| A personal story of inexplicable
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| | tempered overnight, by a whiteout
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| unhappiness.
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| | blizzard, which dumped deep snowdrifts on
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| Several years ago my husband and I left
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| | the cheerless city; we set out, once
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| New Zealand, to travel through several
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| | more, for the airport.
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| States of North America and Mexico.
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| | But that sense of loss and discomfort had
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| The flight left in the early evening,
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| | grown much stronger and I struggled to
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| flying straight out from Auckland,
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| | identify its cause. I was becoming
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| leaving behind myriads of twinkling
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| | seriously depressed, even though I was on
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| lights and dark blue velvet seas.
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| | a wonderful holiday. Whatever could be
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| Approximately twelve hours later, our
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| | wrong? I'd slept comfortably; so it
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| aircraft descended at Los Angeles,
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| | couldn't be jetlag. I was luxuriously
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| through a sickly soup of greyish-yellow
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| | accommodated, so it wasn't discomfort
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| fog. It bumped down on the tarmac, to the
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| | either.
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| kind of depressing pollution for which
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| | We moved on, flying from Cleveland to
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| Los Angeles is famous.
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| | Chicago, Illinois, where we stopped
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| Not wishing to venture outside, we
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| | overnight, before travelling up next
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| collected our things and scurried to
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| | afternoon, to Milwaukee by railroad.
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| transfer on to an earlier flight to
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| | During the morning, we visited the
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| Atlanta, Georgia. Once clear of Los
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| | Chicago Art Museum and I was fascinated
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| Angeles, it was a beautiful experience
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| | to spy a family of grey squirrels,
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| flying across the United States, viewing
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| | frolicking among the frosty,
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| from the windows of our plane, the moving
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| | bare-branched azalea bushes in the
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| geography of a mighty country in all its
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| | garden, fronting the Gallery, on Madison
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| beautiful colors.
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| | Avenue.
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| We crossed the mountains, their tops
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| | Next morning, as the train passed through
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| gleaming with the last of the winter's
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| | the Wisconsin countryside, we marvelled
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| snow and flew over the chequered plains
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| | at the magnificent German-inspired
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| beyond. Below us, we saw the mighty
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| | architecture of farm homesteads. The
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| Mississippi River, with its many boats
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| | spring thaw was just beginning and what
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| scurrying up and down that mighty
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| | grass we could see, still had that
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| waterway like ants carrying cargoes and
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| | lifeless, straw-colored look, we'd
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| building their nest. After sitting for a
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| | noticed at all our previous stopovers.
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| while in a holding pattern, over Georgia,
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| | Although a pale sun filtered across the
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| we eventually landed in Atlanta, an
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| | landscape, it was still far too cold for
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| airport about four times the size of
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| | the bare trees to sprout leaves.
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| Sydney airport.
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| | On arrival at Milwaukee, we were greeted
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| Apart from the shopping, our stay in
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| | by the same sepia tinted landscape, as we
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| Atlanta was relatively uneventful - I did
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| | drove to the hotel, and I felt again, the
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| the usual tours and shopped, while my
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| | grip of unfamiliar unease and depression.
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| husband attended a conference. Two days
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| | Determined to get the most out of this
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| later, with heavier bags, we headed north
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| | trip, I tried to ignore these unhappy
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| on a flight to Buffalo - en route to
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| | feelings. To combat them, I set about
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| Niagara Falls, Canada.
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| | being busy, in an unfamiliar city.
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| Circling Buffalo airport five times,
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| | The next day, on our return to the
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| (something that is considered exceptional
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| | Phister hotel from a tour of Milwaukee,
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| over there), during which, there were
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| | the doors of our hotel lift sprang apart
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| several emergencies with defective
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| | and a large group of women, carrying
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| landing gear, the crew eventually put the
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| | prized tiny poinsettia plants, spilled
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| plane down on to the tarmac. As we slewed
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| | out into the hotel foyer.
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| round to a halt on the snow-covered
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| | Memories of my healthy ten-foot high
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| runway, the relieved American travellers,
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| | poinsettia bush, growing at the front
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| more aware of the emergency than we were,
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| | doorway of my home flooded back and I
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| showered the crew with tumultuous
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| | felt homesick for the first time in my
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| applause.
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| | life. Try as I might, I couldn't shake
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| By this time, it was dark and we
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| | off the depression and sense of loss, I
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| shivered, as we emerged from the plane,
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| | felt.
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| to the wintry chill of minus fourteen
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| | Shopping till we dropped, after seeing
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| degrees. Warmed by hot coffee from the
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| | the sights, we finally pushed our
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| airport café, we began the twenty-two
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| | trolleys through the airport, towards our
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| mile drive from Buffalo to Niagara Falls
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| | plane to Mexico City. Once in the air, we
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| in a cab. It was the beginning of March,
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| | enjoyed the flight down the path of the
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| just around the time of the spring thaw,
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| | mighty Mississippi River, which wound its
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| although to us it felt like being in the
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| | way south, to the Gulf of Mexico. For a
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| middle of a hard winter in Queenstown,
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| | while, the deep feelings of unease
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| New Zealand.
