We’ve clocked a couple of thousand kilometers since my last post. I’m just starting to come around from some bone deep fatigue brought on by 2 all nighters in a span of 4 days. I did say no more all night bus rides after the TO trip but maybe I should have resolved not to do any more all nighters at all except in the direst of circumstances. Both of the nuits blanches had us rolling, rolling, rolling along the well maintained 20. The first was a return trip from Sorel to Québec City last Sunday for the Paul McCartney concert on the Plains of Abraham. The second was the car bursting at the seams à la Beverly Hillbillies ride back home that saw us pulling into our Halifax driveway at 5h45 Thursday.

The McCartney concert - sans enfants - was spectacular, stupendipity, psychedelic tunes and lasting love songs, fab four divided by four hommage to The Beatles and Wings with pyrotechnics and 2 1/2 hours of straight thru music. There was only the merest of breaks for a little yakkity-yak from Sir Paul who let fly with a few French phrases such as, “je parle un petit peu” and “bonsoir tout la gang“.

The set list was hit after hit after hit from a catalogue that’s familiar to hundreds of millions around the world. On that Sunday, 260,000 fans bathed and basked in wave after wave of high energy pop classics that are as fresh and energizing today as when they were first recorded. We had made a peaceful invasion of the Plains to see a modern music legend and were not disappointed. The emotions were raw and palpable - laughter, tears, beatific smiles, goosebumps, spine tickling chills, playfulness and the freefall abandon of lovin’ full speed, no holds barred rock ‘n roll.

The grand old lady was treated to a rollicking birthday bash that will be remembered for years to come. Québec City and 400th anniversary organizers had everything under control - excellent bus service to and from the downtown core, ample security, washroom facilities and first aid on site and overall a welcoming and festive atmosphere. Getting out of the city by car at 00h30 posed no difficulties at all, no traffic snarls, no belligerence, no inebriation to the point of incapacity just love, love, love.

Mélanie and I noticed 2 clouds at a relatively low altitude just south and east of the light and sound pavilion. Side by side and motionless like painted puffs of white on darkening sky they were suspended in the still air for the entire show. After a while we thought of them as part of the crowd. The next day when we mentioned our 2 cloud guys to Mélanie’s mom Nicole, she immediately said, “it must have been John and George”. Hopefully they liked Paul’s tributes Something and Give Peace a Chance.

Selecting favourite moments of days, visits, events is a recurring theme for Mélanie. It makes her smile at the moment while visiting it again. For her this is a team sport because she wants to know what others’ favourites are too. She liked best watching her dad Raymond and husband during Give Peace a Chance. Husband - aka moi - was yelling out the lyrics arms swaying in the air and fingers veed for peace. Dad was quietly moving to the music, tears slowly winding their way down his cheeks.

With best moments, chords, lyrics, and songs swirling around our heads Raymond and I hit the Tim’s on the south side of the Pierre Laporte bridge. It was more necessity than desire. The caffeine bean was de rigueur to keep us eyes wide open as we zoom-zoomed back to Sorel and a couple of hours semi-deep, silly sleep before the kids would be starting their daily show of rock, roll and myriad other tricks. I hope the young women on the Tim shift that night tipped out well - they would have truly earned their money.

Our last few days in Sorel were spent in the pursuit of fun. When the sun was shining there was always a Noah park outing with Grand-papa Raymond solo, or me in tow. Parc Bibeau was one of our regular hang outs, just a short bike ride away with a pull behind kids’ passenger buggy. Parc Bibeau had the all time favourite swings and the new time climbing capades on the iron caterpillar forever earthbound and never to presto colourize into a resplendent butterfly. In Sainte Anne de Sorel we turned up to help break in the brand new playground on a sun soaked sticky wet day. I wasn’t able though to entice Noah-David under the water jets and into the wading pool.

Brother-in-law David, Martine and their kids Maxim 2 1/2 and newborn Catherine came down from Gatineau to get in a quick visit before our departure. We got confirmation on Tuesday morning that we’d be hitting the road Wednesday to look after some business back in Halifax that couldn’t wait.

