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Saturday
2 October 99
11 11 am edt
I had such a lovely time in New Rochelle, but I am happy to be home.
There is something very soothing about returning to a familiar
place. My grandfather's
Manhattan apatment has become home for me.
I hate the expression "I broke my arm." I didn't break my arm.
Someone broke it for me. I was in Hebrew school, in sixth
grade. The children were playing some game in which you had to
bounce a ball against a wall and then run and touch the wall. I
apparently got between some kid and the wall, and thus I was slammed into
a brick wall, my wrist fracturing in three places.