Monday, December 27, 2010

Boxing Day on the Beach

At last! Twenty-four hours after arriving on Hilton Head Island (South Carolina) and having completed the prerequisites to getting settled in, I was able to make my way along the grey cedar boardwalk from the hotel to the broad band of beach on the chilling Atlantic Ocean. As soon as my shoes hit the sand I was reminded of the striking softness of beach colours, taupe wet sand, blue-grey water, white and grey seagulls, all under the massive dome of an endless sky. I had forgotten how marvellous gold looks upon a beach background. Either way I looked, to the left or to the right, the beach was interminable, rounding distant corners beyond which I could no longer see. The vastness of the beach invited me to travel ever further, as far as the large American flag flapping in the distance and still more.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Shortest Day of the Year


The defining characteristic of Canadians at this time of year is survival. Never mind the bright Christmas lights and tinselled trees; this is an undisguised hostile environment. Everything currently conspires against us, the snow, the darkness, the cold, the damp air, the slush and the general mess of the surroundings. It is only the most enthusiastic of our number who contemplate doing anything out-of-doors. The prospect is forbidding, best reserved for those who insist upon taking their constitutional whatever the circumstances “on Christmas Day or Doomsday”. The rest of us keep an eye upon the calendar and measure the days with greater acuity than an alienated J. Alfred Prufrock with his coffee spoons. We know only too well that today marks the Winter Solstice, and that means that things can only get better.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Trust Your Instincts


On a certain level adherence to one’s instincts is almost pathological, smacking as it does of compulsive behaviour and irrationality. It’s as though instinct were a substitute for thinking, not exactly what all that education we’ve had has taught us to do. On the other hand I have yet to meet anyone who dismisses the value of acting upon one’s gut reactions even though at times the practice is elevated to the extreme of psychic analysis (“voices from the past” and that sort of thing). Barring however telepathy and clairvoyance, I have increasingly come to view intuitive behaviour as the best guide, by far more shrewd, insightful and discerning than the alternative (rational deduction). This may at first appear to be an irresponsible vote in favour of impulse but this is to ignore the depth of the morass in which so-called natural feelings operate. Instinct is after all the instantaneous culmination of years of experience, often hard won on the battlefield not in the classroom. To suggest otherwise is the equivalent of saying that it is the key which makes a car run. Certainly a key when properly positioned sets things in motion, but it is all that other stuff behind the dashboard and under the hood which make it happen. Likewise a well-practiced intuition motivates the deeper behavioural decisions. Let’s face it if you start by heading in the wrong direction, you’re done. That’s what instinct does - it gets you going in the right direction, even if you don’t know why at the time or even if it takes longer to prove itself correct. It is for that reason as well that one must train oneself to trust one’s instincts because often there is nothing other than that trust to sustain the validity of one’s hunch.

Friday, December 10, 2010

The Christmas Express


About this time of year things progress fairly rapidly I find. Initially, in the first few days of December, we gradually adjust to the advent of winter weather, an enforced adjustment which becomes more persistent with each passing day. However it is not long before we’re convinced that winter really has arrived and that it is safe to begin counting the days to either the Winter Solstice or Spring, whichever helps.

What abruptly occurs as we approach the middle of the month, however, is the sudden realization that Christmas is upon us and all that that entails. People in the street begin wishing one another a Merry Christmas and many are prompted to shake hands with one another. It is a time of communal outpouring of charity and good wishes. The process is helped along by the trickle of Christmas cards which also materialize with increasing regularity. People commence muttering about the times during which their business offices are closed over the holidays. Some are captured in the post office assembling large packages in brown paper. There really is a hustle and bustle in the air.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Merry Christmas!


Upon arising and drawing the drapes this morning, a heedless glance out my frozen bedroom window reminded me what a desolate place Canada can be in the winter. On these normally cloudy days everything is dull - grey and brittle branches on the trees, forlorn snow on the grass and fields beyond, even the evergreens look faded and bleak, somehow tarnished. The barren and austere appearance is compounded by the mixture of filthy salt and dirty brown sand which now litters our roadways. It is so inhospitable.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

A Tiny Christmas

Doc Kelly was well-known for his magnanimity. It was not uncommon for example for him to accept potatoes or corn in payment of his medical services, especially from those who would, as fate would have it, oblige him to travel by sleigh on a blustery wintry night from Town to the nearby Village of Barnhart Mills where several of his more elderly and struggling patients lived. They relied upon him and his good advice, always given cheerfully and without restraint. They would have given more to him in compensation of his professional services, but they hadn’t any more to give and Doc Kelly knew that. It is no accident that if one is good at something in particular, one is often so in general. While it may be considered an odd extrapolation, the beneficence of Doc Kelly was so widely disseminated as to include not only human kind but also animals, particularly the small ones which are so often ignored on the theory that their diminutive size somehow accounts for a greater likelihood of survival in the harsh winter months, an observation which Doc Kelly understood to be patently erroneous.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Your Serve!

