In a very special episode of Pondercast, Laurie Brown interviews Icelandic musician Ólafur Arnalds, bringing two of my favourite people together.
During their chat, Arnalds describes an Icelandic word, sköpunargleði, like this:
In Icelandic we actually have a beautiful word for this; I’ve been looking for it in English, but I don’t think it exists. There’s a word in Icelandic that is sköpunargleði. It’s a word for the feeling that you get when you are creating. It doesn’t mean creating. It means the feeling of creating. You could call it… the closest I’ve found in English… would be creative joy, the joy of creating.
But it’s not exactly joy. It’s a different feeling. There’s a creating feeling, which is just this feeling that you get when you somehow manage to forget about everything else than exactly what you’re creating.
This is sometimes called flow state; that’s one scientific method of explaining this.
But it’s this feeling you have when, suddenly, two, three, four hours have passed, and you just wake up. And you go “what just happened?”
And you created something.
That time in between was that creative joy, that flow state or, in Icelandic, sköpunargleði.
What an absolutely necessary word to describe a feeling I instantly recognized, one that I know and love and wish I could spend more time in.
The 1966 election in Prince Edward Island was one of the most fascinating in Island history; as Marlene-Russell Clark wrote in Canada’s Smallest Province:
This curious and unique situation sprung from the culmination of events begun several weeks before the election date of May 30, 1966. Unknown to anyone at the time, the first link in this chain of events was formed when one of the Liberal candidates in the electoral district of First King’s died in the interval between the official date for nominations and the appointed day for the provincial election. Under the provisions of the electoral legislation, the death of any duly-appointed candidate prior to the polling date necessitated a postponement of the balloting in that constituency. Because of this, the voting for both seats in the riding was deferred until July 11. Little did the public realize, until after the ballots were counted on May 30, that this unexpected event was to concentrate attention on the eastern tip of Prince Edward Island for six weeks of intense political activity.
As the polling results poured in on that bright spring evening, it soon became obvious that neither party was going to sweep easily into office. The tallies teetered up and down on the television tote boards all evening. When darkness descended over the Island, even the most apathetic electors had begun to realize they were witnessing a contest with more surprise and thrills than the average race. The initial results indicated a slim victory for the Liberals with sixteen of the thirty contested seats. A total of four recounts reduced the party standings to a deadlock of fifteen members apiece, when the unofficial two-vote margin for Liberal Horace Willis in Second Queen’s was reconsidered and became a majority of three ballots for Conservative Lloyd MacPhail. The future role for both parties in the next four years rested on the outcome of the deferred elected in the First King’s district. The politicians in all parts of the province accepted the challenge with an earnest dedication that gave the earlier provincial polling the appearance of being merely a dress rehearsal.
A singular moment in this election-after-the-election was captured by CBC News just before second-polling-day that July: Liberal leader Alex Campbell was being interviewed on Main Street in Souris when Conservative leader, Premier Walter Shaw drove by in his car and stopped for a chat, taking the opportunity to related that he was at the “the apex of confidence” in a Conservative victory:
Clark continues:
The ensuing six weeks resembled the staging of a theatrical farce. The Shaw government, which remained in power until the deferred election decided its fate, presented the first act with transparent disguise. The Minister of Public Works and Highways, Philip Matheson, resigned his portfolio. Although he had been defeated in the May balloting, his move was not duplicated by any of his three cabinet colleagues who had suffered similar losses at the hands of the voters. The Public Works and Highways department, an important key to political patronage, was placed under the jurisdiction of a First King’s Candidate. The new minister has never been a member of the Legislative Assembly, so it was undoubtedly coincidence that he merited this executive post at the very time when he was seeking election in the First King’s contest! Political balance seemed to be achieved when a leading Liberal, a resident of First Kings, was elevated to a vacant Senate post.
For the benefit of any voters who missed the significance of these ploys the parties had other gimmicks on hand to attract attention and favour. Some observers estimated that the crucial constituency received thirty miles of paving in the midst of the pre-election fever. One local citizen with a sense of humor was moved to erect a prominent sign which read: “PLEASE DON’T PAVE; THIS IS MY ONLY PASTURE.” It was widely reported that the government was adopting the slogan: “If it moves, give it a pension; if not, pave it.” The party organizations threw away their purse strings, with the price tag on votes reputed to be averaging $100 for anyone on the official lists who wanted it. Those who had more specific preferences requested gifts: a new bathroom replaced the outdoor variety for some, while paved driveways were a popular addition to the residences of the more affluent. Elsewhere in the province. Islanders looked at First King’s with envy and jokingly expressed wonder that the eastern tip did not sink under the weight of road machinery. The final day of the campaign drew near amidst a current of rumors throughout the province: some residents even claimed to have witnessed long processions of trucks travelling towards Souris in the middle of the night, their cargoes composed of many cases of the finest liquor.
