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When I was a small girl, it wasn’t a fashionable place to go. Maybe that’s why we went. One muggy summer morning, my mom packed up the car and drove us to Rockport with its beige colored sand, wobbly fishing piers, and numerous seafood diners. 

On the beach I collected buckets of sand to build a castle. Once it was finished, I watched in awe as the waves came in and swept it away. But I didn’t care—it wasn’t the castle that had made me happy. It was making it that had given me a thrill.

Today I feel like making castles.

-30-

(from My Imaginary Diary)

About Art for Housewives

The Storyteller....
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