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| Photo Credit: Joanne Scott (Thanks, Mumsy!) |
I worried. I fretted. In junior high school I spent so much time worrying about the most minute details of events at school and recorded those worries in my diary. That wasn't unusual--not many people dodge the tragedy of junior high school scotch-free. What was unusual was the gift my mother gave me. She presented me with a small yellow box that held six worry dolls. She told me it was Native American magic.
