Time to resurrect a long dormant skillset and get some dough rising.

I like books that wear their history on their sleeves.

One of the things that has given me the most pleasure in the two months since Catherine died has been finding new homes for the tools and supplies that were the stuff of her trade.

Our friend Carol came by to help organize things, before leaving town three weeks ago, and was able to take some fabric, and some thread, and some of the almost-finished projects that Catherine left behind; she will finish them. That makes me happy.

I sent a box of treasures to Luisa in Sweden; Catherine and Luisa shared a special bond, despite living on opposite sides of the Atlantic and seeing each other seldom. I didn’t know what to include in the box, so I was wide-ranging in my curation. Luisa emailed, upon receiving it, to tell me that I chose well; that makes me so happy. Luisa will use the tools, and turn the materials into new things; that too makes me happy.

Catherine’s sewing machine and serger went to our friend Ila, who she taught to sew, every Thursday morning she was able, almost until her very end. Catherine loved Ila dearly, and saw a special spark in her, and nothing would make her happier to know that Ila will continue to put those machines to good use, and that she’s predisposed to teaching others the things that Catherine taught her.

Her Schacht spinning wheel found a new home with our friend Evelyn, someone I’ve known since my early days working with the PEI Crafts Council 25 years ago, a talented weaver who has decided to take up spinning. Evelyn picked up the spinning wheel a few weeks ago, but found there were parts missing and emailed me to ask about them; I rambled around Catherine’s studio until I found them, and sent Evelyn this photo to confirm that’s what was missing (it was):

It wasn’t until I looked at the photo, taken in a hurry just before I was headed home for the night, that I realized how evocative of Catherine it is: there is not a time in living memory that I cannot recall bits and bobs of things like this filling every nook and cranny of our house. Serious analog.

I must admit to having lurked, as Catherine, on her extant Instagram account, from time to time since she died; in there I find a steady stream of knitting and weaving and woodworking and quilting–all the things that she was interested in. Instagram was really the only part of the Internet that successfully attracted Catherine’s attention: it is all about images, as she was, so it was written in her native language. Her last post was just a month before she died, a collection of photos and a video of her beloved Christmas village.

I’m mindful that Catherine’s stream in Instagram ended; it makes me happy to know that the people out there that she was connected to will keep creating.

Every day at 1:30 p.m. and 5:00 p.m., Dr. Heather Morrison, Prince Edward Island’s Chief Public Health Officer, provides a a live briefing to Islanders about COVID-19.

In this time of great uncertainty, with a plague spreading across the land and, all signs suggest, about to reach our shores in a more serious fashion, it’s hard to imagine a better figure to have hands on the tiller, both the logistical tiller, and the spiritual one.

And so while the Premier, in isolation due an unfortunately-timed family vacation to Boston, dials in from Skylab, and his ministers dutifully read their press releases about the supports their line departments are enacting, it is Dr. Morrison who’s the beating heart of the operation, and we are all the better for it.

From the Colonial Herald, February 3, 1844, a letter to the editor from the residents of Prince Street:

The fire to which the correspondents refer took place the previous day, in the middle of a snow storm on February 1, 1844, and was reported earlier in the same edition of the newspaper:

The day’s edition of the Morning News and Semi-Weekly Advertiser also reported on the file:

Our house was one of the row of houses referred to as having been in peril, the one occupied by Henry Smith; as with the others on this row, it emerged uninjured. Like the writers of the day, this excites alike my gratitude, my wonder and my admiration.

Haunts, a 2013 EP from New Zealand’s Tiny Ruins, is a good way to remind yourself about why music is a good thing.

A collection of older songs/B-sides. Recorded live in the bush surroundings of the Waipu Gorge, by Jonathan Pearce on an 8-track tape machine.

Days Are Long, Nights Are Longer and Always You, Tiptoeing Through are my favourite tracks.

Tiny Ruins’ spring tour of France has been cancelled, so why not buy some recordings in solidarity.

