winterizing tender_square she asked if i would keep her company outside while she worked. like i was really going to just sit there in a pool chaise, talking, as she worked her arthritic hands to pain. i am my mother’s daughter: i do. the pool has not yet been closed, though she called about it last month. she is one of thirty other clients, waiting. and continued upkeep while the shagbark hickory shed is a losing battle with the skimmer. “it’s been so cold the past week and so windy, i could barely make it outside to empty the bucket,” she said, rolling her sleeve up to her elbow to reach into the frigid water and collect. “if i don’t clean it several times a day, it can damage the pump, and the belt is already going. it’s always something.” the closure has been delayed because of a bean-shaped safety cover. ever winter, the pool is drained and covered with what looks like an enormous black trash bag. the rain and snow mix into the bottom with dirt and dead leaves to create a mucky soup the ducks float_on. mom wants to be able to keep dad at home for as long as she can, and that means identifying hazards in advance, hence the hardtop cover to prevent an accidental fall. mom untangled a long blue hose and fiddled with switches to set to backwash, connecting one end to the filter and another to a planchette-shaped vacuum, which was attached to a long, extendable pole. along the aquamarine liner are dandelion streaks. “you see that?” she called. “it’s yellow algae. the pool has yellow algae. the company told me that couldn’t be happening because the water is so cold. but it is. and now i’m going to have to deal with that come spring, it’s going to be in the system and everything.” she meticulously scoured the bottom of the pool, collecting leaves too limp to surface. i shimmed around the edges, bending with a net to gather up what glittered above, overturning the sopping mess into a trash bin. ruby barked from the patio, ignoring her rawhide bone, worried she was missing out on fun with us. once the pool was (somewhat) clean, we turned our attention to the gazebo. with a heavy-duty brush, i scoured all sides of acrylic cushions before bringing them indoors, to free the fibers of dust and hidden bugs. dad helped me carry the large wicker pieces around the pool and into the patio; mom would later attack each crevasse with the air compressor, loosening silken spider sacs, before setting it in the house. last year, the furniture lived under the gazebo, the double sets of curtains zipped, the roof and fabric walls covered with a bungee-corded tarp. the wind whipped it apart halfway through the winter, damaging the nylon skin. this year, mom was taking a different tack. the curtains would be brushed; unclipped from their weak plastic rods, and folded. and so we worked methodically, attacking each panel with bristles, sending spiders and stink bugs sailing into the atmosphere; me, pulling corners taut while she worked from top to bottom. me, unclipping rings while she wedged a screwdriver into cable knots to release them from wooden posts. the two of us, folding fabric with the precision and solemnity of flags. “how would you have done this alone?” i asked her. “i would’ve figured it out,” she said. “i thought i had more time,” she went on. october’s plunging chill took us all by surprise; how quickly the forecast can change, our expectations suddenly shifting. “your father is physically capable, but he can’t follow directions anymore.” 221022 ... epitome of incomprehensibility A not-nextdoor neighbour has put dark green mini tents on all the shrubs lining their walkway. It looks as if an orderly line of autumnal elves are camping there. 221023 what's it to you? who go blather from