A few years ago, I read a post from an American expat who explained how much she missed pumpkins.
“Pumpkins?” I thought. “Okay… Huh, why?”
A few years ago, I read a post from an American expat who explained how much she missed pumpkins.
“Pumpkins?” I thought. “Okay… Huh, why?”
Ottawa’s 12th homicide of the year occurred on September 20 at 3:20 p.m. on Caldwell Avenue, 800 metres from where we live.
It’s like being 16 again and expecting a text or a phone call from a crush—except I’m 34 and I’m waiting for work assignments.
We were anxiously waiting for the “fridge guys,” aka the repairmen who were about to assess the dead freezer compartment.
The sun was shining, the sky was blue and the squirrels were squirrelling around. The birds may have been singing too but I wouldn’t have heard them because Mark was watching TV.