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I'm reading Lisa Moore. I read "Azalea" aloud to A, but she isn't much interested. She catches words. I particularly liked this story.

It is our first Sunday morning alone together at home in . . . over a year. I feel blessed. We sat out on our front porch and watched the neighbourhood wake. She was wrapped in a blanket and cozied into our worn wicker chair. I wore a sweater and sipped my coffee and whipped cream, perched on a rickety plastic IKEA stool. The neighbour with the black sports car walked by with his toy dog and didn't say hi. I thought as he passed that I could have said it myself, but I was too tired, still in pajamas, perhaps too blatantly unkept to say much.

Today, I'm planning on taking A to church. I haven't tried to find a church for a while. After the whole Catholic marriage fiasco, I was turned off church entirely, but then, I'm not from that tradition and I found a church in an adjacent neighbourhood that sounded promising, so, we'll go and we'll see, although I don't hold out much hope for anything feeling right immediately.

Feeling right is such an odd thing. For example, E and I have been together through one of the most painful and devastating years of my life, yet . . . he always feels right to me, even as everything else feels so wrong. I wonder if I will marry him. We went to Chateau Montebello on Friday to check out their gazebo and saw a wedding in progress, and it was understated and elegant, from afar. A ran around the putting green and we sipped drinks from plastic cups and watched the river. He said, "It would be nice for us to stay here a couple extra days. Have someone take the kids."

"Then we'd have to invite someone who could take them."

He mentioned his ex mother and father-in-law, his ex sister-in-law. I considered who I know who could take A. Not my father. My brother? My oldest school friend? Who would I want at a wedding? We watched Rachel Getting Married later that night. I said, "This is exactly what I'd like to avoid."

At Montebello I said, "Well, it's nice to think about, although it may be more far off than we imagine." I can't bear the thought of moving, of leaving here, of starting all over again with all the risks of failure.