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March 6, 2011

She thoroughly enjoyed having her own bed. At first, she had a monastic single bed, high off the tiled floor, but soon discovered there was not enough room for books, magazines, her glasses, and other things like that. She traded in the single bed for a double, and, like Goldilocks, found it just right. She could read as late as she liked, and her books didnít snore or toss and turn. Her husband remained adrift in the now enormous California King in their former bedroom, no more or less lonely than he had been when she slept beside him.†