Maxim and Noah hit it off as usual dancing and prancing about lost in foolery, giggles and overheated imaginations. Noah had been getting some solid playtime practice with toddlers from tante Stéhanie’s circle of friends. Baby Catherine had her first 5-hour straight through sleep a gift for Mom and Dad so early on. We all got a little squeeze at baby inhaling that new smell - the eau de bébé, disarming and heartwarming at the same time. We likely won’t see each other again until Christmas and the 2 older cousins will just pick up where they left off this time with hide and seek, caring for babies and spin, spin, spinning to music.

Our last night Great Granma, tante Danielle and tante Suzette, Richard, Lianne and others came to say goodbye to Mèlanie and get another installment of joy looking at and listening to the kids. It also happened to be my birthday, what serendipity - two lovely cakes to make the round of guests. I couldn’t make up my mind which was the most delicious the mango mousse, or the strawberry shortcake. What’s best is that everyone was able to try both, a little sugar sweet tooth decadence.

More on the last night in Sorel, the trip back and our Halifax lollygagging and skylarking in the next post.

It was the better part of half a day on the road to get back to Sorel through eastern Ontario thunderstorms and rural Québec bus routes. The pace in Sorel is much less hurried and harried. Thursday morning’s waking was like sweet nectar and I savoured every drop - 2 little babies in our bed rolling, hugging, giggling and laughing. Nothing beats an early morning welcome home.

There were a few moments in Toronto though when I was a little fearful as to whether I would be leaving in one piece. Following our Hellboy II movie outing Kyla and I hopped into her trusty vehicle for the ride back home. This entailed feats of derring-do on the 401 and the 400. I was doing a lousy job of hiding my consternation, read ‘fear’, brought about by finding myself suddenly without warning in the middle of an Indy 500 race weaving in and out of traffic with the barest of over the shoulder glances when lane changing to apparently reduce our chances of getting creamed from behind. It was either the palloresque tinge of my skin, the white-knuckling I was giving to the strap above the passenger door, or my uncharacteristic silence that prompted Makyla to smilingly inquire, “are you used to another driving style, Dad?”

No fathers were harmed in the cross town freeway driving with Makyla but an accident did materialize right before my eyes. On Queen West just in front of The Horseshoe Tavern’s sidewalk patio a black car makes contact with a red jeep - front end to rear end. It is more than nudge, less than a smash - enough to cause a few thousand dollars damage to the car’s hood and slow the traffic to instant replay speed.

A block down the street a tuneless trio is hunkered down on the sidewalk one of them strumming half-hearted chords. The lyrics are indistinct and the song unrecognizable. There’s always the possibility these are original compositions. They’re unkempt, look unwashed and are bordering on just plain dirty. They seem to be relishing their roles in this real life theatre piece. The cardboard sign they display to passersby unapologetically proclaims - “Why lie? Change for pot.”

A short distance away, still on Queen West, a mural of blossoming hands challenges us to get engaged. Goethe is quoted as encouragement, inspiration. “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genious, power, magic in it.”

Between Spadina and Bathurst I found the cutest little tops for Nellie-Rose. They are hand-made and personally designed by the owner of the store. On sale for just $7 each, they were a real bargain for simple beauty. And so it goes, this one street continues endlessly with its tens of thousands of daily stories of commerce, love, inebriation and dreams, of fashion, cuisine, art and the club scene.

Back at Jane and Finch, Kyla and room mates were trying to find the time between work and busy social schedules to brighten up the new apartment. They had already started repainting and Kyla had hoped that I would be able to help her with a couple of small projects - putting up curtains and hanging pictures. I am more than inept at this kind of activity and as it turned out, we didn’t have enough time together in their place to attempt these home improvements. Just as well s I don’t have any confidence that she would have been pleased with the outcome.

There was a lot of take out and restauranting during the TO trip. My greatest hope was for a potato roti purchased at the Jane-Finch Mall. It was a culinary letdown though and didn’t come close to Pearl’s legendary rotis that could be enjoyed in the comfort of her College St. West restaurant 30 years ago. I did manage to get some lovely Caribbean food fixes - pone, currant slice, guava nectar and a meat patty. Had there been more time I would have been more seriously on the trail for the perfect potato, channa and chicken rotis.