Life can provide incalculable annoyances. Because of the enormous variation of personal circumstances, the buffet of trouble which is spread before us is equally vast and particularized. The irritations which vex are strikingly well-suited to our present condition, seemingly capitalizing upon the underlying weaknesses of the moment. It would of course be stretching the point to imagine that there was anything other than mere randomness in this nastiness. The concept of fate and the visitation thereof in unwelcome fiery packages by various gods of the universe has long disappeared from the current vernacular. But at times it nonetheless leaves one thinking...

Friday, November 26, 2010

Late Silvery Autumn Days

We are blessed today with a perfectly blue sky. The temperature is pushing the freezing mark, but the air is so dry and clear that one can hardly complain at this time of year. Very often we’re up to our shins in snow at this late date in Autumn. As everyone knows, the sun, though shining brilliantly at the moment, descends at a rapid rate after midday. When the sun begins to decline, the light assumes a silvery aspect, no doubt pronounced by similar colours on the ground. The deciduous trees for example reveal their grey trunks and branches; the once grassy lawns and verdant fields are now various hues of brown and neutral colours. The grey stone houses project themselves in stately silence against the sky. It is a time of utter softness and unmeasured consistency. The only relief from the unbroken view of the insipid landscape is the reflection of the sapphire sky in the passive waters of the River below.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Utility

Understanding the fundamentals of the internet is for an old fogey like me no mean task. When I first began to hear about the internet many years ago (was it back in the 1980s?) it surfaced in the context of “internet servers” which still means very little to me. If, for example, I were asked to explain the concept to a ten year-old child I would be taxed. All I knew at that time was that there was money in being an internet server and there were a number of parties competing to be the one to do so. My involvement was through young entrepreneurs (since labeled as “geeks” or “nerds”) who were intelligent but obsessive enthusiasts having special knowledge in this rapidly developing world and who apparently had proprietary interests which they were willing to sell to others. It was not uncommon to hear in the early days that the internet was the up and coming thing, that eventually everything would be done on the internet, even though people like me really hadn’t a clue what it was or how you would do it. Descriptions such as “cyber highway” did little to improve my intelligence on the subject.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Cottage Pie

Some things are just nice to come home to. While I can’t for a minute say that I had a hard day at the office, it was nonetheless an uplifting pleasure on this late November evening to walk out of the drizzle and fog and into the house to be greeted by the unexpected wafting aroma of a cottage pie fresh from the oven. As the name suggests, cottage pie (like its virtually synonymous shepherd’s pie) is an inheritance from the modest rural crowd, whether cattle or sheep herders. Cottage pie ranks right up there with any of the other marvellous “comfort foods” which I challenge anyone to deny. Sometimes it is so relieving to have nothing more to do than to attach a bib to your collar and to hunker down to a delicious and hearty meal! Comfort foods seem to invite informality and resolute indulgence.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Morning Coffee

There is something liberating about getting out of bed at four o’clock in the morning and not begrudging it. Apart from the babble of the BBC World News Service there is nothing happening other than the tick of the clocks. At times like this one is afforded the faultless luxury of dwelling upon those trifling matters which during the past week or so were either ignored or side-lined. Being so obviously outside the perimeters of commerce at this time of day, there is no preoccupation other than idle contemplation to distract one. I don’t know about you, but I find I need time to recapitulate. I suspect it is part of my make-up as a small business entrepreneur to see the need to reconsider the empire from time to time. Like it or not the hurly-burly of daily business makes it difficult to find time to see the larger picture and to allow things to percolate to the surface.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

A Word About Insurance

Though I am not aware how I first developed the thought (and pardon me if the result sounds Bolshevist), I have long maintained that the world is effectively run by the banks and insurance companies. In my view they represent the cornerstone of commerce, like it or not. In the pyramid of industrialists those businesses are pretty much monopolized by the same people or at least guided by very many of the same principles. Anyway apart from the incestuous management and any politically subversive views they may engender, I suppose I could enlarge upon the comparison by suggesting for example that getting a loan is somewhat like insuring one’s life or material possessions for hundreds of thousands of dollars; viz., both events involve commitment to a sizeable monthly outlay and the hope that in the end it will all pay off. But forgive me for having dilated upon the subject unnecessarily as it is neither the alliance of, nor the similarities between, the banks and insurance companies which prompts me at the moment. What compels me today to opine upon the subject of insurance companies in particular is that I have just applied for what the Lawyers’ Professional Indemnity Insurance Company calls “Excess Errors and Omissions Insurance”, that little extra $1M - $9M of coverage just in case.

