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Twice a week, with my back-pak in place, and trundling my trolley, I pick my way gingerly over to Double Bay for a spot of 'ma-care'. Down past the 'home' where my father awaits that final journey, through the children's play-ground, and out onto Stephen Street. Using a stick to direct my wobbles, I pause, and look up. I think myself in Giverny, once more. The wall is well hidden behind a screen of rampant bamboo, so I make like M. Monet, and frame 'til my heart is content.
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