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Jane Wilson's Blog

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Jan.28.2013
When my daughter was nine or ten, while her father and I were in the midst of a divorce, she gave me a small blank book as a Mother's Day gift. "Mom, I want you to write in this every day," she said, solemnly. I found it the other day, and opened it.  There was a jagged edge of paper...
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Jan.27.2013
"Do Unto Others" Two days ago, I found three cans of peanuts and a $20 gift certificate from McDonald's in the snow behind my back door.  Phone service here is erratic and mine had been out.  When it was restored, I found a voicemail from a former neighbor. "Jane, I'm on your street....
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Jan.26.2013
WARNING:  Content may not be suitable for vegetarians or those with weak stomachs. Peanut butter sandwiches Mom explained that "during the War," her family received peanut butter from the government, which had separated into a hard glob, topped by a thick layer of yellow oil. No matter how...
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Jan.25.2013
"Paris smells"           Our room was tiny, but thankfully tidier than the stairwell.  Two single beds were pushed together, leaving approximately six inches on either side.  A clothes rod was attached to the wall just inside the door and a...
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Jan.25.2013
“Don’t lose her”           The summer before I started 6th grade, a glossy brochure describing a three-week European vacation arrived in the mail.   Mom picked it up and turned the pages.  “Wouldn’t this be a wonderful...
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Jan.22.2013
The next installment of "We'll always have Paris" will be posted shortly. It snowed all day, yesterday.  As I unlocked my car, I noticed a woman waving at me from a van.  "I'm out of gas," she said.  "Can you drive me to the nearest gas station?" "Of course," I said. She...
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Jan.21.2013
"The Adventures Begin" Almost an hour later, I gently awakened my sleeping daughter as the train approached the platform.  The only information I had was the hotel's name and street address.  We walked several blocks, suitcases in tow, following the city map and street signs...
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Jan.21.2013
"Nous avons" Twenty minutes into the train ride from Orly to our hotel, my daughter silently curled onto her side, resting her head in my lap.  A woman who looked to be around my age, attired in professional clothing, was seated across the aisle.  I handed her the map I'd been...
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Jan.18.2013
"Ticket to Tokyo" Dad loved, or rather lived to travel.  He was also habitually late.  I don't remember being a guest at a wedding where we were seated before the bride had begun her trip down the aisle. On his first trip to Japan, he double-parked the car, left it running ("to let...
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Jan.18.2013
"A little detour in the way-back machine." Making time away from work for a vacation, particularly on short notice, is virtually impossible when you're a litigator with a busy practice.   I'd made it through the terrifying months following my departure from a big firm to establish my own...
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Jan.14.2013
When my daughter was eleven years old, her classmates and their families went skiiing in Switzerland during Spring break. As someone who'd spit the congealed globs of melted wax from the containers of chocolate milk heated on the radiator at Patrick Hamilton Elementary School each morning...
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Jan.13.2013
Whenever it snows, the guy who lives around the corner shovels my drive and front walk.  I don't call him; he just shows up whenever a few inches accumulates.  It's senseless to ask him to check the weather forecast before he arrives.  He's intent on only one thing, doing a good...
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Jan.13.2013
I googled "haiku." My search revealed "How to Write a Haiku Poem" on WikiHow. The following list of "Related WikiHows" appeared at the end.* How to Divide Words Into Syllables How to Write a Concrete Poem How to Write a Love Poem How to Define Love How to Exercise an Open Mind How to do...
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Jan.11.2013
When I was a little girl, no one locked their bicycles.  We rode, either in packs, or alone, to the school playground or a friend's house, where we'd leave them lying in the grass or propped against the side of a building.  On summer days I often rode downtown, ...
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Jan.10.2013
          As we were leaving a restaurant, a middle-aged man at the next table said hello to my friend, who introduced us.   As folks here tend to do, he shook my hand, smiled broadly and launched into a story.   ...
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