It’s equal parts sad and funny that I ‘inherited’ far more from my landlord, when I moved into my half-duplex in Gatineau, than I did from my father after his death. My landlord, who had previously used my place as an Air B&B, left me all sorts of useful things, from toilet paper and paper towels to dishes, plastic sandwich bags, and breakfast cereals. My father left me his old Air Force watch, which was barely big enough to go halfway around my wrist and which a jeweler told me would never work again. What’s this about blood being thicker than water?
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