Last Thursday, the 25th, must have had some kind of planetary strangeness going on. It seemed like a day where, if something could go wrong, it did.
Jevon did some damage to his car that was totally flukey; the proofs for my chapbook manuscript ballooned from its modest 28 pages to a sudden 35. I nearly lost the author who was coming to town to present a reading. And she'd come all the way from Denmark. Yikes. And oh yeah, besides Farrah Fawcett dying, there was that whole strange thing with Michael Jackson, wasn't there.
I would have probably forgotten what a screwy day it had been if it hadn't been for the fact that even here in Ontario where we're visiting, I keep hearing about more about things that happened that same day.
Our auntie got stuck in traffic as the freeway was all backed up -- all because (on a dry day, not in rush hour) a car was overturned, resting on its roof in the middle of the road. I haven't been able to track that one down. I think it's probably best left alone.
When we went to visit my brother-in-law, Leo, he pointed out the house across the street. There was a huge tree leaning onto the roof and it was set for demolition (too damaged to fix). He tried pointing out the barn as well, only it wasn't there anymore. You see, there'd been a tornado. Luckily for Leo, it had only touched down across the road, then sucked itself back up into its cloud and moved on.
And like I say, I would have let this go, but when I bought today's paper, the front page had a terrible story about newlyweds killed after they'd just returned from their honeymoon. This occurred on Friday, not Thursday. Still, it could well have been within that very odd 24-hour span.