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As my own garden bakes and broils and armies of something or other invade in the night to devour any shred of green, I feel less marvel at the tiny universe than frustration and, finally, resignation. Next year it will have to be completely reimagined--cacti perhaps.

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Janice Macdonald
Janice Macdonald

Written by Janice Macdonald

At 68, I started a new chapter in my life: I moved to France. Alone. It turned out to be quite the page-turner. Still is — even when age insists on a part.

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