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| | subsided, as our minds concentrated on
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| The cab driver, a New York State man -
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| | the view below us.
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| born in the Bronx - and his non-stop
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| | Five hours later, we landed at Mexico's
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| humorous patter, kept us entertained on
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| | airport, soaring down through a blanket
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| the long, cold drive to the Falls.
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| | of thick smog that enshrouded that mighty
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| Fortunately, my husband had the presence
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| | city, home at that time, to eighteen
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| of mind, to tape the conversation, so we
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| | million people.
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| have since enjoyed reliving that ride,
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| | Finally emerging through the gates, we
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| many times over.
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| | were swept into a Combi Van, in the guise
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| On entering Niagara Falls and before
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| | of a taxi, to begin the ride of our
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| being dropped to our hotel, on the
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| | lives. In and out of an unending flood of
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| Canadian side, we called to see the tail
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| | traffic, our driver wove his van, hooting
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| end of the Niagara Falls evening
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| | and screaming indecipherable oaths at
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| illuminations.
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| | other drivers, as he went. Memories of
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| Although slabs of ice, crashing onto the
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| | the song `Tijuana Taxi' were vividly
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| river below, seemed enchanting, the
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| | recalled, as we hurtled forward -
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| colors playing on the cascading water and
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| | accelerator - brake, swerve, accelerator
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| illuminating the fine misty spray, which
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| | - brake, swerve, towards our hotel, a
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| rose several hundred feet into the air
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| | former Mexican palace.
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| above the river, left us breathless. We
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| | As our tortured vehicle squealed round a
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| were entranced to see frozen spray
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| | corner on the Zocalo; the largest - and
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| dropping down on to the trees below, to
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| | busiest - highway in the world; I saw a
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| form perfect icicles. At that moment,
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| | sight that brought tears to my eyes.
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| were in wonderland. But, oh it was so
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| | On a traffic island, in the middle of
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| cold!
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| | this amazingly busy highway, stood a
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| Next morning, we awoke to temperatures of
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| | tree. A tree, so green, it brought a lump
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| minus eight degrees, which quickly
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| | to my throat. At that sight, I cried like
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| plummeted to minus twelve. Weak rays of
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| | a baby. That tree revealed the answer to
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| pale sunshine, valiantly tried to warm
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| | my distress.
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| the frozen landscape, through which we
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| | Green! An absence of green from my life
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| toured the famous sights around the
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| | had deeply disturbed my happy
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| falls.
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| | disposition.
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| Looking out at the frozen spectacle was
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| | I'd travelled this huge distance, to find
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| like stepping back in time. I was
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| | out how important is one of the most
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| reminded of my mother's battered photo
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| | basic influences on my life. Green! It is
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| album with its many sepia-toned
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| | a color deeply embedded in my psyche. The
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| photographs.
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| | surroundings of my lifetime were peppered
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| The trees in North America are deciduous,
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| | with green, as the dominant flora of New
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| losing their leaves in autumn, before the
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| | Zealand is made up of evergreen trees.
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| bitter winter's chill attacks them. The
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| | During my childhood, many of my spare
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| sepia colors I was encountering in that
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| | hours were spent happily climbing the
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| wintry panorama seemed the same as in the
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| | trees surrounding my home, a place of
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| album.
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| | exquisitely green lawns and clipped
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| Two days later, we left again for
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| | hedges. In flashbacks, I remembered my
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| Buffalo, to fly on to Cleveland in Ohio.
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| | adolescence, when I'd tramped through
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| A sharp frost had left an icy terrain in
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| | miles of mountain beech forests, without
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| its wake and, as we drove to Buffalo,
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| | ever realising, what a vital part they
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| through miles of snow-covered landscape,
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| | played. And now, an adult, I'd created
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| I began to feel a decided unease that I
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| | luxuriant gardens, featuring lush green
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| blamed on jetlag. I was depressed;
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| | ferns and evergreen trees.
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| although depression is not something I
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| | Yet, for more than forty years, I'd taken
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| have previously suffered.
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| | those important and fertile surroundings
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| Our stay in Cleveland was unusual; we
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| | for granted - until that moment.
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| arrived for St Patrick's Day and
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| | In that instant, when I saw that tree, I
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| witnessed a huge St Patrick's parade,
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| | knew my life could never be complete
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| where thousands of genuine (and
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| | without the healing and relaxing shades
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| would-be), Irishmen, turned out for the
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| | of green; the color of Mother Nature
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| celebration. It was interesting to see
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| | herself. I'll never forget how important
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| dyed green hair and to drink green beer.
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| | a part the color green plays in my life.
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| Everything that day was Irish!
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| | It is the source of my happiness and
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| A day later, after exploring the tourist
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| | inspiration.
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| haunts and Art Galleries of Cleveland,
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