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In my dream there is a well-groomed, good-looking man in his prime years walking down my front steps toward my front door. He pauses half-way down the walkway, looking not at my beautiful flowers, not at the crab apple tree friends planted as a house-warming gift 33 years ago. Instead he obs…

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It’s a dangerous business, walking out one’s own front door, climbing into a truck and towing a vintage 1967 Aristocrat Lo Liner to a secret backcountry campsite for a short getaway.

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I wasn’t worried, but I wasn’t pleased. There are many more horrible places to break down in a vehicle than the elementary school parking lot in Bondurant on a late Saturday afternoon in June.

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There was snow between the chive stalks, two halves of a robin’s egg in that perfect shade of blue among the daffodils. A carpenter ant stumbled by, clearly cold, on his way to somewhere. I thought about eating him.

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Once upon a time I had two little boys trapped in the house with me for many weeks due to winter storms and sickness. To fill our days we read many, many stories about pirates and presidents. We worked on homework brought directly to our front door by their teachers. We could see them coming…

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I imagine Abraham Lincoln entered the romantic lamp-lit ballroom and exclaimed, “How clean these women look,” as he weaved through dresses of silk and crinoline. I imagine he was out of his element at that fateful dance.