The parties were organized to a height of efficiency never before witnessed in any Island campaign. Lists of electors were combed and re-combed. Voters were visited and revisited. A small army of politicians and supporters from other parts of the province camped in the constituency. Both parties fully realized that every single vote counted and that each individual with the power of casting a ballot mattered, for the fate of the government rested solely on the collective wishes of less than 3,000 people. Three eligible voters had moved to the constituency of Second King’s after the writ of election was issued. One Liberal party worker in that electoral district was assigned to each of these electors. Their instructions were to provide transportation to the polls in First King’s. To ensure that there was no difficulty in adhering to these orders, one worker indicated that he watched the sun’s appearance while parked in the driveway of the voter assigned to him. Think of the chaos that could have been injected into the deferred election had multiple voting continued to be a feature of Island politics!
All the paving and cash, however, was for nought:
After the fever pitch of the campaign was replaced by the tense waiting before the ballots were counted, it seemed almost anticlimactic to learn that the Liberals had won both seats and had consequently defeated the Shaw government.
Fifty-three years on we’re on the edge of an election that has all the ingredients to top 1966 in terms of excitement and atlas of possibilities.
The lower-left panel of today’s Green is Green by Jo Dee Samuelson has about as brilliant a visual encapsulation of the electoral cacophony of this week as I’ve seen.
My friend Perry Williams made quick and masterful work on the video he shot and directed on Sunday for the Green Party.
If you look carefully in the aerial shot you should be able to make out me, Oliver and Ethan the Dog in the middle of the crowd.
The Guardian reports that reporter Nigel Armstrong died last night.
Although I didn’t know Nigel well, our paths crossed many times over the years on matters journalistic, especially when Nigel became responsible for the paper’s website.
My favourite of all the journalistic things Nigel did over the years was his story from 2014 about a bus, a gas tank, a fire-eater, and a cat:
Watching the whole proceeding with a sense of irony was a fire-eating busker who gave her performance name of Ariane Pyromane, her last name being the French equivalent of pyromaniac or arsonist.
She just arrived on P.E.I. from Montreal Monday with her cat TouTou, her guitar, and her fire eating hoops and gear.
She was strumming a tune on a park bench in front of Confederation Centre when she heard a sort of explosion just meters away.
“The bus kind of lifted a little bit in the air and then all the gas started spilling everywhere,” said Ariane. “There was no fire, only a little bit of smoke.”
TouTou remained unimpressed and Ariane kept on busking as firefighters and police arrived on scene.
I came across the story again last year and I emailed Nigel to thank him for it; he replied:
I remember now that I came back to the office smiling and full of excitement to craft a good one with that good material.
And he did.
Nigel was one of the good ones, and the Island is greatly diminished by his death.
I was washing my hands late last night at Green HQ, and found a bar of soap beside the sink:
When I turned the light off to leave, I noticed that the soap was glowing green:
Apparently there is so much Green energy in the place that it’s infused itself into the soap.
I ran into Jo Dee Samuelson in Summerside on Monday night and she mentioned that she’s been producing comics for the Green Party; I hadn’t seen any of them because the only place they “run” is on social media. So she generously agreed to email them along; here’s the latest (appearing here with her permission):
Giving up Sunday morning waffles is, in our family, the greatest sacrifice; I have gone as far as rearranging air tickets so as to ensure my Sunday morning waffle-making availability.
But this Sunday morning there was a call for Green Party supporters to travel out to Brookvale for a video shoot, and Oliver and I resolved to attend, setting waffles aside for a week so as to ensure a better future for our grandchildren.
It was a lovely spring day, and among the ragtag crowd of Greens were many friends.
Alas a video shoot is, it turns out, filled with many strict instructions: go here, do this, don’t stand so close, shout this, look that way.
