Last week and this I’ve been learning to canter Jack the Horse. It’s a whole new ballgame, and one that I’m, so far, only just touching the edges of.

The “canter switch” on Jack is to put pressure on his right flank while making a kissing sound (I’m not making this up). Canter is a different gait, and a faster speed, and it is, at this point, frankly, somewhat terrifying a prospect; the terror is leading me to pull back on the reigns and give mixed signals to Jack, so I’ve yet to achieve a full cantery orbit. But I’ve tasted it, and as much as it’s terrifying, it’s also deeply thrilling.

L., who’s been coming for riding lessons with me this month, generously took a video of one of the “almosts.”

James A. Reeves is a such wonderful writer:

York Minster is the largest Gothic cathedral north of the Alps, and it hangs from the sky like lace. Whenever I see these colossal palaces to God, it’s easy—and perhaps correct—to frown at all the blood and treasure hoovered up by faith-dealers to sustain a corrupted fantasy. Yet if I squint a certain way, I see something humble and profound, even a little heartbreaking: a community deciding, upon finding themselves alone and confused on a strange planet, to use their finest materials and labor to erect a space devoted to an otherworldly logic, hoping to find some answers.

My friend Stephen started a YouTube channel: PEI Pen Guy.

If you’re a pen nerd, it’s golden.

It’s also a testament to how a person with a phone, a tripod, and passion about something can become a broadcaster.

100% of my posts this week have been about interesting things being done by friends of mine named Stephen!

Stephen Southall has been my friend for 35 years, since we met in the summer of 1987 in Peterborough.

Over the years we’ve known each other I’ve spent time with many of the Southall clan—Carol and George, deeply interesting parents, had six kids, all of them deeply interesting people. They are a remarkable bunch.

For the past 13 years Stephen has made a household for his mother a powerful, inspiring act of service.

Stephen’s family, led by his niece Carol, have organized a GoFundMe campaign to send him to Las Vegas to play in the World Series of Poker, a trip that would serve both to scratch his poker itch—he is a passionate student of the game—and to give him much-needed, much-deserved respite.

Perhaps the greatest thing to come from this fundraiser is this video, which may be the most singularly Southall thing ever produced.

As a favour to me, and as a way of honouring Stephen’s service, please consider throwing in $20 to the effort; your stake won’t solve what ails the world, but it will breathe life into the spirits of a dear old friend.

 I rode public transit this morning for the first time in almost three years: the early hour meant the bus was deserted—just me and two others—and the icy sidewalks, left over from Monday’s snowfall, meant the bus was a welcome alternative to the slip-sliding across town I would have had to negotiate otherwise.

I love the bus. I’d forgotten that. It was good to be back.

And there was wifi. Fast wifi.

Nine yellow balloons. On my birthday. In the late afternoon sun.

A montage of photos of the number 56, from the Flickr group No. 56

I turn 56 years old today. Two times twenty-eight.

If I live as long as my great-great-grandfather Than–97–then I still have 41 years left.

If I live as long as my father–84–then it’s just 28 years. Not tomorrow, but closer to the end than the beginning.

(It’s also the 20th anniversary of the first time I wrote about my birthday here).

Back in November, I posted this:

I’ve realized recently that the process of supporting Catherine through 6 years of living with, and ultimately dying from, cancer made me feel like I was 75 years old: all that time in hospitals and hospice, all that fragility, all that ever-closer end.

But I’m not 75 years old, I’m 55 years old. And getting a handle on that, and remembering how to do that, that’s a thing.

Now, 150 days later, I’m 56 years old, and I find myself in a lovely new relationship, I’m meeting new people, experiencing new things, I have a new spring in my step.

I’m looking forward more than backward, toward more than inward or outward.

At the same time, as I write, I feel surrounded by COVID, with new reports of positive cases marching ever-closer to home, and nary a day going by without a friend, or friend of a friend, declaring they’re isolating. Add that to the foot of snow that fell out of nowhere yesterday, to say nothing of the ongoing war in Ukraine, home to one quarter of my ancestors, and it’s a stressful, chaotic context to get a year older in.

In the midst of this, an insightful blog post from Rebecca Toh showed up in my feedreader:

These days I’ve been trying to change, but I’m also trying to be as gentle about it as possible.

Self-improvement can be insidious and a source of stress, because for many people, self-improvement is actually self-dislike in disguise. If we’re not careful, we can spend years on the self-improvement treadmill trying to reach our goals but feel utterly, utterly empty at the end.

There is simply no imaginary day in the bright future ahead when we’d wake up in the morning transformed, an ideal version of ourselves.

There is only transforming in the here and the now.

Which also means we have to do the work NOW and not tomorrow, but for us to truly transform, we have to do it with an attitude of non-striving, of not wanting to control the outcome exactly.

This is what I mean by trying to change, but also trying to be as gentle about it as possible.

I woke up this morning feeling groggy and a little out of sorts. The day was made brighter by the ones I love, and by friends old and new. 

There is simply no imaginary day in the bright future ahead when we’d wake up in the morning transformed, an ideal version of ourselves.

Today is the day.

On Monday night our small group of improv class students performed our first show for other people. A small group of other people. And friends and family other people at that. But other people nonetheless. 

It did, as our coach Laurie Murphy predicted it would, kick us up to another level of focus. It was thrilling and (at least in the moments leading up to it) butterfly-inducing.

I am so happy I didn’t slink away from the opportunity.

Here’s me, toward the end, part of a “rant” we each performed in series; the prompt from the audience was “summer,” and my opening line being “What the fuck is up with parades!?”. I fear that if video of my performance is leaked, I may be rendered ineligible for membership in (or fire service from) the North River and Crossroads Fire Departments, as there was more than a little “and what’s the deal with the fire trucks?!” content woven into my ranting. The “rant” has been where I’ve been at my least comfortable since I started going to classes in November, and I was happy with where I landed on Monday: I gave it my all.

Here’s a photo of our hearty gang of improvisers:

Laurie is back at it on Monday nights next week, 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. at The Haviland Club. $30/night. It’s a drop-in format, so you can drop in on any Monday. And, as I am the shining example of, you need neither experience for a surplus of confidence to try.

Your call is very important to us.

In the liner notes to No.6 Collaborations, Ed Sheeran writes:

This record was based on one I made in 2010 called No.5 Collaborations Project with a load of artists I liked. I had a little folder on my laptop called No.6 Collaborations Project, so I started ringing up people who I wanted to work with. I think the first was Camila, and then it sort of opened up from there. I based myself in Nashville, set up a studio there and started making songs, so whenever an artist passed through Nashville I would hit them up and they would come to the house. We’d make a song, and the record was made over the course of three months, with lots of people I like. I really stepped out of my comfort zone on some stuff. It was very fun and I hope you enjoy it. —Ed

I like that idea a lot, and might try it in the print shop. Indeed it’s something I’ve done with a few passers-through over the years—Jonas in 2018, Laurie and Art in 2021—and it’s always been fun, a burst of that special kind of from-away energy.

So if Charlottetown is your destination this year, ping and we’ll print something together.