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Jun112006

A bad week

Ninety-five degrees, the A/C broke, Mark was gone for four nights on a job, and Sam got a fever. I was homesick in a way I hadn't been since we landed. I cried in the pantry. I'm not proud of it.

Then, at noon on Friday, Chynara and two of her friends turned up at the door with a pot of soup and no warning at all. "In Irad, the sick child gets soup from the neighbors," she said. We sat on the porch and I didn't have to explain a thing.