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February 27, 2004
She woke from her deep sleep quite suddenly. She had been dreaming of the farm – both her grandparents had been alive, and her grandfather had asked her to collect the eggs for the chickens, and she'd run off happily with the wicker basket towards the hen-house. She was six again, she knew, but her body was the same lanky frame that she had now at thirty-two, and her father was sitting on the porch carving a walking stick to make it look like a hot house orchid. "You always were a disappoint to you mother," he sighed before she woke.