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I was beset by boxes, and at a complete loss for what to do next. My mother-in-law had downsized and, by consequence, my husband and I had upsized.
Our inheritance included Mark’s share of a vast childhood archive: baby clothes, elementary school report cards, and toys—even Tip Toe Turtle, still in his original box. This long, lost cousin of Jiminy Cricket was a vestige of a time when toys were still made in Canada, Orangeville to be precise.
I was sympathetic to the plastic reptile having spent 40 years all dressed up with no place to go, but what in the hell was I supposed to do with him now? Take one last spin through town, perhaps: him entertaining passersby with his paddled feet making melodious musical sounds, me doing my best Al Pacino as Scarface imitation, “Say hello to my little friend.”