Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Things are getting busy here!

After what was undeniably a quiet and relaxed winter on Hilton Head Island - what I often likened to a private retreat  - things have begun to change.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Rainy Easter Sunday

Today is Easter Sunday. The religious theme is lost upon us. Apart from having listened to ecclesiastical music this morning (which I do every Sunday morning anyway) the day is more remarkable for its ceaseless rain. The last time I pretended to care about Easter was about forty years ago when I was in Montreal on my own for a weekend holiday.  I can't recall exactly the stage of my career at the time but I do remember having purchased a Sony Walkman.

Friday, March 25, 2016

Not a bad Good Friday

Without intending to be irreverent, I want to draw upon the metaphor of Easter Weekend; namely, rebirth. My focus upon this normally atmospheric subject began with a much earthier event yesterday afternoon. I had just consumed a large piece of Key Lime pie (liberally decorated with rosettes of whipped cream), the third piece in the previous twenty-four hours!  Seldom does pie last more than twenty-four hours in our household.

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Immortality

“THERE are two kinds of immortality; that which the soul really enjoys after this life, and that imaginary existence by which men live in their fame and reputation. The best and greatest actions have proceeded from the prospect of the one or other of these.”

Excerpt From: Joseph Addison. “The Tatler: By the Right Honourable Joseph Addison, Esq.


Overnight I had begun to plan my day.  I had first to confirm that Sea Pines Resort had delivered a replacement bicycle following the unexpected explosion of my rear tire yesterday, though conveniently immediately upon my return to the parking lot of the condominium.  The shattering sound had startled Simon the gardener and he approached me mirthfully and with due enquiry.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Grey Day


The first time I set foot upon the beach on Hilton Head Island - over six years ago - it was a cloudy day. I shall forever recall that day as I celebrated our arrival and wandered on the beach by the roiling sea eagerly absorbing the sights and sounds of the Atlantic Ocean.  My immediate reaction was paradoxically that the colours - particularly of the muted sand - were vibrant. Today was another grey day and a similar experience. The colours of the beach on a cloudy day are always the same, grey sand, grey sea and grey sky. And yet there is is nothing washed out about the appeal.

Friday, March 18, 2016

Thinking of home

The countdown has begun.  Our departure from Hilton Head Island is in the offing if not indeed imminent. Exactly one month from today we are scheduled to land back on terra firma in Canada. We left Canada on November 6th last. We're rounding out an agreeable five-month stint. We plan to wrinkle the smoothness of this descent by returning to Jekyll Island, GA for a weekend jaunt in the second week of April. Otherwise we'll simply endure the Island flavours until then. We're safely assured that the weather will be warm over the next month. Yesterday I bought two tropical shirts to match two pairs of vanilla shorts. Call me carefree! Every day I strengthen the bit of colour I've managed to acquire over the past five months by bicycling on the beach and afterwards reposing by the pool. It's a routine, a pleasing ritual. Fortunately as a matter of discretion I acknowledge there is no likelihood of my having to display myself in the buff.  Accordingly I confine my ultraviolet exposure to my legs, feet, face and arms. At worst the refinement may impart the appearance of a dedicated golfer. Upon reclaiming our digs in Canada my out-of-doors routine does not deviate from similar precaution and modesty. Admittedly this represents an abandonment of a youthful habit but clearly there is no foundation to support any other posture. Age and corpulence have trumped all fantasy! It's just one of the hard realities of living, not unlike having to relinquish a fervour for a Mustang automobile.  Some things just don't fit - literally!

Thursday, March 17, 2016

Auspicious Day

Today the principal item on our admittedly less than enthralling agenda was the renewal of our monthly Guest Pass to Sea Pines Resort where we currently reside. Sea Pines is a 5,200-acre private residential gated community located on the southern tip of Hilton Head Island.  As recently as yesterday morning I overhead an Island resident complain that she and her family had moved out of Sea Pines because there were too many restrictions.  It requires little imagination to recognize that the pristine appearance of Sea Pines is no accident.  Aside from the obvious manicured nature of the entire resort, the homogeneity of the homes and the noticeable absence of so-called "personality" traits peculiar to residences in other communities, Sea Pines practically screams militaristic conformity.

Middle of the Night

It's 2:06 a.m. on St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 2016.  We made the mistake of going to bed at 9:00 o'clock last evening (no doubt saturated and exhausted by the rehashing of the Republican primary results and all that pertains to Donald Trump including the foreshadowed implosion of the GOP).  Now we're both perched at the dining room table drinking black coffee and listening to the sprinklers on the lawn through the open patio door.

Monday, March 14, 2016

Ditto

There is perhaps a fine line between gloating and gratitude. I trust that I shall be excused my indulgence and permitted to dilate upon the current invigorating circumstances. After another day under the cerulean sky, cycling on the beach and basking in the sun by the pool, I am driven to capture the elation which attends. It is unquestionable in my estimation that never have I had so frequent a cause to rejoice as I have had during our stay on Hilton Head Island for the past four months. As we pass the demarcation of our final month here for the winter, we have moved into a period of noticeable transition. The Island has begun to proliferate in every sense of the word, blooming flowers, burgeoning crowds and rising temperatures. A couple of days ago was the advent of Daylight Savings Time; the hours of sunshine have commensurately widened.  And the prolongation of red and pink in the evening sky before sunset is a treasure to behold.

