ABSTRACT
For as long as I can remember, I have loved people. My Swedish immigrant grandmother, Sophia, loved me, and I loved her deeply. She taught me how to churn butter, make sausage, bake bread, pick up chicken eggs, and weave rugs on a loom (vävstol). Whenever other family members would criticize me (“He's spoiled, he doesn't behave,” etc.), she would answer:
Han ska bli bättre nästa år.
(He will be better next year.)
