When Oliver and I were in Tokyo in 2013, we went shopping for stationery at Ito Ya, and I purchased a couple of packages of Japanese paper squares. They looked like this:

I used the first pack to make the Act Quickly Summer is Almost Over prints that summer, prints I’ve been happy to spot on walls from Malmö to Berlin to Isle Madame in the years since.

I decided to use the second pack for this year’s Christmas card, but decided this time that I needed to learn more about the paper. So I asked my friend Mayumi, who speaks Japanese, to translate for me. Despite having just stepped off a plane from Japan herself, she quickly and helpfully got back to me with this:

Mayumi went on to explain that “Grobei” is a thick Japanese paper, with one side sleek and the other side rough. Which describes the paper in my hand exactly.

There are 10 sheets of 10 varieties of paper in each pack, and each piece of paper is 10 cm by 10 cm  (so 10 x 10 is true in more ways than one). The varieties, while all remaining true to the “one side sleek, the other side rough” rule, run the gamut from stiff card stock printed with very subtle snowflake patterns to almost tissue-paper-like wisps. All were a joy to print on.

One of the vestiges of Myron’s.

There I was, standing on the street chatting with my friend BJ, when a long motorcade of black cars pulled up in front of us.

Shadowy figures emerged from the front and rear vehicles and spoke into their lapels while scanning we bystanders carefully.

After a few moments, the door on the middle car opened anh the Prime Minister stepped out, gave a wave, and was spirited into the shipping entrance of the Confederation Centre of the Arts.

See also, Billy Joel in Moscow in 1987 singing Pressure.

I’ve been meaning to move the summer things into the back shed for the last month; my procrastinating was finally overtaken by the first snow.

Saturday is supposed to be 10°C and sunny, so I may get a reprieve.

While he’s not part of an organized fundraising effort, Oliver’s participating in Movember nonetheless.

I popped in to Brìgh Music & Tea after lunch today for a spot of chocolate (they carry Katlin’s, and it is excellent).

It turned out to be a bustling day in the shop, with guitars being sold, and tea being offered, and questions being answered.

Between tea and chocolate I happened upon a Mano Percussion shaker, tucked away in a hidden corner, and, what with it being reasonably priced at $9.38, and the Reinventorium currently lacking a house shaker, I added it to my bill.

As I was settling up, personable co-owner Mary MacGillivray asked me to remind you all that they are open every day through Christmas Eve for all your holiday shopping needs. And until Christmas Eve they have a “buy 1 bag of loose leaf tea, get the 2nd free” promotion.

So now you’ve no excuse not to put a ukulele under the tree, and to infuse your home with the pungent aroma of their Berry Berry tea.

The Bookmark ordered some Paper-Oh A5 Cahier Circulo notebooks for me; they’re a lovely design and, like all Paper-Oh products, are solidly constructed.

They ordered more than I need for personal consumption, so if you’re in the market, grab them while you can.

The Bookmark, by the way, is killing it in the notebook department: be sure to check out the display near the back cash that showcases some new lines.

The exoskeleton at Province House gained lights this week, and in doing so continued its drive toward resembling the set of a Ridley Scott film.

Back in April I wrote about the curious case of South Shore Villa, a community care facility in Crapaud, PEI that’s bisected by the Queens County-Prince County boundary; in this map it’s shown as property 775072, right in the middle, and the county line is shown in green:

My friend Ray was instrumental in the development of South Shore Villa back in 1990, and, knowing that I’d be in Crapaud again yesterday, I asked him if there was any obvious physical manifestation of the county line boundary on the property.

Ray told me to look for a concrete pole in the forest in front of the facility and, sure enough, that’s exactly what I found when I went looking yesterday:

The pole was set there, Ray tells me, in the spring of 1990; it’s in remarkably good shape for a 27 year old piece of concrete.

I love marks on the earth that make the fictional non-fictional.

If you’re out and about looking for the pole, set your GPS for 46.2371944 N, 63.5054333 W and you’ll find it. Or if you’re there as you read this, you’ll know right where you are on the surface of the Earth.