It's funny, reading this post from 2010, because I was in the middle of solo parenting and NaBloPoMo then as I am now. It's sad, because Grandpa was alive then, and he's not now. I like to think he's drinking scotch and raising hell in some place that looks just like his sprawling, riotously-blooming backyard garden, sitting in a brightly painted Muskoka chair under a giant maple tree.
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I Will Stop Talking About Camping Any Minute Now
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