![]() The theme song in my head went, “I am awesome, I am so nice!” There wasn’t an exposed piece of skin, but just in case, I washed my arms and legs afterwards. I feared the plants and had covered up, neck to toe, before yanking up the first vine. It turns out he had wiped his forehead with the back of his gardening gloves, and his sweat had spread the stuff down his face.) (Once, he returned from a hot afternoon spraying the weeds looking like he’d been worked over by George Chuvalo - puffy eyes, swollen cheeks, red hives across his forehead. I had cleared a patch of poison ivy at the cottage in loving protection of my children and father, whose face seems to swell just by looking at the stuff. Two lines of bumps appeared on the tender side of my forearms. I want to sharpen pencils and order my jumbled garden life, beginning with the bookshelves. It’s been two decades since September was synonymous with new teachers for me, but I still get the back-to-school jitters. The world doesn’t always work in mysterious ways. When I picked up the phone to call for help, I got no dial tone. It filled with water, but refused to spin. The washing machine inside it was also mysteriously broken. ![]() The laundry room, for instance, was stubbornly dark. I returned to the city after a week in the rocky scrubland of Georgian Bay, to discover many lights in my house no longer worked. I am having a serious end-of-summer breakdown. ![]()
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