also simple, a slice of meat and mayonnaise. Both were wrapped in a piece of wax paper. His lunch box was the shape of a train, metal, rounded on top with a handle. All his food for the day was inside including a thermos with ice tea. Granny handed him the metal lunch box and with a grunt he was out the back door.
 Listening, my eyes were ready to be officially opened. I walked into the living room where my brothers were still sleeping. I would slowly slide around the door jam and staying close to the wood molding coming into the kitchen. My mother was still at the table smoking. My grandmother standing, ready for the next person. I was in her house. I could hug my grandmother. My face was buried into her large body. This was a body that I could get lost between her breast. All the landscape that we had driven through was her body. I was near her.
 I immediately had a place to sit at the table but never in my Grandfathers chair. Even after he was gone it was still his place. I sat facing out looking into the kitchen. I wanted to be able to see my grandmother as she moved and worked. She brought me fried eggs in bacon grease. The edges around the egg were brown and crisp and tasted like bacon. The egg shimmered with a layer of grease. Toast and jelly were set on the plate. The log cabin syrup stayed on the table. My legs dangled over the chair seat, moving back forth swinging. A haze of smoke, from cooking and my mothers cigarette, settled in the kitchen making the early morning soft light. I was in heaven.
 My brothers and sisters started to come into the kitchen. My grandmother gave each one the same hug, smothering their heads into the landscape of her body. For a brief time the kids received the attention of my grandmother. My mother was waiting. She needed to be the daughter, the child and also needed the attention of her mother. Mom had planned a full day. She had made projects that would consume all of our energy. We