Three years ago I installed brochure holders in the Charlottetown Boulder Park. I’m happy to say they’re still there, and, as of yesterday, refilled with brochures.

This spring Olivia was asked to name her “happy place,” a place she could go in her mind when she needed to invoke a sense of peace. She named Natuurcamping De Hoge Veluwe, the Dutch campground we stayed 7 years ago this week.

This happened to be exactly the same happy place that I’d chosen when led through a similar exercise.

I suppose this shouldn’t come as a surprise to either of us: 2014 was our last great summer with Catherine, and our time at De Hoge Veluwe fell in the heart of that. Combine that with a pastoral campsite, free bicycles, hot chocolate for breakfast and Van Gogh for lunch, and, yes, happy place.

Olivia and I undertook our most ambitious cycle journey yet, cycling from our house, across the Hillsborough Bridge, and into deepest Stratford to have supper at the Fox Meadow golf club. Return trip was about 12 km, and, despite the steep grade up Kinlock Road to Fox Meadow, we cycled there and back with no problems.

Well, no cycling problems.

As we were arriving at the golf club a party was leaving the restaurant and one of the men made a sexist, transphobic comment to Olivia. Which happened to be her first since she came out.

He was probably a little drunk, and golf clubs are not known as beacons of enlightenment, but sexism and transphobia are wrong. Period. No matter the state of the asshole, no matter the venue.

Our supper—lacklustre food, excellent service, great view—was thus taken up with a survey course in discrimination, with Olivia doing most of the talking.

Fortunately, on the cycle home (after stopping at Sobeys for the first strawberries of the year), we overheard the musical stylings of Todd E. MacLean at The Lucky Bean, doing a benefit for Blooming House.

So, of course, we stopped, made a donation (you can too!), enjoyed some cocoa and Sinatra, and appreciated extra-especially the pride flag flying out front.

Thanks to the indefatigable Ken Murnaghan, the Island’s greatest advocate for bicycle helmet wearing, Olivia and I enjoyed two Truckin’ Roll ice creams this afternoon.

If Ken spots you wearing yours, maybe he’ll surprise you with an ice cream too. Way better than a carrot!

If you’re interested in doing the same, drop Venture Stables a line.

Joe Biel’s The Autism Relationships Handbook arrived in the mail today from Microcosm Publishing. Beyond being a very helpful book for understanding relationships of many sorts, it’s so refreshing to read a book about autism written “we” not “they.”

From the first chapter I particularly appreciated the notion of relational labor:

Some people are born with certain inherent privileges based on their identity and appearance. Normally this privilege is simply because these groups comprise either a majority of the population or that people like them hold all of the power in society. Lots of other marginalized populations—nonwhite people, queer and transgender people, women, individuals with disabilities both visible and invisible—face exponential discrimination, insensitive remarks, and expectations to do more emotional labor in order to be treated as an equal. The struggles of being autistic aren’t the same as other marginalized groups, but those of us who are neurodiverse are doing extra relational labor on a daily basis. Respect the work that you do. It’s exhausting to be different in a world that you demands that either conform or set yourself off on an ice floe. You are a badass. Similarly, understanding that other marginalized people are experiencing similar mistreatment can be important to consider and respect.

The Workers Compensation Board has a tender out for investigation services:

The successful applicant(s) will provide investigation and surveillance services upon the request of the Board. This may include, but is not limited to: general surveillance, video surveillance, photographs, sworn statements, record searches, internet searches and reporting.

See also this, from 1982.

It’s been more than 18 months since I used public transit: the exigencies, followed by actual COVID, followed by perceived COVID, kept me away. But I needed to get from downtown to midtown this afternoon in a hurry, and so on the bus it was.

Two developments since my last ride: a comfortable, beautiful, spacious, brand new bus, and the ability to use the Hotspot Parking app to buy my bus ticket. Both appreciated.

There were only two other people on the bus with me, and everyone was masked, so I felt comfortable. It was good to be back.