I am very much a creature of habit, and switching out my habits on a seasonal basis is like turning a gravel boat.

Which is to say: I have a lovely back garden, with a table and chairs and an umbrella, and apple and plum trees to stare at, and birds to listen to, yet this morning—August 13!—is the first morning this year I’ve had my breakfast outside.

Now that the gravel boat is righted, I hope to be back here until the snow flies.

Olivia and I were sitting in the floor of Memorial Hall at the Confederation Centre of the Arts when I spied a plaque I hadn’t seen before, a plaque marking the 50th anniversary of the Centre in 2014 that was unveiled on May 20.

“That’s odd,” I thought, “surely I would have remembered such a royal visit.”

We looked at my photo archive to prove that we had no knowledge of the visit. We were wrong.

One of the great things about my subscription to everything Microcosm Publishing publishes is that I get a regular delivery of books I simply wouldn’t find my way to otherwise.

The number of drive in movie theatres on PEI has doubled with the arrival of The Runway Drive In in Summerside.

It is, quite literally, almost right on the runway at Slemon Park (née CFB Summerside). The programming appears to be a mixture of films new and old: this weekend it will be Footloose, Grease, and The Secrets We Keep.

I still haven’t quite gotten over the closure of the Princess Pat Drive In in Cascumpec, and it seemed unlikely that the Island would see another in the west. I hope they do well.

Kudos to Little Black Dress in Summerside for welcoming everyone.

Thelma relates wise words from Steven:

This isn’t happening to you; it is just happening.

Those words helpfully encapsulate an ad hoc philosophy I came to organically. Of necessity.

They also are at the heart of what Scott Shute, Head of Mindfulness and Compassion at LinkedIn, espouses in an interview on the Good Life Project podcast. In part:

Yes, I’m Scott, I have these big dreams, and I’m going to do everything I possibly can to make those dreams come true, and… I gotta let it go. I gotta do the parts that I’m responsible for, and then if life wants to happen around me, or the universe wants to evolve around me, I don’t control any of that.

When you order a pour-over at The Shed, it’s served in a tiny perfect Brewista carafe.

Having sketched all the buildings I can see from the patio there, I turned my pen to sketch my coffee.

I’m still trying to grok sketching round openings at an angle, so the top is a little wonky, but there are other things about the way this turned out that I like.

My friends—and neighbours, colleagues, landlords—at St. Paul’s Anglican Church tell the story of the intentional destruction of a bold statement of Pride: the “rainbow staircase” leading up into the Parish Hall was removed by vandals.

While this is egregious by any measure, it’s particularly egregious for me: there has been no more welcoming and supportive a community since Olivia came out as the St. Paul’s community. The love, support, and solidarity they’ve shown our family has been breathtaking.

Desecrating a powerful symbol of that solidarity is wounding: to Olivia, to me, to the faith community of St. Paul’s, to our neighbourhood, and to the larger 2SLGBTQI+ community. To all of us.

“We pray that whoever did this will open their heart and see God’s love everywhere,” the church wrote; it’s difficult to find such equanimity when faced with a threat that strikes so viscerally.

It was a beautiful afternoon: sunny, warm, and only 4 knots of wind (see, I’m a seafarer now!). I didn’t have it in me to cycle out to Andrews Pond with my canoe, but I did fancy a paddle over lunch.

I remembered that the Charlottetown Yacht Club had an arrangement with the City of Charlottetown to provide a public kayak launch, and a quick check with them confirmed it’s still there, and that canoes are as welcome as kayaks.

So I suited up and headed down Prince Street and along Water Street with my canoe behind me.

I was nervous enough on the turf of the yachty milieu that I neglected to take any photos of the launch itself, which is a rather ingenious contraption involving chute-and-rollers. I was able to roll the canoe down the ramp to the launch still on its trailer and then slide it onto the chute. Once I’d stashed the trailer back on land it was easy to hop into the canoe and slide it into the water.

Even though the wind was light, I decided to stay in the protected confines of the Yacht Club’s marina rather than venturing out into open water; I paddled in and around the various yachts, modest and otherwise.

The decaying Coast Guard Wharf, which abuts the Yacht Club, is an interesting piece of art (at least until it falls into the ocean):

I didn’t stay in the water for long, just a taste, really: I noticed that the wooden strut that runs across the centre of the canoe had, like the seats before it that I had repaired, rusted out to the point of failure:

While I was in no immediate danger of canoe-collapse–the strut is primarily there as a yoke for portages–I decided not to tempt fates, and so returned to the launch, propelled myself up the chute-and-rollers by taking a good run at it, and loaded my canoe back on its trailer. I gave it a quick rinse at the top of the ramp (a nice feature of the launch, given the salt water), and I was off again home. Door to door for a lunchtime paddle–with time out for a falafel at the Salt and Sol–was 90 minutes.