After many months of resuscitating an old garden behind our house and up ending old fence posts to start building a playhouse, my husband and his trusty team of archaeologist trainees have uncovered some interesting finds. My daughter reported that "they are from the 1920s, I scanned them into the computer and it told me." Regardless of their origin or heritage, they sure start the kids wondering, how did they get there? who lived here before us? what did our neighbourhood look like back then?
I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.
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