Egg-in-the-Hole

Several years ago we travelled to Sardinia and stayed on the coast at the north end of the Island near Porto Rafael in a mountain-top residence called Villa Luna overlooking the Mediterranean sea and nearby Corsica and the Maddalena archipelago.

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Revert and Recoup

Not long ago on Jekyll Island, GA I wandered into a local gift shop and spotted what I have lately noticed on Pinterest is becoming a new fad - inexpensive bracelets made of varied materials like string, leather and rubber and decorated with equally common items such as seashells, stones, glass chips, plastic and wood.  Although the targeted demographic is undoubtedly youths (surfers, skateboarders and the like), the fashion has oddly become popular among young adult men. The ostentation is spared the accusation of effete paradoxically through multiplicity. The trend is to wear three or more bracelets at once on the same wrist, often in addition to a watch. There is nothing discrete about the affectation!

Thursday, March 10, 2016

Soft Blue Day

Living on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina (a distinction I presume to arrogate after having resided here for four months with another yet to come) there are two things I do every morning (even before I get out of bed).  First, I check the weather. Second, I check the tide chart. I conduct those enquiries by grabbing my iPhone on the bedside table and tuning into the weather App and the internet. The forecast this morning wasn't alluring - a cloudy day was predicted. That meant I didn't bother to check the tide chart.  I perform this preliminary investigation every morning not only because it directs what I shall do during the day (rain for example is a dampening factor) but also because it tells me whether I may linger under the duvet with impunity.  If a sunny day is foreseeable it burns me up to imagine missing even a moment of sunshine and blue sky.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Donald Trump

There was a time when I practically prided myself upon my ignorance of political activity.  Don't get me wrong, I always - without exception - voted in any election, whether municipal, provincial or federal.  But my lead-up interest in the outcome was token at best and it usually predominated the local municipal elections far more than the provincial or federal battles. Years ago when I began practicing law in Almonte in 1976 and assumed the office and swivel chair of the late Raymond A. Jamieson, QC, I was initiated to an admiration for American politics by Mr. Jamieson.  At the time I thought it somewhat peculiar that Mr. Jamieson specifically preferred American politics but as I got to know him I learned to attribute the peculiarity to his own general eccentricity.  Now - forty years later - after having spent the winter on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina and having been submerged in the unfolding fortunes of the Republican nomination caucuses, I can see precisely what I imagine Mr. Jamieson so loved about American politics.

Monday, March 7, 2016

Dreams

I have never slept particularly well.  Perhaps I am what is described as a "light sleeper".  The fact is, I sleep best in the oddest circumstances - for example, in the dentist's chair, in the waiting lounge at an airport, on a chaise longue by the pool or when sitting at my desk.  But when it comes to going to bed and sleeping at night - unless I am at the point of utter exhaustion - I am a reluctant candidate.  This lack of routine accommodation means that I have trouble getting to bed and then trouble staying asleep.  As a result I spend a good deal of my time in bed lying awake or half-asleep.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

The Greedy Hedonist

I have said already, that on a subject so important to us all as happiness, we should listen with pleasure to any man’s experience or experiments, even though he were but a plough-boy, who cannot be supposed to have ploughed very deep into such an intractable soil as that of human pains and pleasures, or to have conducted his researches upon any very enlightened principles.

Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (January 1, 1859)
Thomas De Quincey


There is an astonishing inertia acquired over 40 years of zealous and uninterrupted employment. It is a seasoned and inescapable condition, an unrelenting propulsion, a perpetual and seemingly unstoppable ambition. It does however eventually subside, almost precipitously. Quite to my astonishment I am cultivating a habit of a new order: unmitigated leisure, my own brand of purposelessness, as fine and bland as the beach on which I aimlessly stroll and roll. Instead of bolting to the ringing of the telephone or the knocking at the door I listen to the soothing chorus of the churning waves of the Atlantic Ocean. It is the desktop music for nowhere to go, nothing to do.

Friday, March 4, 2016

Should we choose our friends carefully?

To cast the choice of one's friends as a calculated selection process is to counsel a dangerous admonition. Except for the most egregious examples, the advice (even if directed to the young and ostensibly foolish) has about as much authenticity as an arranged marriage. Even if love were by some febrile distortion of pragmatism represented as the comparatively serious business of family and economics, friendship is supposed to be the playground of relationships. To impose stricture on friendship is to contaminate it; it is the one association which can be free of sycophantic or parasitic utility.

Windy Day

From where I was on the beach today the roiling Ocean appeared to be above me, a massive pool straining to break its banks.  The sea was being churned by a gale force wind from the northeast, seemingly pushing the burgeoning volumes of water to breach its natural bounds. The Ocean had the appearance of a huge bowl of soup which might spill over its edges, in danger of slopping out of its vast container.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Busy day!

It would be a shameful exaggeration to suggest that my timetable today was one of endless drudgery. Yet within the context of retirement there is at least some thrust to the poetic observation. Having to acknowledge anything approaching dutiful performance is guaranteed to spawn a veneer of labour. The obnoxious element of exertion is a transgression upon the habit of cultivated leisure which has lately seen incremental enlargement. The science of nature abhorring a vacuum is amply illustrated among those of us no longer caught in the web of employment.  My matutinal routine for example has dilated over the past two years from what was once a succinct 30-minute ceremony dedicated to a ritual breakfast to what is now a two-hour vaporization involving prolonged cups of coffee, progressive courses of mixed fruit, protein boost and even a gloss on dessert. Small wonder therefore that the imposition of the most inconsequential obligation succeeds to contaminate a life of inactivity.