Monday, November 15, 2010

The Gentleman Bien Rangé

Life is a delicate thing. Very often, however, we treat it with less regard than it deserves. It has to be one of the advantages of getting older that the preciousness of life is increasingly obvious and the need to participate in it fully becomes more compelling by the day. To think of life as an oyster to be consumed, while advancing its invaluableness and emphasizing its rewards, is not exactly what I had in mind. Rather I am thinking more along the lines of putting out, not taking in.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

We’ll Travel for Miles in our Saturday Smiles

There aren’t many days I have wished would never end. Today however is one of them. In spite of not having had the deepest sleep last night, I at least awoke with a clear head which, considering the Friday night averages is no mean compliment. It helped too that upon awakening it was obvious that the day promised to be brilliant. As though to heap one successive bounty upon another, as we listened to CBC radio while sipping our morning coffee at the kitchen table and tapping busily upon our respective lap top computers we heard a reference not once but twice to my very friend, being thanked for his music recommendation “Come Saturday Morning” in answer to last week’s public invitation. As the song played, I stopped what I was doing to relish the lyrics, which capture exactly the type of day we ended by having, wonderful in every way.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

On the Cusp of Thanksgiving Weekend

There is invariably an atmosphere of anticipation as a prelude to a national holiday, or what perhaps as a concession to creeping Marxian philosophy is called a “public holiday”. The distinction may be nothing more than a diversion of one’s attention from the element of “state run” to the more palatable factor of “community”, though I am reminded of the dismissive comment of a denizen of an upper class ghetto that “Fairs are for the poor!” But I am getting off-point. This wasn’t meant to be a discussion of socialism or the proletarian revolution; rather I want to address and acknowledge what has become one of the most important annual holidays on the calendar quite outside political ideology or the functioning of capitalism. Indeed in the American vernacular Thanksgiving is all about excess and abundance, very much in keeping with the reputed tendency of our neighbours to the South to indulge themselves in the profits of free enterprise. But again I am losing the thread.

Friday, September 24, 2010

The Secret to Happiness

When bounding on my way to the office this morning I chanced to cross paths with His Lordship walking his faithful mixed breed. I was somewhat astonished – though I realize now I never should have been – by his response to my cheerful enquiry whether everything was well in the Best of All Possible Worlds. Though I cannot now recall them, his exact words were less than aflame, the essence being more in keeping with a measured degree of cheerlessness. As I say, this intrigues me and for a couple of reasons. First, I admit to complete unpreparedness for the possible misery of others. This is no doubt the sad product of an unflattering tendency of mine generally to put on the blinkers insofar as the concerns of the world are relevant. Second, I made the mistake no doubt made by many others; viz., to imagine that certain people just haven’t the right to be dejected in view of their perceived abundance. Life of course proves time and again that it is indiscriminate in both its bounty and its deprivation.

Friday, September 17, 2010

End of Week

It's 3:30 a.m. on Friday morning. A half-hour ago it seemed the most appropriate thing in the world to arise from the downy lair and get into the thick of things. There is something persuasive about a Friday, particularly when I know that my current agenda isn't burdensome. I won't say it competes with the anticipation of Christmas morning, but there is unquestionably an element of titillation to a Friday, the end of week.

Frequently I am less than enthusiastic about Fridays. The day is after all seemingly the day of choice for real estate agents to complete residential purchase transactions, a choice which oddly ignores the fact that if there are any serious delays, the delay is compounded by the upcoming weekend when it is quite impossible to do any business. I have never understood this preference for end of week when there are four other perfectly sound days upon which to conclude one's dealings. The only thing worse is the agents' pitiless obsession with a Friday at the end of the month, as though it were somehow necessary to do everything at the last minute, causing maximum stress and strain upon the system generally, not to mention importing the lower class vernacular of tenancy.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Fresh Start

While for some the subject of a fresh start is strictly seasonal and best reserved for springtime elucidation when the metaphors of rebirth lend themselves to enlargement upon the topic, it is my personal experience that the theme is relevant at almost any time of the year, though admittedly frequently more à propos rough water than melting snow. It is nevertheless in principle true that a fresh start can be as innocuous as a haircut or as forceful as a divorce. While I won’t of course suggest that there is otherwise no significant difference between the two, the disparity at least illustrates that the thrust of the particular fresh start depends very much upon where one is in life. Let’s face it there are times when all that is required is a bit of remedial work, general housekeeping so to speak, a brushing up; whereas at others a more strategic and even calamitous emendation is of necessity. In either case, the focus is not upon the disproportionate resolve but rather upon the relieving effect of the undertaking.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Oxymoron as a Culinary Device

One wouldn’t imagine being served haute cuisine in a rustic cabin, but I can vouch from first-hand experience that the same is true! Likewise the juxtaposition of seeming opposites normally reserved for the literary vernacular is equally effective in matters of gastronomy and architecture.

