Tillie din't really care that her mother wasn't like other mothers. Still, sometimes, as she cleaned the faery litterbox under the elder bush in the back garden she would pause, rake in hand, and stare off acroos the crick, wondering what it might be like to have a "normal" mother. Someone who didn't dust the dining room in an evening gown and high heeled shoes. Someone whose slightest movement wasn't accompianied by unseen musicians. Someone who might even consider going on a picnic without bringing the sterling flatware and the Baccarat crystal.