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  • Last week her Parkinson’s had the upper hand. This week, she’s back. The disease doesn't take a day off; my step-mom, born and raised on the South Shore has New England grit in her DNA. “Well, I can’t sit around all day while this shit piles up,” she rants. The young man with the plow has been swallowed by a squall leaving this stubborn matriarch to her own devices. Just the way she likes. Trading in her cane for the shovel and brushing aside the tremors, she takes off.
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