On Sunday evening we dined with a mutual friend in nearby Pakenham Township at his quaint cottage situated in a glade immediately adjacent the roaring Indian River. So carefully revitalized is the log cabin that one cannot help but think it part of an idyllic and archaic Hollywood set. Bing Crosby and Holiday Inn have nothing on this place! Everything about the cabin is homey and packed with charm. As with most similar social venues the walls are cluttered with paraphernalia contributed by our host’s many admiring guests who have thought to bring along a memento of one sort or another, often charged with over-lying comic relief. In addition the ancestral atmosphere is thickened by the presence of numerous paintings, sketches and bric-à-brac once belonging to other friends and departed family members no longer whinnying among us. Our host nurtures that peculiarly country custom of dilating upon one’s clan and other close associates, always proving to be a genealogical delight for the astute observer.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Ups and Downs

Why it is so I will likely never know, but I find my life goes in cycles, discernible seasons of ups and downs. The pattern mystifies me because on ground level there isn't a great deal of difference in my life one day from another. Mine is very much the life of a working stiff who, to have the things that life has to offer, is obliged to put on the harness five days a week. My evenings, on a good day, consist of a bicycle ride, an improving book and dinner. We seldom escape to the orchestra or theatre for diversion. Our weekends are spent quietly wandering about our immediate universe discovering new places for lunch, hopefully by the water. It would of course be unimaginable that our fortunes would be always favourable, but by and large we haven't much to complain about.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

The Boonies

When I first came to this picturesque Town in 1976 the most hotly debated topic among me and my peers was whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to live in the country or in the city, the proverbial rural versus urban dichotomy. It’s funny how these things happen. It would be misleading to suggest that my move here was entirely by design. As with most of my adventures and misadventures, I essentially just fell into the scheme without much planning at all. If anything, my progress to the rustic was more noticeable for what I was running from than what I was running towards. When I became disenchanted (such an inoffensive word for such a tortuous reality) with life in the City, I made up my mind that there was nowhere within its caverns that I could escape the haunting recollection of all that then disturbed me. As a result I was determined to project myself as far as reasonably possible from the memory.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Law as an Arranged Marriage

Westerners in particular feign a disdain for anything approaching an arranged marriage, as though it is both barbaric and lacking in equality. This business is often thought to be the preserve of India, where apparently the class system is yet alive and well (much to the pleasure of those who hang onto the good old days of the Empire), although its legitimacy is contaminated by the reportedly popular affection there for the cow. My own experience leads me to swerve from this high road of morality, since in the past I have, for example, been accustomed to hear of the blissful marriage of Kippy Jaffrey and Morgan Eastman, an association which even the most myopic person couldn’t possibly dub a marriage made in Heaven rather than in Forest Hill.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Conquering the Forces of Evil

Even after a full eight hours in the hammock, I wasn’t especially enthusiastic about getting out of bed when the clock/radio abruptly announced the CBC news at six o`clock this morning. On the heels of seven weeks of almost uninterrupted disruption, caused by an unusually prolonged vacuum in business, car problems and a reactionary return to former indulgences, things are only just beginning to stabilize themselves once again. It is no fun being reminded of the unevenness of life though of course no one can escape it. Eventually circumstances dish out a measure of trouble. I can’t imagine why in the world I would ever assume that I should be spared such allotment, and yet it always comes as a shock, upsetting the pattern and progress of my erstwhile monotony. While I am always happy to find myself on the smooth side of the demarcation between regular and irregular events, I will never be persuaded to become so thoroughly philosophical about the rough ones to adopt an accepting view of them. It is just plain bother! And I could well do without the inconvenience.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Semi-Retirement

I don’t imagine the phrase “semi-retirement” is a term of art having a specialized industry connotation. It is however a step up from jargon and shop talk. No doubt the expression was spawned by the business culture generally, so for example it isn’t what you’d expect to hear from a housewife in her late fifties. Apart from that limitation the scope of the observation is fairly broad, dignifying everything from the former cop who works three days a week in the local hardware store to the 90 year old former CEO of a gasoline distribution company who insists on regularly checking the washrooms of its various outlets for cleanliness. Some might argue that even those who continue on full salary and who make an appearance five days a week are already semi-retired, a more flattering description than being called redundant.

Friday, July 30, 2010

“Hot enough for ‘ya?” The Art of Trite Conversation

Whether it is the Canadian vernacular or merely the absence of intelligence, casual conversation among locals is generally considered to be sorrowfully insipid. At the root of it may be nothing more than a lack of genuine concern for the well-being of others, though I am inclined to doubt the proposition since the indisputable feature of the masses is an appetite for gossip, the introduction to which must always be made to appear disinterested.

