Sainte-Adèle (August,

After the long weekend, we collected the cat, and made for the Laurentians, to Christine's mother's cottage tucked away in Sainte-Adèle, Quebec. We'd only been talking about coming up here for months, given Christine's year of maternity leave, but we only managed to get our first trip up now (we are hoping to get at least two more in before winter).

A few days of doing not very much at all (which is so unlike me, I suppose). Rose was very uncertain of the lawn, which I'm sure will be quite different next summer, when she's tearing around and we hope the outdoors just might wear her out.

For the first day or so, it was entirely rain. I worked the bbq in-between flays of torrential downpours. Only the last of our full-days had any kind of sun to speak of.

While there, I worked on some edits on a poem-in-progress, a kind of abecedarian (thanks to generous feedback from Julie Carr), worked on some edits/comments for a couple of folk via my ongoing poetry editing services, and poked at a couple of other projects, including the Phil Hall selected I've been working on, and forthcoming above/ground press items by myself, Megan Kaminski and Andy Weaver, most of which should even be available for the big twenty-first anniversary event on the fourteenth.

I have yet to get back into fiction, after receiving some feedback from Sara Cassidy (hoping once we are home).

I've been attempting to prod Christine into return to our non-baby collaborative project [see further information on such here, and also here], but that hasn't quite happened. Yet.

And of course, we are still pushing our big Chaudiere Books indiegogo project; see how far we've come!

Since we haven't a crib, we even experimented with baby Rose sleeping upon the floor for her naps, which even occasionally worked. (Who knew?) Although she was slightly more cranky than usual, given we're off her usual routine and what-not (despite attempting not to be).

And we even experimented with allowing Rose to feed herself raspberries, going through nearly an entire pint. Of course, her hands and her clothes entirely covered with raspberry juice. Christine attempted blueberries a couple of weeks ago, and she loved them (but they seemed far less messy).

Quite the difference from last year. Or even the year before (twice).

And all the books I brought to read, almost none of which I've managed to even open...