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I start to say something about his pattern of problems at work. But I see the pain in his face and remember the three questions I’ve heard lately, attributed to Socrates. Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?
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I make an appointment with my optometrist, thinking I might need a new prescription for my glasses. I can still read but maybe not quite as easily. The changes are so gradual, I hardly notice.
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My neighborhood is full of such trees that have survived generations of hand saws and chain saws. Stripped of their symmetry, these trees find another way to be beautiful.
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My mother would send me into the field behind our house to pick asparagus. We lived in a tiny bungalow, one of hundreds built in a hurry after World War II.
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“Ask for what you want. No one is likely to offer it.” Rather a stark statement, I thought, but I had to admit it was true. I only wish someone had said it to me years ago.
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I am looking through my button box and pick up a small cloth-covered button. “Turquoise silk,” I murmur, remembering the dress it came from, a dress I wore only once.
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When I start feeling annoyed by the way my husband eats his breakfast—or breathes in and out—I know it’s time for some space.
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When I was in sixth grade, an announcement was made that we were all going to get T.B. shots in a couple of weeks. This had never happened before and suddenly the school was full of frightening rumors.
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We talked and laughed for a couple hours on the little balcony... Sometimes shifting gears takes you to a better place.