It has been said of polite conversation that it should be confined to a discussion of one’s health and the weather. Both curiosities regrettably invite little more than glib answers, none of which enlarge particularly meaningfully upon the subject at hand; viz., “Fine!” or “Yeah, hot as Hell!” The further difficulty with such dead-end precursors is that they seldom lead to the development of more expansive thinking or discussion. I mean, unless you’ve recently undergone surgery or you’re a farmer, the matters of health and weather are fairly finite. As a result the introductory comments inevitably bring the encounter to a screeching and uncomfortable end; that is, unless you are learned in the art of trite conversation.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Sent from my Blackberry Wireless

Once you are bitten by the technology bug there are seemingly endless possibilities to feed the disease which is the fruit of the sting. The only governor of the ensuing wild gyrations is the knowledge that, apart from the capital cost of the product, there are always associated “connection” costs which, while seldom overwhelming, are nonetheless one more in the rising pile of automatic deductions from one’s long-suffering bank account. It makes you stop to think, “Do I really need this?”

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Dairy Queen

I am so over Dairy Queen!

Last evening, after we finished putting on the nose bag at the Golden Palace Restaurant on Carling Avenue, we got it into our heads that he needed something sweet. Our first reaction was to drive to the Dairy Queen in Arnprior, but we telephoned ahead and confirmed they only take cash (which we didn’t have). Despondent, we drove on, only to discover another Dairy Queen along the way in Kanata. We stopped there on the chance they might take credit cards which it turned out they do. Elated by our good fortune, we joined the line of the West End teenagers, children and parents and ordered our Choco-Cherry Love Blizzard and peanut buster parfait , which we then consumed under the blazing white fluorescent lights at a small white plastic table with white plastic chairs overlooking the adjoining and now darkened parking lot.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Annual Check-Up

There cannot possibly be anyone who relishes the prospect of the annual physical examination by their Physician. For men in particular, the process is punctuated with a singularly unpleasant probe heralded by the snap of rubber gloves. But equally off-putting and just as demeaning is the corollary of having to go to the clinic subsequently to submit to the blood work requisitioned by the Physician, and then having to wait to hear what if anything is wrong with you. The entire enterprise is a jarring interruption of one’s preferred daily customs, and there is nothing elegant about the medical environment, characterized as it is by overworked professionals and staff, growing numbers of decrepit people and dilapidated facilities. Canadian mores have ensured that the universal health system is the great leveller of society. I won’t say, however, that the affair has yet reached the height of humiliation which the Customs officials at the airports have managed to perfect in recent years.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

We're Having a Heat Wave

I imagine there isn’t a summer which passes without a heat wave, though the memory of it is as ephemeral as a bee sting (unless of course one is allergic, then the consequences and recollection of it are undoubtedly more penetrating). But for the most part the extremes of climate are rather like pain in that once it has passed all is forgotten, which is really unfortunate because nothing captures the essence of summer like a heat wave. The pictures of summer must for example include children running hysterically through a water sprinkler; young boys diving from the train tracks into the River below; entire families licking their way through dripping ice cream cones; and the general lethargy of those walking with their dogs about parks in the shade. What other than a heat wave can precipitate such singular behaviour?

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Foggy Day in Appleton

Denis was surprised when he saw that I intended to go for a bicycle ride at 5:00 o’clock this morning, not because of the time, but because of the fog. A moment before when I got out of bed and opened the draperies, I heard the steady drips of water on the leaves of the huge birch tree which shadows the corner of the house where my bedroom is located. The sound I heard wasn’t rain, just saturated air letting go of its cargo like a mechanical water clock.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

The Fix

Sometimes it takes a jolt to the system to snap oneself out of a rut. Like an old wagon, one can so easily roll along as before with neither the inclination nor the ability to change. Granted there may be a distant look in one’s eye, but abstract aspirations seldom inspire. Something more tangible and immediate is required as a stimulus.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Summer Morning

Promptly at 6:10 a.m. this morning, after a respectable night’s sleep and the welcome absence of fermented potato juice contaminants the evening before, I hopped onto my trusty Electra 9-speed bicycle and headed towards the Village of Appleton along my customary route. There was a great deal of early morning traffic, mostly large, noisy vehicles like dump trucks, school buses and half-ton pickups, the trades making way sometimes at alarmingly high speeds to their respective destinations. As I ride against the traffic, whenever one of these mountains of steel comes hurtling towards me, I make sure to drift onto the gravel shoulder, as far to the left as possible, sometimes having to slacken my speed considerably if there is a prevalence of loose stone, since otherwise I might easily lose my balance. It merits observation that many of the drivers go out of their way themselves to move over from the shoulder of the road as they pass by me. When this happens, I raise my index and third finger together (in the manner of the “peace” sign) as a token of my appreciation (though I might add it doesn’t deter me in the least from taking my precautions). Sometimes it is impossible for them to move over, when for example another vehicle is coming in the opposite direction. The younger automobile drivers, especially young women, seldom deviate an inch from their lawful territory, whether or not there is on-coming traffic. When that happens, I find myself muttering some philippic or other under my breath, though I suppose I have no right to expect any courtesy whatever from them.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Victory Day