My last night in the city we discovered a Vietnamese restaurant at the Jane - Finch crossroads. We ordered 4 dishes for under $20 and ate in. The chicken, beef and rice dishes were tasty and generous enough to require the doggy bag treatment. Kyla and I had a good mix of serious and light-hearted conversation with a focus on family - who was so and so, where were they now, what happened between her Mom and I? We also had some chuckles at the different approach to table service and in particular the iceberg bursting out of the glass of iced water I had asked for. Likely one of those you had to be there moments to get the full benefit of the belly laughs, or even just to get it…..

Just prior to finding the restaurant, Makyla did suggest that Bob Marley tshirts might not be the best choice for my continued well-being in the neighbourhood. She was just giving me the heads up, not making any value judgement herself. This is the cultural appropriation rub and although I don’t subscribe to it I did recognize the value of of Kyla’s comments when i saw a 30-something guy glowering in my direction and it wasn’t ‘one love’ in his eyes

Several neigbourhoods away at the Finch subway station there was a lot of love going around. I don’t know why anyone grabbing the southbound Yonge train would choose anything other than Tim’s middle service window. The smile and poise attract like a magnet. All those transit riders looking to get beaned up on double doubles and mokas can get an additional radiant greeting blast thrown in for free simply by choosing this server. I waited to be served one day and watched in amazement another. The line flow does not stop, always 6 or 7 deep and people impatient to get on their trains. I’m guessing our heroine is in her late 50s and her accent suggests a eastern european birthplace. She has time for everyone, has regulars and even asks about the kids - all accomplished in a seemingly effortless flow of efficiency and sincerity. The morning I made it to the window after a 10 minute shuffle to the front and a queue steadily forming behind me, I thanked her for taking my order and said that she was the best Tim’s server I ever met. Her response, without missing a beat, her smile now at full force high beams, “well, you’re the best customer”.

Breakfast with Rod was my last act in the city. I got to the bus with 10 minutes to spare. We ate in High Park’s Grenadier Restaurant - a decent all day breakfast and reasonably priced. We met just about 30 years ago and hadn’t seen each other in 6 years. The couple of hours we spent together sped by. He’s taken up golf so I’m hoping he’ll come east to try our courses. We’re both a little greyer than our last encounter and on parting agreed that on the whole we appeared to be aging gracefully.

Extreme sports driving with Kyla is now a wrap. I’m back to calmer pursuits in Sorel and environs. While I was gone, Noah-David mastered pedalling the tricycle and selected a new favourite tune which he has dubbed musique des étoiles. The song is ‘More than a Feeling’ by Boston. It’s currently on endless repeat on the car stereo the lyrics soon to be seared into my memory. It’s one of the tunes we heard Sylvain Cosette play at his outdoor, night time concert a couple of weeks back, hence music of the stars….

Nellie for her part continues to be the belle of the ball. In just 4 days she seems to have got bigger. One thing for sure she has become much more adept at her raspberries and they are de toute beauté. She generally lets the spray fly to accent her happiness with a given situation. Raspberries are now a showeringly Nellie phenomenon.

Note to self - no more overnight bus rides, too old…………..

makyla she was born on a saturday
a saturday, a saturday
when she came out
she gave a little shout
on a saturday, a saturday

Today’s Wednesday and that Saturday was nearly 26 years ago. I remember leaving the Wellesley Hospital in the early morning November air. I had never seen the sky so blue. That blue, blue was washing my eyes and opening them to see a bigger world, a bit of a frightening world with this sweet little baby cradled in our arms and us responsible for her growing and learning and loving.

I fairly floated down Dundas St. West that morning feeling both awesome and awed. When we got together this past Sunday afternoon I told Kyla some parent and daughter and dad stories. She likes to hear how things were before that time she could remember, or have the stories spark her own memories. She particularly liked the story of her birth party.

