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"Passing Showers Too is a collection of past favorites and recent columns that often place us right in the middle of life's contradictions. For it is here where we find our challenges. Here where we make our choices. Here where we find out who we really are." from Foreword
"Earlier that evening, I had gone out walking. I was hoping that the call I had been dreading all week would come when I wasn't at home. So I wouldn't have to hear the news.
And when I was out walking, I suddenly realized: Never again would my dad call me up and say, "Hey there, Plum, this is your old Dad." from "The Plum Story"
"I thought about taking my shirt off once I was out of their sight. That's how I always rode my bike on hot summer days before. But suddenly, it didn't feel right. Something about me had changed. From this day forward, I was only a girl." from "The Last Days of Going Topless"
"She was sitting behind me in religion class," he said, his words as soft as smoke. "Her father was the pilot of the plane that crashed into the Tower. They called her into the hallway. Then she screamed. I've never heard anything that sounded like that before." from "The Silence of 9/11"
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January 6, Epiphany.
"What day is it for you, Honey?"
"My first." I answer shyly.
"Oh, that's the one that's always the hardest," says the woman whose name is Joyce. "Today is my fourteenth."
"And look what I have, announces a tiny, short woman who has just walked into the room. "It's my diploma!" She holds it up for all to see.
"This isn't the school I thought I'd be graduating from, but what the heck." She laughs a little.
"Today's my last day, too, adds another woman who looks old and large and strong. "I hope the ribbon on my diploma is blue. That's my favorite color."
I find myself grinning as I watch these two older women pat each other on the back. Then a technician comes out and calls me name It is my turn to leave this waiting room and go in for my first treatment.
When I come back to the waiting room, it is empty. So I change into my clothes. A nurse says goodbye to me as I'm leaving. I tell her I'll see her again tomorrow. I smile at her and hope she notices.
As I walk back into the parking lot, I notice that the gray has lifted somewhat. There are now blue ribbons stretching across a sky that still reminds me of a watercolor painting -- soft, and without any hard edges.
p.7
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