As though to punctuate the importance of this day (and to purge myself of regret for all that is miserable within), I began by riding my bicycle at 6:30 a.m. this morning to the Village of Appleton and back. The air was extraordinarily still. The sun was at times hidden behind small clusters of ominous grey clouds, but for the most part it is a sunny, hot and humid day. Because today is a holiday, there wasn’t much traffic along the ribbon of road. As I pedaled, I reflected upon the state of affairs within my private domain. The prospect of personal renewal is never lost on me, likely because it is so worthy of consideration. I have once again set upon today as a day to mark my victory over all the demons which so regularly plague me. I should of course be laughing at myself instead, because this is hardly the first time I have done something like this. However, I persist. There was after all a time when I thought I would never be able to quit smoking, but I did. And I have never revisited the habit, not once.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Get Back to Work!

I listened with interest this morning as two CBC radio personalities agreed with one another that they have never got over the anxiety which accompanies Sunday evening and the prospect of Monday morning. As one reporter said, he was awake throughout the night wondering whether he had overslept, regularly checking the alarm clock to be sure that he got out of bed in time for his early morning appearance on the show. This, even after having done it for years. I found this all terribly encouraging, because it illustrated that I am not the only one in this world who obsesses about Monday mornings. And as hackneyed as it is to say it, the plague is distinctly peculiar to Monday mornings (especially rainy Monday mornings, as today), rather than any other day of the week. Once, however, I am back in the proverbial saddle, and the work week is under way, my discomfiture invariably dissipates quickly.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Life 101

When a friend of mine (in earnest or not, I cannot be sure) invited me to speak to the members of his Toronto golf club (presumably as the dog and pony show at a tournament or some such other event), my immediate reaction was that I couldn’t imagine myself having anything of interest to say to a pack of linksmen. First, my foray into the rarefied atmosphere of golfing was so long ago as to be little more than a faded memory, and since then my brush with the denizens of the club house has been limited to that of a social member of our local golf club, where I host annual luncheons and dinner parties for family and friends who profess to enjoy an outing to rural Ontario by the cool waters of the slow and meandering Mississippi River. However, upon further reflection on the subject, the more fundamental question of what I might have to say to anyone (either by way of entertainment or wisdom) occurred to me. Golfers after all, notwithstanding their pretense to singularity, are still mere mortals; and surely they could profit as easily as any others from a bit of general conflab on one subject or another. One of the relics of advanced age has to be the possibility that, having endured a lifetime of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, one must surely have something of consequence to share with others, be they golfers or not.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Saturday Night

It was a raucous foregathering last evening in the subdivision! The lights, the fireplace and everyone in between were ablaze!

Things began innocuously enough, as they always do in these casual Saturday social circumstances, with a frozen vodka martini, nourished by some salted roasted pecans. But the pace picked up steadily, accompanied by asparagus spears wrapped in smoked prosciutto crudo, then surprisingly followed by an equally tantalizing and quite unexpected serving of spicy grilled prawns in the shell.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Spring Cleaning

It wasn’t a pretty sight to see me in my smalls at 6:15 a.m. this morning, valiantly pulling upon the cords of the Concept 2 stationary rowing machine in the dreary basement beside the washer and dryer (how unlike the television ads for the product), staring straight ahead (as if there were any other choice in the matter), intent upon completing my 30 minutes of exercise. My protuberant belly all but squeezed me uncomfortably on the forward pull. The CBC radio morning show in the background (at least what little of it I could hear over the whirr of the fly-wheel) did nothing to distract me from the half-hour eternity which stretched before me, as I disparagingly eyed the seconds ticking by with glacial speed on the mounted performance monitor.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Getting Religion