It was held in the Snowflake Parent-Child Co-operative Day Care just a sneeze away from Queen and Bathurst. The party was a real rainbow gathering - aboriginal friends, rastafari, christian social justice folks, friends old and new. The grandparents came from Barbados and Nova Scotia - first grandchild on both sides. We had a wonderful coloured chalk fresco on a blackboard welcoming our girl to the world. Sadly I can’t find any photos of this huge, spontaneous card.

I’m still in awe and mighty proud of my oldest daughter. At 25, she’s as old as I was when she was born. Toronto is the place she loves, knows and has lived for most of her life. Barbados though has been pulling on her heart strings of late - all of her Mom’s family is from there. When she was just 2 weeks old we all moved down there and she stayed until she was 4 years old. I remember her being put into a ’skycot’ that fastened into the bulkhead in the front row of seats that starts off sections in the plane. I’ve never seen a skycot since.

She was down in Barbados with a group of friends just a couple of months ago. I remember her telling me on her return, “Dad, whenever I’m there it just feels so right”. Maybe there’s more Barbados vibes and liming around the corner for Kyla. Two of the gals on the Barbados trip - Janina and Camilla - are her new room mates in a townhouse in the Jane - Finch neighbourhood. They’re still in the process of moving in and making it home.

They’ve taken the dad in for a couple of days to share their space. They’re all gainfully employed but as Kyla is the only one who works days, I haven’t got to see much of the others. We did all tune in on Sunday night for the spectacular, direct from Vietnam Miss Universe. There are a lot of different opinions on the go about these kind of events. I was watching tongue in cheek. But if you do get pulled in it’s just natural that you root for the home country gal. Neither Barbados or Canada were in the running but Camilla’s Czech Republic was. It was not to be a night for the Czechs and in truth I can’t recall what lithesome beauty took the corporeal crown. I did notice when it got down to the final 10 that height appeared to be a physical attribute that influenced the judges with 3 of the contestants clocking in at 5′ 11″.

I’ve indulged in some nostalgesque memorylaning since I’ve been in the old hogtown. Let’s be honest it’s been more like being a gourmand, wolfing down all I could and then unsated, looking for more. As wonderful and worldified as this bizz buzzed metropolis is I know that the Toronto is truly out of this boy even though it’s been deeply embedded on a couple of occasions - as a kid and young adult. It’s a 365 theatre in the round on every corner, storefront, piazza, patio café, concrete park, green urban jungle. high rise project, residentialized gated community, ttcway - there is always something on the go,

I’ve hit all the cardinal points and crossed the city east-west and north-south on a few occasions. Kyla and I took in Hellboy II at Yorkdale- a classic comic book adventure with good vanquishing evil and lots of action between opening and closing credits. City TV just reported on a Caribana teaser that took place at Nathan Philips Square at noon yesterday. Had I only known I would have taken in some soca and kaiso as I was only a few blocks down the street on Queen West.

The room mates are off the World Electronic Music Festival later this week. It’s the end of the line for this once annual festival that celebrates the best in electro. This year it’s up in the Algonquin Park area with artists coming in from the US, UK and Toronto. There will be a lot of pulsating beats and dance, dance, dancing.

Kyla and I didn’t have a lot of time on this visit but we did have fun. I accompanied her out her door and into the courtyard on her way to work this morning. She’s off to a professional development day to keep up to date on the latest in the veterinarian assistant world. She looked great on her way to work and after a quick hug, we let go and said goodbye.

Off now to see an old friend for breakfast in High Park and then to catch the bus for Montreal. It will be great to see Noah, Nellie and Mélanie and bring them some little prezzies…….

24 hours and 800 kilometres can make for very stark changes of scenery. A trademark Toronto streetcar just chugged up to its John and King St. stop rescuing early morning travellers from a steady rain. Rewind to yesterday morning deep in Québec’s Eastern Townships, en famille, en campagne with the Dicaires at Lac Magnétic. There we were in camp and cottage country a 3 hour plus drive east of Montréal and just 20 minutes from the Maine border. Hot dogs, kicky-ball, swimming with the kids and a rescue operation for some stranded minnows. We didn’t save them all but a few of them will stick around a little longer in the food chain.

