2023 Charlottetown Levee Schedule

This is the 2023 levee schedule for New Year’s Day, January 1, 2023 for Charlottetown and Prince Edward Island.

This is the 18th year I’ve been collating and confirming this information. If you’re new to all of this and want to give it a try, read How to Levee.

All levees listed below have been confirmed with organizers; additional levees will be added as information is received: if you have additional levees to add, or changes to the information below, please drop me a line.

Show levees that are ages 19+ Show only Charlottetown-area levees

Organization Location Starts Ends Accessible All Ages
Timothy’s Coffee and Heartbeet Organics Timothy’s Coffee and Heartbeet Organics
154 Great George Street, Charlottetown, PE
8:00 AM 10:00 AM Yes Yes
Upstreet Craft Brewing Upstreet Craft Brewing
41 Allen St, Charlottetown, PE
10:00 AM 11:00 AM Yes Yes
Lieutenant Governor Government House
1 Terry Fox Drive, Charlottetown, PE
10:00 AM 11:30 AM Yes Yes
HMCS Queen Charlotte HMCS Queen Charlotte
210 Water Street, Charlottetown, PE
11:30 AM 1:00 PM Yes Yes
Town of Stratford Stratford Town Centre
234 Shakespeare Dr., Stratford, PE
12:00 PM 1:30 PM Yes Yes
Copper Bottom Brewing Copper Bottom Brewing
567 Main Street, Montague, PE
12:00 PM 6:00 PM Yes Yes
Morell Northside Community Initiative Morell Credit Union Rink
59 Queen Elizabeth, Morell, PE
1:00 PM 3:00 PM Yes Yes
St. John’s Lodge No. 1 and Victoria Lodge No. 2 Masonic Temple
204 Hillsborough St., Charlottetown, PE
1:00 PM 3:00 PM No Yes
Town of Cornwall Cornwall Town Hall
39 Lowther Drive, Cornwall, PE
1:30 PM 3:00 PM Yes Yes
Benevolent Irish Society Hon. Edward Whelan Irish Cultural Centre
582 North River Road, Charlottetown, PE
2:00 PM 4:00 PM Yes Yes
Royal Canadian Legion — Miscouche Miscouche Legion
94 Main Drive, Miscouche, PE
2:00 PM 6:00 PM Yes No

Other Formats

The code that generates all of the above is available on Github.

License

The levee schedule is covered under a Creative Commons Attribution, NonCommercial, ShareAlike License.

That means that you’re free to copy the data, publish the data, mash up the data, share the data, but that you must provide a credit to the source, like:

Schedule data from ruk.ca/levee-2023 under a Creative Commons Attribution, NonCommercial, ShareAlike License.

You’re encouraged to spread the information here as far and as wide as possible.

You don’t get to choose whether the pain marks you. But you get to decide what the marks mean.”

From I carry myself a little different, by annie mueller:

You take a risk, you do a thing, and it doesn’t work: you fall down. You get bruised. Next time, you’ll pause. You’ll remember, and think:

  • I’ve done this before. Nope. I know how this ends. It hurts.”
  • I’ve done this before. It might hurt. But even if I fall again, I know I’ll survive.”

You take a risk, you fall hard, and it’s bad. You get broken. The pain is real and raw and ragged. The recovery is slow, so slow, and while you’re in it, still in the pain, the bones are setting, regrowing. The wound is healing. The marks will be there: the twinge, the scar tissue.

You don’t get to choose whether the pain marks you. But you get to decide what the marks mean.

Three years ago yesterday, I wrote this to Catherine’s friends and family:

On Monday she had a CT scan, the report of which concludes “evidence of disease progression with increased metastatic burden in the lungs, liver, and bony skeleton.”

We don’t know why Catherine died, specifically. She had incurable cancer; she died from that, yes. But how? Why then? What stopped working enough to make her stop working? We don’t know. But whatever it was, that report—evidence of disease progression—was the bellwether. She died 41 days later.

During those 41 days she was in great pain more often than not, in and out of hospital, in and out of coherence. But she lived.

And, indeed, on this chilly day in early December, despite being more winded than usual, she helped our friend BJ take paint to be recycled, walked a package to the post office, and decided that she’s cooking supper for us. We’ve gone out for supper this week, twice (our meal on Wednesday at Hojo’s, a new Japanese restaurant, was, Catherine said, one of the best she’s ever had). We bought an electric car. We laugh more than we cry. We’re looking forward to Christmas.

Three years later, these same 41 days have a strange quality to them: the ting of winter is in the air, the sunlight hits the house in a certain way, it’s impossible to deny there’s a vestigial nervous dread in the air, despite time having passed.

The marks will be there: the twinge, the scar tissue.

And yet it’s a season of hectic hope: new love, new family, new possibilities. I wake up happy; the days are full of promise. There’s stuff happening — delightful, exciting, hopeful, bright, challenging, growthful.

You don’t get to choose whether the pain marks you. But you get to decide what the marks mean.

The view of the sunrise reflected in windows down the street, looking out my piano window at 100 Prince Street.

how we feel

The how we feel app is a thing of beauty, winner of Apple’s 2022 Cultural Impact award in the App Store, and, my experience this week suggests, a good way to track my emotional well-being from day to day.

Texting Apnea

According to ChatGPT, email apnea is:

A term used to describe the act of holding one’s breath while reading or responding to an email, typically due to anxiety or stress. It can also refer to the habit of checking emails frequently, interrupting natural breathing patterns.

I’ve never noticed it while emailing, but I’ve been paying attention to my breathing while texting, and I’m pretty certain that texting apnea is a thing. Especially when I’m noticing I’m making lots of mistakes, if I stop, look, and listen for a second, I notice I’m holding my breathe. 

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