When there are holidays I recall my childhood. I can see my mother with her red lipstick in the kitchen dancing with the dog as she feed him. It was wet food that came in a large can all condensed together. Once scooped out and into his bowl on the floor, she'd kick out a leg high in the air overhead as an iceskater would gliding. Smiling, she held the poise, can in hand, till the round of applause had subsided.
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