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December 18, 2002
Everyday I drive through the little town where I was born, right past the hospital I know so well. Christmas holly and strands of white lights encircle the old pillars that lend their stately grace to the grand entry. Around the corner, Grandma’s old place has a new coat of paint, but my memories circle round the yard, radiating outwards towards the familiar trees, houses, streets and alleys, till they reach downtown. I park, exit my car, and breathe them in deeply; noticing the changes, yet many things still the same. Gargoyles staring down from the county building, watching me.