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When I was a child, my mother and father took Blanche and I to Namibia a number of times. On one occasion, we all went duning on the sands of the Namib. Windswept hair, midriff tops, sand in our eyes and ears. The ecstacy of flying down the exquisite, almost artistically sculpted dunes, eyes shut tight and holding on, was never captured on photographs. A chubby girl, I was.
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