From Potsdamer Sea by Geoff Manaugh:

The SCUBA divers of the Potsdamer Sea now feel like mascots of that time, dream figures submerged in the waves of a future their work enabled, swimming through historical murk with limited visibility and, air tanks draining, limited time. Their pit was soon filled, the hole annihilated, and the surface of the Earth—which was actually architecture—returned with amnesia.

I’ll get over the move of the Trailside from Mount Stewart to town. Eventually. But I’m a staunch nostalgist, and the Trailside was a magic place—truly magic—where performers gave their best performances to audiences inches away, gripped by musical intimacy. My friends tell me the town version is just as good, better even. I’ll get there. Eventually.

In the meantime, in the shell of the old Trailside a new place, Bao Shack, has arisen, a humble Taiwanese diner in the country. We took a clan of seven there for lunch today (they’re only open for lunch, and only on Saturday and Sunday, as I write).

We enjoyed gua bao (think “fluffy spicy sandwich”), gyoza, fried sweet buns, ramen, crispy chicken over rice. It was an improvised menu, prompted by L.’s “we need food for seven” request. The chicken gua bao was my favourite (did I mention I’ve become a hypocritarian of late).

The space is much as it ever was, with some space breathed in, the stage removed, and some mild decorating.

There may be no more Garnet Rogers or Lennie Gallant or Martha Wainwright, but Bao Shack is a pretty good reason for a weekend trip to Mount Stewart.

We had coffee with a friend on the deck at The Gallery yesterday afternoon, and L. took this photo of me, with the Basilica in the background. Seeing myself through another’s eyes.

L.’s place by the shore–she insists I should say by the beach, but my patrician tendencies won’t allow that–is 50 km from town, meaning a round trip is a nice even 100 km.

Her gasoline-powered SUV has fuel economy of 9 litres per 100 km, meaning that, at today’s $2.18/litre price for gasoline, a roundtrip costs $19.62.

My electric-powered Kia Soul EV reports using 15 kWh per 100 km, meaning that, at today’s price of 15.32 cents/kWh, a roundtrip costs $2.29.

I had to do the math on that several times, and have a friend double-check it, as the difference was so stark.

I’m very proud of my landlords at St. Paul’s Church for tenaciously working to make the Parish Hall accessible to all: the new ramp at the back of the hall is part of a larger project that will involve installing a power door and extending the driveway to Church Street.

A gift for L. for our six month anniversary, reflected back to me in photograph today to see afresh. Printed on my Golding Jobber No. 8 last week, using a new font of wooden type from Letterpress Things.

The words are from Krishnamurti, by way of Oliver Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals:

“I don’t mind what happens.” Perhaps these words need a little unpacking; I don’t think Krishnamurti means to say that we shouldn’t feel sorrow, compassion, or anger when bad things happen to ourselves or others, nor that we should give up on our efforts to prevent bad things from happening in the future. Rather, a life spent “not minding what happens” is one lived without the inner demand to know that the future will conform to your desires for it – and thus without having to be constantly on edge as you wait to discover whether or not things will unfold as expected.

Those words have proved helpful to both of us, by times, in recent weeks.

Alan Stanley in The Guardian on restaurant patios that aren’t accessible to all:

There is no excuse for not making all new seasonal outdoor eating and drinking areas completely available to all. Business owners have asked the public to give up parking spaces where decks are built out into the street, and to give up the unencumbered use of public sidewalks to allow their warm weather expansions.

It’s usually a good trade — we can put up with these inconveniences in exchange for a more vibrant local culture and additional personal choices, but it seems self-evident that the benefits of this trade-off should extend to all. Why is it not mandated that every temporary structure be made in compliance with all normal accessibility codes for new construction? All too often we come across a new structure, a nicely surrounded wooden platform for instance, with a step up instead of a ramp. Not everyone can use a step, but everyone can use a ramp.

He is absolutely right.

I don’t believe U-Haul is “sharing” their truck, any more than an airline is “sharing” their seat with me.

Laura Drever sketches her Orkney landscape:

My pencil case – one I made when I was 10 years old, with Laura hand stitched on it – has been coming walks with me. For many years, it stayed in the studio and didn’t see the light of day. Now, it comes with me every time, along with a water colour palette and a sketch book.

A place to gather colours, textures and lines. And ideas.

I’ve fallen out of the habit of carrying my sketchbook everywhere I go. I miss it, and aim to pick it up again; my eyes need to start seeing again.

Wouter writes about heterogeneous hiking signage:

Here’s where things already start to go wrong. You’d think that an orange “Plus” is always the longer route, but no. This is dependent on the site you visit, so pay attention when looking at that map. So far so good, but as soon as you dare to cross the provincial borders—which doesn’t take much in tiny Belgium—the signs suddenly and completely alter face. Instead of being served symbols, you’re being served numbers on a bigger burgundy-colored almost traffic sign, in the same vein as the bicycle crossroad signs across Flanders. Why bike signs can be uniform across Flanders and hiking signs can’t is beyond me.

I like people who are unafraid of being publicly interested in interesting things.