Minnesota Monthly, April 1st, 2003
A week ago last Thursday, my grandmother's house blew up. The two-bedroom bungalow on Andrews Avenue in Breckenridge, Minn., sprung a gas leak and exploded. No one was hurt, but the house, two neighboring houses, and an adjacent garage were entirely devoured in the giant fireball.
My grandmother hasn't lived in the house for years. She's been dead for 15, and I haven't thought about the place in over a decade. As soon as I heard the news, though, memories of the house bubbled to the top of my consciousness: its bright sunny kitchen, my grandmother ladeling soup and fussing with dinner rolls. ...
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