Author and illustrator Mo Willems is doodling every day at lunchtime on YouTube, under the aegis of his “Artist in Residence at Home” at the Kennedy Center:

Learners worldwide can draw, doodle and explore new ways of writing by visiting Mo’s studio virtually once a day for the next few weeks. Grab some paper and pencils, pens, or crayons and join Mo to explore ways of writing and making together.

Rather than completely cancelling our monthly Pen Night here in Charlottetown, we’re moving it into the clouds, via Zoom videoconference.

This is an experiment, as we’ve no idea if what works about Pen Night around a table will also work for Pen Night on the screen. If nothing else it will give us a chance to de-social-distance on a Saturday night.

While details will go our to the regular Pen Night mailing list that Dan at The Bookmark maintains, that this is virtual provides the option for special guest stars from away; if you’d like to join out virtual table on Saturday night at 7:00 p.m. Atlantic, please drop me a line and I’ll send you an invite. All you need is an interest in fountain pens; no experience necessary, you need not be hip to the arcane lingo, and you will find welcoming, kind people.

I was reminded last night that SARS touched Prince Edward Island in 2003 to the extent that I wrote about it here, and to the extent that the Chief Public Health Officer was issuing advisories about self-isolation for returning travelers. How quickly we forget.

This time around, with COVID-19, things are considerably escalated.

For our family, most prominently this means that the Stars for Life day program is suspending as of tomorrow, leaving Oliver to be at home for his days; fortunately, as he and I were ill last week (with a bonus non-COVID-19 illness, from which we’ve now both recovered), we’ve got a routine down, and our daily life will continue without much calamitous disruption.

Our pantry is well-stocked. It turns out that I’ve been hoarding tempeh for months now, so we’ve got enough soy protein to last us for a long time. I found out on the weekend that Purity Dairy not only sells its own milk and ADL butter, but also yogurt, meaning that with the dry goods we have already, and a weekly walk to Purity, we can likely make do without going to a larger grocery store for some time.

I’ve been a “remote worker” since 1996, so not only am I well-versed in it, but my remote colleagues and I are several hundred iterations into fine-tuning our remote workflow. The NHL may be cancelled, but Almanac.com will continue to hum along for all your “will the sun come up tomorrow?” needs.

Meanwhile, I’ve taken the morning to #CancelEverything: upcoming face-to-face meetings are either rescheduled for “when life returns to normal” or moved to virtual meetings via Zoom. The best advice seems to be that its prudent not only to avoid large groups, but to avoid cross-contaminating family groups, so even a dinner party with friends is no longer benign; that takes some getting used to, and involves a change in social protocols.

I realized that, as regards the world going to hell and people dying, I have a particular set of hard-wrought skills in this regard.

Here’s my best advice for you, a gift from Catherine, really, as it distills how she dealt with her uncertain times:

Ask yourself “right now, here, am I alive?”

If the answer is “yes,” then continue.

Friend of the blog, and Artistic Director of Norristown, Pennsylvania’s Theatre Horizon, Nell Bang-Jensen, in a video release this week:

As you can imagine, the idea of social distancing is very challenging for an arts organization whose whole mission is about bringing people together, in the same space, in the name of our shared humanity.

I don’t particularly care if COVID-19 means the end of professional sports, the stock market, the airlines, or capitalism; I do, however, want organizations like Nell’s to survive.

As Jamie Zawinski wrote about DNA Lounge in San Francisco:

Even though we’re closed, meaning that we have lost 100% of our income, we still have a lot of expenses that are not going away: rent, insurance, taxes, permit fees… We’re also still paying our employees while we’re closed. Depending on how long this crisis lasts, this could end up leaving us on the hook for hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The same thing could be written by anyone who manages a theatre or gallery or workshop.

You don’t need to leave your house to help in the life support effort for the arts: find a way to make a donation online (donate to Theatre Horizon here; DNA Lounge has a Patreon).

Think of all the money you’re saving not eating out, not going to the movies, not buying theatre tickets: take that, and lend a hand.

An excellent four minute introduction to the Northumbrian smallpipes from Kathryn Tickell.