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This weekend I sat at my dining room table and consumed a pie recipe. It was almost a poem. Especially when I reached this line: Tumble in the cranberries. That is what cranberries do, as anyone who made sauce this weekend knows. They tumble.

It was around the second half of the first verse of “One Day at a Time…Sweet Jesus,” a solo sung with gusto by a woman at my parent’s small rural church, when I heard the first chirps of a renegade songbird joining in.

The other day I found exactly what I was looking for in a used book store. It was The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.

For a simple trip from Toronto to Halifax, it certainly involved a lot of cancelling, delaying, waiting, boarding, fretting and running. It was easier to fly home from Cambodia. But happily, last in is first out, or so I learned about luggage.

I have a favourite editor. Probably all writers do. But this guy is sunshine. Every time I do a piece for him and read over his comments in the margins, I smile. Here are some snippets from his latest edit: He starts with a cheery “Hi Karen!” and then moves on to: “This was a lot of fun! I feel like turning on some music right now.”