We had a rocket ride back to Montréal in just over 2 1/2 hours with les oncles, Réal and Rod. I got dropped at Berri and bought a bus ticket for the all night run to TO. Walking to my regular coffee spot at Bleury and Ste. Catherine I stumbled across the Twins’ Parade on Maissonneuve, an annual happening at the Just for Laughs Festival. When I made it down to Ste. Catherine the entire street was blocked off for pedestrian traffic only - undoubtedly the longest sidewalk sale in the city. Il y avait du monde….

I was to meet up with Réal and Rod a bit later for a meal at an Indian resto. Trying to find a functioning public payphone on Ste. Catherine is like searching for free wireless outside of major urban centres, not impossible but a hard act. We finally did connect via Skype and had a delicious meal, a couple of on tap Indian beers and good conversation.

Les oncles dropped me at CC Café - surprise, it was already closed at 21h15. It became another episode of boy with a backpack looking for wireless. Back to Just for Laughs and crazy, huge crowds pushing up St. Denis with divertissements all along the way - giraffes, walking larger-than-life-size puppets, aliens, drunk waiters, dance shows and up on the main stage under at the end of the trail of baby blue lights, one of my favourite Québecois rockers - Stefie Shock. I listened to the show from just over a block away at my choice Québecois coffee chain - Presse Café.

There was still another hour before I could make tracks to the bus station. I could have snoozed right then as our little Nellie-Rose got up a few times during her inaugural night of camping. Lac Mégantic - despite the long drive - was a simple pleasures equals great times kind of equation. It was a Dicaireville tent city with no amenities but excellent company, campfires, marshmallows, beverages and the smallest of the small Nellie-Rose getting passed from arm to arm until the whole family had a snuggle and a squeeze. And then there were the lady of the lake water lilies thrusting their yellow buds to the sunwashed sky. All the kids picked some and made gifts to the ones they love. Sweet, too sweet.

This is an annual pilgrimage organized by Réjean who bought the camp a few years back. I’m glad we had a chance to participate and that Noah-David saw the extended family at work. My family is scattered across the US, Canada and Scotland so it’s just not the same.

Before I turned to Berri busland, I flipped over to Ontario Street to L’Alizé to see if per chance Moussa my long time pal and co-owner of the club was on the premises. I wasn’t sure if he was in the city or in Sénégal but happy happenstance there he was outside the doors on the sidewalk. A nice low key reunion and time to catch up over 1 beer before the 401 nightride. It was a long ride with not much sleep. I’m just about tanking on empty

It’s still raining outside this downtown Tdot Second Cup. Right across the street there’s a big crane juste comme mon petit gars il adore. Makes me think of a few days ago in Québec City when we had a great view of a big construction site with all of his favourite heavy machinery at work - heaven for a nearly 3-year-old.

Mé, Noah-David and Nellie-Rose are back in Sorel. I’m here for a couple of days to see my oldest daughter Makyla. It’s been a year since our last visit when she came to Halifax for my 50th so it’ll be great to see her.

The subway is calling, a hug for my daughter is just a few miles away and a short rest is in order. Ramping off the Don Valley Parkway onto Richmond St. East this morning, a sign outside the Riverside Church exhorted all those who glanced in that direction to, “Prepare to Meet Thy God”. On this Sunday, I’ll opt for - prepare to meet thy pillow.

The last 3 evening’s have had us bedding down in a different spot each night - the Hotel Classic in Québec City, a friend’s home in Val Bel Air and back to Sorel last night. It’s a lot of travel and not totally conducive to the kids, or ourselves, keeping regular hours. It calls for flexibility and at times huge heaping helpings of patience particularly when papa, or maman, and the kids are getting strung out at the same time.

