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February 6, 2008
The jingle of the windchimes on my patio has increased to a jangle, and I lift up a slat of the blinds with my left index finger to spy on them. Why all the music? The wind has not picked up.

I expect to see everything is as it should be. Round metal table with four little chairs, prettified with brightly striped orange and red cushions, flower pots awaiting the re-emergence of hostice, the landlordís astroturf struggling to impersonate grass.

Instead, I am met with the profile of a tiny Japanese woman, tending to a bonsai, setting up for tea!