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Artist: alexgrec (Bigstock.com)

On my kitchen windowsill lies a dust covered wishbone. It’s been there since Thanksgiving evening, when my mother handed it to my youngest son, generation to generation, and reminded him to let it dry out before breaking it, before making a wish. “But what sort of thing should I wish for,” his eleven year old smile queries my direction. And I tell him, “when the wishbone is ready, dry and brittle, nearly about to break, I bet you’ll know.”