We didn’t go to The Wailers show because of rain threatening from nasty darkening thunder clouds drifting in over the river on Monday evening. It was my biggest disappointment of the trip to date - I was really looking forward to hearing those Bob Marley tunes with our little guy. Ah well, there will be more shows………

We compressed those Québec City days and expanded our fun - time with family, excellent entertainment, playgrounds, swimming, visiting Mélanie’s old friends and even a quiet walk in dripping humidity at Parc de la plage de Jacques Cartier at Cap-Rouge just west of the bridges that span the St. Lawrence. No trip would be complete without a saunter through le Vieux - it’s not hard to understand why the city has a UNESCO heritage designation.

Tomorrow is our first camping trip of the season and it promises to be a great day. The Dicaire family is getting together at Réjean’s Lac Mégantic camp. There will be 15 or 20 people on hand for a BBQ, campfire, beverages and some serious baby squeezing as all of Nicole’s family will want to get a little hug time with Nellie-Rose and a little giggle time with Noah-David.

Nicole and Raymond, Mélanie’s parents, have been getting Noah pumped for the camping trip all day. There have been a couple of runs to the grocery store, food preparation and a review of some of the necessary camping supplies - bed rolls, blankets, towels and other sundry. This has been bubbling away at the back of Noah’s mind has since he was first made aware of the trip. Earlier in the week when told that we’d be camping out at a friend’s place, his first question on entering the apartment was, “where’s the tent?” He’s primed.

Besides the woods, lakes and the small town, Lac Mégantic reaches for the heavens with an observatory that’s open to the public. As we’re staying only the one evening a field trip to the stars may not really the most social option we could choose - unless we can get a group of us to visit..

The weather folk are predicting sun over the next couple of days - the corn will be stretching, the hummingbirds pollinating and we’ll be swimming, floating and boating. For us it will be a one day nature fix as Mélanie and the kids head back to Sorel and I make my way to Toronto to visit my oldest daughter Makyla for 4 days. It’s been just about a year since we’ve seen each other. It will do my heart well for us to spend some time together.

You can’t escape the speakers in Starbucks but the mokka is good and a couple of nights ago Presse Café was not open. The Ste. Foy franchise of this Québecois chain is conveniently located just a few coffee beans away from our hotel but that evening wasn’t keeping its posted hours. It was a lockdown blackout at 21h45 the javaflow cut off for the day even though 23h00 was advertised as closing time. Maybe this was to give staff a chance to take in the celebrations around the 400th. That’s what brings our happy gang to Québec City. No such compassion, or empathy at Starbucks apparently. The idea that I might get out and write something with the kids napped down in the hotel room eventually pushed me across the street to where the wireless costs money and the drinks are more expensive.

I only stayed long enough to think back on the Rencontres show outside the Assemblée Nationale on that first day we joined in the festivities. Quel spectacle - M. Champlain in period costume narrated the production from start to finish. With the worldliness of a well travelled 17th century explorer-cartographer he introduced musicians, dancers, artists and bridged it all with brief historical vignettes, snapshots of the city through its 400 years from the early days of bare survival to the riotous 30s of the last century.

Where there was a clear view of the stage or one of the jumbotron screens there were also massive gatherings of people, standing, sitting, kneeling, swaying, sweating in the sun’s shimmering heat. There wasn’t a postage stamp of grass, sidewalk or road to stand, sit or walk on. The ramparts of Vieux Québec were awash with music lovers seeking the best vantage point of the main stage.

Tens of thousands saw, felt and heard a story of conquest, perseverance and cultural rayonnement from the likes of Robert Charlebois, Gilles Vigneault, Ariane Moffat, Florent Vollant, Diane Dufresne and others. Marie-Jo Thério sang a haunting and powerful rendition of Évangéline - dispossession, deportation, dispersal - enfin, le grand dérangement.

Getting out through the crowds, well before the end of the show, was quite simply hell. Both Mélanie and I were surprised at the rudeness and lack of consideration. This was an event in the middle of the day open to everyone, including families. We thought that people would have been more helpful in clearing a small, temporary path for our stroller to get the kids out. Instead we were greeted with stony stares and annoyance, a “how dare they interrupt my enjoyment of this show” attitude. The mighty Mélanie did a masterful job of commandeering the intense push that got the stroller out and away from the boorish hordes. The kids were oblivious to the bad vibes but it had both of us hopped up. Fortunately we haven’t had to repeat our big push campaign and after venting our spleen we’re ready to leave the nasty experience behind us like a unpleasant smell.