Delivered, I must say, with kindness by the director. But strict instructions nonetheless, and, on a waffleless Sunday morning enough of a source of anxiety that, when he ended up stepping on Ethan the Dog amidst their execution, Oliver tipped over into irreversible anxiety and we escaped back to town. Beyond the stress of the go-here-do-this, Oliver’s primary concern on the drive home was that he would be kicked out of the Green Party for violating the Culture of Peace core value, and it took a lot of convincing to convince him that getting freaked out by something isn’t an act of violence, even if it does involve walloping your father.
I sought reassurances, on Oliver’s behalf, that his party membership was secure and, when this was forthcoming, he and Catherine, after lunch, decamped to Green HQ to make some flags for a Monday night rally in Summerside. After supper, Oliver and I went back and powered through a bunch of campaign button-making in service to the same event.
By Monday morning the halo of anxiety was staunched, and all was calm.
Late last week I’d signed up for “drive voters to the polls” duty on a lark; after working in the digital engine room of the campaign for the past couple of weeks, I had an appetite for meeting actual electors, and I thought driving duty would be a handy conceit. On the space on the online form where I was asked to indicate the furthest distance I would be willing to drive to get someone to the polls, I cheekily entered “an infinite distance.” So I could hardly be surprised when the call came to drive out to Hunter River on Monday morning for 10:00 a.m.; not quite an infinite distance, but proof that cheekiness comes at a cost.
Regardless of the infinite distance of Hunter River from town, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience: my passenger-voter and I had a good chat on the way there and back, and I ended up giving them a referral to Dave’s Service Centre, as, in addition to needing a new government and a better future, they also needed a good mechanic.
After a return to civilian life for the rest of the morning, I found myself finishing up lunch at Mad Wok facing a soggy walk back to the Reinventorium, as it was raining cats and dogs, so I made the best of a bad situation and ran through the rain, around the corner to Green HQ, and made another cache of buttons for the Summerside rally.
A friendly Green gave me a ride back to the office an hour later, and after getting some more paid work done, just before 5:00 p.m. I went home, collected Oliver, and headed off to the advance poll so I could vote (I was mindful of how I forgot to vote in 2003 in the Hurricane Election, and I couldn’t conscience a repeat of that).
After voting, Oliver and I headed up to the Farm Centre to set up chairs for Tuesday’s lunch with Elizabeth May, an experience facilitated by excellent instructions from Volunteer Coordinator Barbara. We made quick work of the rearrangement; when we left the hall looked like this:
It was the perfect job for two people like us who like lining things up in rows.
All across Prince Edward Island there are Green volunteers driving people to the polls, making campaign buttons and setting up chairs in their local hall, most of them devoting many more hours in the day than I’ve been able to afford. Watching all this happening, and dipping my toe in its waters, has been a revelation to me: heretofore I’d never seen myself as part of the group of people who does things like this; I’d simply assumed there were people–other people–who handled it. It turns out that the people who put up the chairs, and make the buttons and the flags, and drive people to the polls, is us.
That will be the signature takeaway for me from this campaign; it’s also a pretty good metaphor for why I’m doing all of this, contrary to type: the revelation, which I keep returning to, that “there’s no us and them, there is only us.” In other words, If I don’t like the way things are working, it’s up to me to step forward, set up the chairs, and help develop a plan to make them work better.
After setting up the chairs, Oliver and I hopped back in the car and drove up to Summerside for the rally at the College of Piping (it was only my third such event: I went to an Ann Richards rally in El Paso, Texas in 1990, and, before that, a Pierre Trudeau rally in Hamilton, Ontario in 1980). There were speeches and songs and fundraising and more songs. I got to hear Elizabeth May speak for the first time (she was, I must say, a fantastic orator). And we met a woman named Beulah and her husband, sitting next to Oliver, and had a nice chat.
When the rally was over we got back in the car and drove the misty 50 km back to Charlottetown, talking about politics and voting and Oliver’s popular music appreciation course in school. And that has been the other gift this campaign has given me, the gift of being able to work along side my son on a project that we’re both passionate about.
This is turning out to be a very interesting week.
About This Blog
I am Peter Rukavina and this is my blog. I am a writer, letterpress printer, and a curious person.
To learn more about me, read my /now, look at my bio, read presentations and speeches I’ve written, or get in touch (peter@rukavina.net is the quickest way). You can subscribe to an RSS feed of posts, an RSS feed of comments, or receive a daily digests of posts by email.