Sunday, September 18, 2011

Down to Earth

In September the country fall fairs are ubiquitous; and while the choice is extensive I was however especially intrigued by the recent newspaper advertisements for the Middleville Fair. I have often passed through Middleville en route to Lanark and in so doing I have noticed the eye-catching agricultural grounds whose very old buildings bear the remnants of the signs of fairs gone by. Additionally Middleville is on pleasingly high ground and charmingly small enough to provide what I expected would be a more intimate experience than some of the larger fairs held closer to the limits of the City of Ottawa. As it turned out an added and unpredictable feature of this year’s fair in Middleville was the superlative weather on Saturday. The skies were crystal clear, light blue, blazing sunshine yet it was cool enough to invite the sporting of a wool sweater from one’s erstwhile secreted wardrobe.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Sunny Saturday

The exceedingly pleasant Saturday was swiftly winding down. The Howard Miller kitchen wall clock ticked rhythmically and undeterred towards six. The busy Saturday, replete as it had been, was lamentably coming to its closing stages. After their bicycle ride early this morning, after their breakfast at the golf club, and after having gathered and unloaded their groceries (by which time they had all but exhausted the first half of the day), B and D had both been out for lunch, separate congregations, D with B’s sister (L) and daughter (J) and her girl-friend (A); B with another lawyer (K) who was beating the bushes for his urban litigation practice (estate contests and Plaintiff’s counsel in personal injury suits). By all accounts, when B and D rallied at home by happenstance at almost the same time after lunch, their respective social and business engagements had gone well. For D’s part, after their most satisfactory lunch at the new Crêperie, L and the girls had visited the house and admired the garden, the patio and the recent improvements to the garage and brick lamp posts. L, who had more than once mentioned the possibility of selling their expensive family home nearby the Canal in the City, clearly had an eye on the less expensive and more expansive rural housing market. For his part, B and his ward (the younger City lawyer) had shared hard facts about the murky past and about current business practices, two lawyers dryly discussing life as seen from the Bar. They had wandered up and down the Riverwalk from the old Town Hall to the Victoria Woollen Mill where they had dined by the waterfall (though neither of them had paid much attention to what was beyond the extent of the white linen covering their table). Theirs was a soulful expatiation, a commiseration between an older and a younger lawyer. B had felt the need to share the lessons of life which he had learned. K regretted the untimely death of his father at age 59.