We’ve been asking a lot of the 2 little ones over the last few days . It’s been a series of late nights usually accompanied by music - Sylvain Cossette’s 70s tribute show in Sorel on Friday, arrival in Québec Saturday, Lynda Lemay and Charles Aznavour on the Plains of Abraham Sunday and tonight The Wailers at Place d’Youville. Tomorrow we’ll be BBQing with friends and hitting the sack early for the return trip to Sorel the following day and the tail end of le Festival de la Gibelotte. We always make sure to plan some family-kid oriented fun during the day - parks, river walks, swimming and the occasional dreaded television viewing. Despite the nutty schedules for Noah and Nellie they’ve been enjoying themselves at the evening venues, grooving to the music and contributing to the general merriment in their own rights.

Tonight Noah-David is psyched for Bob Marley tunes as am I. He said to me a couple of times during the day that it would be just like ma maison à moi, just like at home. There will be dancing and singing tonight for sure - zion train will be coming our way.

An interesting television series on the 400th was broadcast on Radio-Canada over the winter and into the summer. Excerpts are available on line.

Early this morning our numbers weren’t as strong as the 400 years racked up for today’s anniversary celebrations in Québec City. We couldn’t touch that. Noah-David and I were impressed by our own numbers though - 4 garbage trucks, 2 return trips across the vieux pont de Sorel, 2 buses, 1 white school bus, 1 construction crane, 1 gang of cows and 1 gang of seagulls. Quite an observation record from 6 to 8 in the morning all thanks to an alert little boy who loves to see, name and count his world.

He’s been doing up to 10 solo, out loud and confidently for months. The tenner count is handy for hide and seek with grandmaman, grandpapa and tante TiTi and great to burst into when he wants to get a handle on quantifying his cars - possibly the only item he can count 10 of other than fingers and toes. He’s also pretty accurate with the handful of 1 through 5 finger action - though there is 1 finger that he has a hard time springing up without its buddy - in case you’re wondering it’s not the middle one.

One of our recurring daybreak traditions is counting ourselves downstairs in unison every morning from bedrooms to living room and office. We go down each wooden step in an unhurried manner giving us lots of time to pronounce and enunciate each number 1 through 16. Almost always we count in French but occasionally I’ll slip into English and Noah keeps up pretty well with a cute accented inflection and intonation.

For the little ones - looking out to and up at the world - it’s the daily activities, the reading, the listening to music, the singing of songs and the trying to understand the world around them that provide counting’s first magic taste for order, sequence and chaos.

I’m counting down now to a couple of free shows at the Festival International de Jazz de Montréal on a solo mission to the city. Mélanie and the kids just dropped me off at the métro a couple of hours ago. Moments ago I heard a baby our Nellie-Rose’s age talking away as happily and boisterously as her. For a moment Nellie-Rose was in my arms telling me a story that only she can tell. Maybe there are numbers there too like the ten thousand million hundred times she looks and will look at her maman adorlngly, or maybe it’s the 24 million heartbeats, or 5 million breaths she’s already taken.

This year we’ll be sure to be singing the 12 Days of Christmas song. It will help build Noah’s repertoire beyond Le pont d’Avignon, Oh Canada and the theme songs from Passe Partout and Toupie et Binou. The 12 days tune I find it to be a bit tricky with all that backward action but hopefully Noah-David will be able to set me straight. We’ll practice for awhile too before the season is upon us. Maybe a good car song as we wind on down the roads of Québec, Ontario and Atlantic Canada. If you see me on the side of the road somewhere in Newfoundland with a bag and no car in sight, you’ll know it wasn’t that great of an idea.

In keeping with the number’s theme here are a couple of sites for kids to explore and have fun with numbers - BBC Numberjacks, PBS Kids, Curious George Count Your Chickens, and Counting Rhymes for Toddlers.

