“In high school pottery class, I never made a whole vase. Instead I made fragments that I tried to sell as historical artifacts. The effort earned me an F in pottery, and an A in History.”

“No,” she said. “You are not Patrick Swayze. I am not Demi Moore.” She touched a switch on the little box and it started ticking. “And this sure as hell isn't pottery class.”

“Life has little bits of magic at nearly every turn, if you're looking closely enough. Scrapbooking has refined myselses. it's made me hungry to use it before I lose it. It's made me remember that I don't remember what it was like to be nine years old. And that I will never live in a Pottery Barn house. And that as tiny as I am in the scope of the universe, no one lives a life like mine. Not even the people whose meals I cook, whose laundry I fold, and whose cheeks I kiss at night.”

“What was it about high school that made people think with their insecurities instead of their brains?”

“In high school I barely made the rodeo team. But I wasn’t good enough to start, so I just rode the bench.”

“I sold flowers. I didn't sell myself. Now you've made a lady of me I'm not fit to sell anything else.”