Almost a week now since I left Vancouver, right after the Performance Works reading, which I enjoyed very much despite a nasty spill at the authors’ table, where a server’s cuff touched a glass of orange juice, emptying it onto Monique’s black wool skirt, and thereabouts.

Of the six of us sitting there, only Annabel had the sense to get to her feet and assist, expertly dabbing at Monique’s skirt, while with the other hand swabbing the floor below.

The following day, after our reading with Michael Crummey at the Ottawa Writer’s Festival, moderator Phil Jenkins asked Annabel about writing and parenting, how she did it. I was tempted to contribute my anecdote.