For the adults, here’s a flash of what happened on the 3rd day of the 7th month over the years - UK, US and Canadian perspectives.

It was the first day without rain or threatening thunder for the last week. Hot sun baked our tracks as we rolled down the 133 flanking the Richelieu River. We’ve got a picnic on board and the 2 little ones are getting rocked to sleep, car cradled coziness. Original destination Mont St Hilaire but the beautiful weather urges us on to the source of the river and we track all the way south to Venise-en-Québec a tiny community hugging the shores of Lake Champlain.

It was just before our picnic on the big bowl of a bay stretching to Vermont and New York state with cotton ball cloud collages dabbing a sun soaked sky that I saw it. It, was complicity in spark. I was in line at the local épicerie check out to pay for a shovel, pail and other sand toys when right there in front of me it happened. The spark was almost visible, the complicity delicious. It was a smile, a glance, a sparkled eye, a shift of shoulder, a tilt of the head, an inflection, a last lingering look - all speechless but speaking volumes. Not sure if the young check out woman and her would be suitor were lovers, strangers, or somewhere in between but quietly, almost imperceptibly they sparked right before my eyes leaving a smile in their wake.

Down the road a couple of miles we pulled into a private beach - $10 to park . It’s the waterfront adjunct of a camping ground across the road - full of urban refugees like us seeking open, halogen-free skies. A front end loader - big bonus for heavy machinery crazed Noah - had recently finished smoothing a fresh batch of sand along the 200 feet of lakeshore. This was our open air home for the next couple of hours, our first beach since California. We spread our blanket, lathered on more sunblock, made sand castles and dipped our feet into the water. The only minor annoyance were seados and speed boats buzzing like horseflies across the bay. Nellie-Rose and I found a remedy for this in a 4-seater garden swing where we glided in the shade with her cooing in my arms for what seemed like a welcome eternity. Just before hitting the road, I took the plunge in the water which was a lot warmer than California in early May. The sandy shallows extended 100s of feet from the shore. We might try and get back to this spot and at the very least, we’ll be sure now to carry bathing suits and towels with us at all times….

Earlier in the day, Noah-David and I sortied at our usual just after 6 time for another in the continuing episodes of early morning adventures. I drove some new roads in Sorel and after juicing up with 2 timbits and a coffee we took rue Victoria to the end of the line. Where the street ends a farm begins - there is really no transition, a manicured hedge and then the symmetrical row upon row of corn now pushing 2 feet out of the black earth. There are 4 large horses on this farm that were gathered together unhurriedly eating as we approached the fence penning them in. As we came closer, each in turn lifted its head in our direction and sauntered over. They must get lots of visitors and be the darlings of the neighbourhood children. These huge horses have a solid presence like sentinels silently proclaiming their strength.

We rolled east along the St. Lawrence passing by palatial homes until we were in full blown country - farms, woods, churches, the occasional store, baling fields and tractors. We turned around where the tour boats for les iles de Sorel dock right next to a dinner theatre and le Survenant restaurant. It was getting time for the girls to be up. We quickly slipped into Presse Café to check the wireless and I was able to get a little MacBook netblast. Noah-David was able to check in on his 2 downtown fountains, 1 of which has 2 waterfalls that continue to keep him spellbound. When we got home, Nellie-Rose and maman were ready to rock ‘n roll - so we did right on down the highway.

We had a great ending to our day - a double celebration. Grandpapa Raymond had a happy 61 birthday and Mélanie’s sister Stéphanie and her love, Jasmin, just bought their first home. We had a delicious meal at their new place and got back to rue Hébert sated, satisifed and ready for sleep. Noah-David stayed behind with Grandmaman Nicole and Grandpapa Raymond to have just a little more fun. By the time he got home, Nellie-Rose and I were already away in the land of Nod.

I still had that smile from just before lunch. I was reminiscing on all the arcing electricity that has sparked Mélanie and I, la fébrilité as she calls it, and looking forward to all the current that still has its course to run. Yes, Mélanie was the hottest woman on the beach, filling my dreams, shaping our tomorrows.

A beautiful day.