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28 Downstairs  Kitchen Vision I was old enough to help carry in groceries, lift them from the chuffy paper sacks, and put them away. Cold things first: milk on the top shelf, meat on the bottom, celery and carrots in the crisper. Mounding fruit in a bowl on the counter, Mother said, “You want to see something no one has ever seen before?” “No one?” I echoed. “No one,” she said again. “Sure,” I replied. “Where do we go?” Mother laughed, reached for the cutting board, palmed an orange, opened the drawer, and drew out a knife. She halved the fruit. Citrus incense rose in the coffee-rich kitchen. “Right here,” she said, gesturing with the blade at the orange’s cathedral window. ...

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