It is inescapable, especially to the Christian observer, that the arrival of Spring is about more than the awakening of the seeds in the ground. It is also about the rekindling of the fires of religion within one's mind, or should I say within one's heart. The debate about the intuition or rationality of religion is never ending, all the more so at a time when it is fashionable to blame religion for all the world's problems. In an increasingly educated society, it is considered lower class (perhaps heralded by Karl Marx' conjunction of religion and the masses) to adopt traditional religious models. Moreover, as the world's religions are thrown more and more into the face of one another, it seems just plain unfair to suggest that one man's god is better than another, and thus to reject them all. However, as someone who has had a blocked heart and lived to tell the tale, I am not as clear about the rejection of some of the possibilities of religion. I don't for a minute suggest that my survival was a religious experience (it was purely medical), but it reminds me of the importance of matters of the heart and the free flow of the cardiovascular system. Sometimes one's heart can be blocked by more than material matter.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Nice Day

Today promises to be an exceptionally beautiful day! It is now 6:00 a.m., and I have flung open a window in my study to admit the fresh morning air. The sky in the east beyond is a lapis blue, and the sun is already on the horizon, seeping its pink light into the Heavens. The streets are dry, though I doubt for long, as the temperatures rise and the roadside snow banks begin to melt. This of course is an important consideration for those of us who prize a clean automobile, at best a fleeting novelty in a Canadian winter. How I envy the Floridians their dry roads!

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

The last Will & Testament

Mr. Stanley McCubbin, aged 65 years and having a thick shock of grey hair and a ruddy complexion, lived alone with his faithful mongrel dog on a large parcel of land which had been in his family for three generations, from the time his ancestors first came to the Township of Lanark Highlands from Scotland in 1888. While both his father and his grandfather had been in military service, using the property somewhat neglectfully as a place to hang their respective hats between postings, Mr. Stanley McCubbin had opted instead to become a respectable farmer. In spite of the extremely rocky ground upon which the homestead was built, he nonetheless succeeded (with the assistance of local hired hands) in cultivating almost the entire parcel. Like most serious farmers of his time, he had also become involved in municipal politics, serving with the continued respect of his community as both Councillor and Warden. Mr. Stanley McCubbin warranted the term "country gentleman" in every sense of the expression. In addition to being industrious and clean-living (and an active and committed Presbyterian to boot), Mr. Stanley McCubbin was a warm and kind man, who was slow to anger (though he could become recalcitrant at times, but that disposition would eventually melt, even if his opinion did not).

Saturday, February 13, 2010

The Weekend

My inertia this morning was such that, having torn myself from the comfort of my feathered lair to void my bladder, that mission once accomplished, I thereafter found myself seated at my computer at 5:30 a.m., staring blankly at a succession of emails from well-meaning acquaintances who seem to think their purpose in life is to save the world ("be sure to pass this along to everyone you know") from the harmful effects of one thing or another. It is a paranoia which even I find strange.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

The Laid Back Practice of Law

I am now thankfully recovering today from what was late yesterday afternoon and throughout the evening that followed, and overnight, a seriously uncomfortable sensation. I won’t say that I had not experienced it before. It nonetheless rendered me significantly "challenged" (as people are currently wont to colour their feelings of inadequacy). Likely the experience was made all the more powerful and daunting by virtue of my advancing age and declining resilience. Whatever the reason, I spent a thoroughly unpleasant sixteen hours wrestling with a legal conundrum which had been dropped unannounced and without warning upon my desk by an Ottawa Solicitor who by all accounts I have subsequently learned positively thrives upon creating anxiety for every level of real estate practitioner, from Law Clerks and Solicitors to Land Registrars and Agents.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Waiting for the Bus

Evan (who hated his name even though there really wasn’t much offensive about it) sat outside the large downtown hotel on a damp concrete wall with his small leather suitcase beside him, waiting for the bus to the airport. Meanwhile he intently scratched at a piece of rampant fingernail on his right index finger. If anyone chanced to notice him as they passed by, they would have taken him for someone enjoying much the same preoccupation which attends picking one’s nose. At last he was able to catch the shard of nail and dislodge it quickly, but painfully, leaving a bubble of blood behind. He instinctively stuck his finger in his mouth to soothe the throbbing.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Toronto

We have two very close friends in Toronto whom I consider to be a lightning rod of the essence of the City. For me, they focus the energy and flavour of the place.

To begin, they live in the very popular and old Cabbagetown. When I was studying Philosophy at Glendon Hall on Bayview Avenue in 1967, Cabbagetown was even then considered trendy. Now the place has been positively gentrified, though it is still renowned to embrace artistic people and the outer orbits of society, especially those who may loosely be called "committee members". Our friends' home epitomizes Cabbagetown properties, being an historic red brick town house (one in a row of about five), three stories high, on the top of which is a marvellous open-air deck, shrouded by enormous trees and overlooking one of those distinctly Toronto rear lanes between the houses. If one is inclined to be nosy (as one must inevitably be, especially after consuming a glass or two of wine), it is possible to peer into the bedrooms and living rooms of nearby homes which are packed in succession throughout the neighbourhood as far as the eye can see. Many times we have thrilled to the delight of a protracted evening meal with our friends and their collection of interesting acquaintances. The meals are invariably delicious, combining the most exotic ingredients in the latest culinary fashion, always nurtured by fine wines. Even the society of visitors to their place is essentially Toronto, in that the people are from varied walks of life, some well-to-do, others highly educated, all bubbling with enthusiasm and comraderie. Everyone appears to enjoy an element of singularity which borders on fashionable.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Lengthening Days

