At one point I heard the beep of the security system. Later, vomiting, then the sound of a toilet.

In between cameos of my nephew, my unconscious presented theme song suggestions. Lord of the Dance kept repeating. The music was like fleas in the carpet: Once in, it was impossible to dislodge.

Dance, dance, wherever you may be ...

I awoke to pale gray lighting the edges of the window shade. Slamming a pil ow across my head, I threw an arm over it and pul ed my knees to my chest.

I am the lord of the dance, said he ...

At eight I gave up. Why be annoyed? I reasoned. It isn't rising early that's a pain. It's having to rise early. I didn't have to get up, I was choosing to do so.

I threw back the covers and slipped on the same outfit I'd featured for my Friday evening with Bird. A Brennanism: When in doubt as to where the day wil take you, underdress.

While the Krups pot brewed my 100 percent Kona I peeked out the French doors. Rain fel steadily, turning trunks and branches shiny, jiggling leaves and shrubs, and puddling in low spots on the courtyard brick. Only the crocus sprouts looked happy.

Who was I kidding? This was a morning to sleep.

Wel , you're not. So do something else.

I threw on a jacket and sprinted to the corner for a Gazette. When I got back, Birdie was curled on a dining room chair, ready for our Saturday ritual.

I poured myself some Quaker Harvest Crunch, added milk, and set the bowl next to the paper. Then I got coffee and settled in for a long read. Birdie watched, secure in the knowledge that al cereal leavings would be his.

A United Nations human rights panel had blasted Canada for its treatment of aboriginals.

Dance, dance ...

The Equality Party was celebrating its tenth birthday.

What's to celebrate? I wondered. They hadn't won a single National Assembly seat in the last election. Equality had been born of a language crisis, but the issue had been relatively quiet over the past decade, and the party was hanging on by suction cups. They needed another linguistic flare-up.

The Lachine Canal would be undergoing a multimil ion-dol ar face lift. That was good news.

As I refil ed my cup and gave Bird his milk, I pictured the place where Kit and I had skated last Sunday. The bike path ran along the canal, a nine-mile waterway fil ed with toxins and industrial sludge. But it had not always been a sewer.