I spent much of yesterday with young Chuck, my sticky shadow, who preferred to keep me in sight at all times. Every time I sat down, there he was, coiling himself against shoulder or hip, climbing into my lap to lick my face. At night he immediately got into bed with me (which has not generally been his pattern) and curled against my cheek for the next eight hours. That was annoying, but I more or less put up with it because the poor kid is clearly in need of reassurance. Here's hoping he has a more relaxed Friday.

Today I'll get onto my mat and then turn my thoughts to a small editing project before going back to revising the Baron essay. My work life, it seems, is about to undergo yet another shift. I was contacted a few days ago by the editor-in-chief of the press where Baron had worked for years as the primary developmental editor: that is, the person who reads accepted manuscripts and shares advice about organization, infelicities, poem choice, and so on--not copyediting (which focuses on line issues such as spelling and punctuation) but holistic commentary on the overall presentation of the collection. The editor-in-chief wondered if I might want to take on this job. I thought about it and decided yes. The work won't accrue into a lot of hours, but it is paid and will allow me to step away, at least occasionally, from the copyediting grind. So I'm pleased . . . to be honest, I'm really kind of chuffed to have been invited to take over for the man. Somehow his generosity continues, even after death.

I should get off this couch and start dragging the recycling and compost outside for pickup, but a fire is crackling in the stove and I would much rather stay here and watch it. Though I dearly love the cottage, I'm glad to be back in my tidy shabby familiar nest. I'll roast mackerel for dinner; the World Series begins tonight. Go, Canadians! Have a sweet day, friends.