"Euroah?", calls the voice of my father. "Wake up, sleepy head."
I open my eyes to see my old room back on the farm. The warmth of the sun's rays peeps through the curtains on the old paned windows. In the air is the scent of father's coffee. I'm home! My simple room, the quilt that my mother stitched by hand in the months before I was born, my little wardrobe of colorful clothing, everything is right where it should be! This can't be real! How did I get here?
"Father!", I cry out.
"Rise and shine, little lady! We've got work to do!", he calls back.
I throw the covers off and jump out of bed, running for the kitchen where I just know he must be sitting at the table, drinking his coffee before the long day of work ahead. My hand touches the door knob and yanks the door open. Never have