Three cheers for us! We walked to work this morning! Though I hadn’t planned on doing so, I am of course delighted that I did. If nothing else it expiates my general guilt about Winter laziness and lassitude, a posture sadly only too readily assumed if encouraged in the least by foul weather and a blazing fireplace (not to mention the complimentary libations). Today, however, the sun shone brilliantly, and I was energized by last evening’s welcome though infrequent abstemious conduct. I suspect it takes little more than fifteen minutes to walk from the house to the office. Even as we crossed the Maclan Bridge over the flowing Mississippi River, the air, though damp, was not freezing, bringing only a slight blush to our cheeks. I proudly sported a multi-coloured woolen cap which I had purchased this past weekend at the Wool Growers’ Cooperative in Carleton Place, one of those best kept secrets, merchandising as it does some high quality items. It is an urban prejudice that one must shop in the City to find good stuff. Frequently I have found myself observing with no small element of pride that this or that item was purchased locally.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Pennies from Heaven

My thoughts began innocently enough this morning, reflecting with humble and thankful gratitude upon the fortunes which I have recently enjoyed. I have experienced within the past two days something akin to money literally falling from Heaven. Like most things in life, the ultimate sensation was the accumulation of many smaller, less significant ones. First there was the intelligence from my Accountant that I may be entitled to an income tax refund. That of course was welcome news, but it didn't heighten my expectations greatly, as I am always of the opinion that what Her Majesty gives with one hand, she takes with the other. Then, quite unexpectedly, a cheque arrived in the mail from the local Municipality, a rebate provided to owners of heritage properties to off-set on-going maintenance costs. On heels of that surprise, I concluded a difficult transaction which provided unanticipated return, as the twisted details of the deal finally and somewhat abruptly merged with satisfaction on all sides. And just as I was beginning to think things couldn't get any better, a sizeable settlement arrived in the mail from a Trustee-in-Bankruptcy in the matter of a class action law suit about which I had entirely abandoned any hope of recovery. Granted, this latter benefit was on behalf of a Deceased for whom I am the Estate Trustee, but nonetheless it added further advantage to what had already been a successful few days.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Start All Over Again!

Thank the Heavens for the beginning of a new month! A fresh start! An opportunity once again to get everything in order, after having wallowed into the New Year through that unwelcome month of January. Now is the time to get serious about resolutions - diet, drinking, exercise and finances. The possibilities of redemption and renovation are endless!

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Winter Wilderness

As the clamour of Christmas finally subsides and we approach the last week in January, we mechanically enter the Winter Wilderness, that uninhabited wasteland of nothingness. The surreal nature of the void is for me compounded by the effects of over-the-counter cough syrup which I have no doubt contains enough "medicine" to seriously distort one's mental equilibrium, contributing in no small part to midnight dreams of the most bizarre nature.

Friday, January 22, 2010

Early Morning Luxury

It is an early morning luxury to want to get out of bed before the alarm clock sounds (normally at 6:00 a.m., heralded by the crashing sounds of CBC trying to cater to the younger generation), and then lounge about in pyjamas and bath robe in one's study, checking email and bank accounts, and sipping strong, black coffee, particularly during the week when the office holds nothing foreboding on the agenda which might otherwise contaminate such frivolity and carefree abandon. So often my withering body is crushed into the goose feathers by the mere thought of the ominous things which await me (regrettably a destiny which I fear will never evaporate as long as I am compelled to ply my trade for a living). Nonetheless I was animated in my endeavours this morning by the awakening reflections upon several of my Clients (not all charitable thoughts I might add). You see, there's the conundrum - I want to escape the preoccupation, but on the other hand it lights the fires under my feet. Some would be so generous as to suggest that employment gives one "purpose" in life, in fact a reason to get out of bed in the morning, though I'm more inclined to agree with the prosaic comment of Albert Camus' char that, aside from pondering the existential meaning of life, it would be a good idea to do something to pay the rent.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Year End

I believe this is the first time in the New Year that I have had either the opportunity or the inclination to write anything. The first eleven days of 2010 were royally consumed by our jaunt to Boca Raton, Florida where we paraded ourselves (almost painfully at the end) as hedonists of resorts, restaurants and spas. Not unexpectedly, and as so often happens when one tears oneself from homey comforts, we were just as happy to leave and get back to our routine.