A mystery zip-loc bag of valentines in the hallway this morning and Oona convinced that she had to take them to school, that it was valentines day and she'd give cards to everyone. Try dissuading a three year-old from that. Add the very cruel wind and I was convinced to carry her the second half of the way, at which point she just chatted right up.
People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m
Oona is, of course, correct. She is just early. We prepared all the valentine's last night.
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