The large yard was fenced. There was no sign announcing her practice. Wondering if I had incorrectly copied the address, I walked to the front door an... rang the doorbell. There was a moment’s pause, then the door opened. ‘Hello, my name is Tom Connors. I’m here to see…’ ‘I’m Lorraine Theriault, Mr. Connors. Please come with me.’ No warm smile and handshake. No small talk. The woman’s demeanor and attire exuded icy professionalism. She appeared to be in her forties, but my guestimate of her age. It was kinda nasty, crackly, and stuck my clothing together like glue. "Hang on a minute, Gram. I gotta wash up a little bit here first." I whispered to her. "What? Did the sand man visit ya last night?" she asked -- Thankfully she didn't see real well anymore. "Yeah, something like that. I'll be right back." There was always a basin and a milk can of water on the porch, with a floursack towel, and some soap, for everyone who was working to wash up in, before lunch and dinner, and I. More

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