Darling, fetch the caviar for our guests, won’t you!

Some people enjoy the privilege of an exceedingly charmed existence. One can only hope for their sake that such generosity continues for a lifetime. Yet not all are so lucky. The subsequent loss of social face through the unanticipated changes of fortune can trigger some bizarre and unhappy results. In an effort to cling to the past, people sometimes re-enact polite niceties which have virtually no foundation in fact, though they certainly sound obliging enough. "We simply must have you for dinner sometime soon!"

Notions of Regret

A lot of people have been edgy for the past year, on the heels of the so-called "global economic downturn". With so many people having seen their investment portfolio diminish by 30% or more overnight (actually, I think the dreadful event - the unprecedented collapse of the stock market - took place exactly a year ago today), and the subsequent worldwide bankruptcy of major financial institutions, the loss of jobs and the foreclosure and repossession of over-leveraged houses, it is small wonder people are still feeling timid, unsure and less than buoyant. It is especially disturbing that no one is immune to the effects of the catastrophe. There was a time, for example, when those employed in the public service, including teachers, would not have imagined that anything as pedestrian as the private sector economy would have impinged upon their accustomed daily routine and reality, but the shake-up is generally acknowledged to be pervasive, if for no other reason than that the malaise goes to the heart of pensions (the well-known provocation for public service). Add to this the further indignity of a rash of perfidious financial advisors who have spent the private resources of their Clients, and the balance of the world seems even more precarious.

My Theory

It is probably peculiar to aged people especially to dwell upon the development of theories for living. If one has any inclination at all to tell other people how to run their lives (as older people so often do), it is expedient to have in one's arsenal a collection of theories to apply to the situation at hand. Not that these theories are only for others; indeed, the compelling feature of any really good theory is that one knows only too well how clever it is from having used it skilfully in the conduct of one's own affairs.

Saturday Dinner

About a week ago - also on an early Saturday evening - we were watching one of the Two Fat Ladies episodes on DVD (we have a box set). The particular recipe which caught my attention was their Boeuf Stroganoff. It reminded me that I once included that recipe in my limited culinary repertoire (the others being Caesar salad, Caribbean pasta - one of my own creations - and fettuccine Alfredo). Today, when we were shopping for groceries, I suggested that I could make Boeuf Stroganoff for dinner tonight, which Denis accepted as a proposition. I should have known, however, that it would be impossible for me to usurp his jurisdiction in the kitchen. The evidence against me began mounting innocuously enough, with Denis making enquiries about whether I would dust the filet with flower before frying it, and whether I intended to use Dijon mustard, little things like that. He then disclosed that he had been doing some research into the recipe, both on-line and in his collection of cook books. When I replied that I intended - as I do in all my recipes - just to wing it, that pretty much put him over the edge, and he insisted that I must seize this opportunity to turn from my vagabond ways and adopt the preferable habit of reading a recipe. In an instant I knew I was doomed. Asking me to read a recipe is equivalent to asking me to play the piano (which I play by ear) by reading sheet music. In either case, the result is assured to be a failure, if not indeed a disaster.

Island Living

When you hear the expression "Island Living", no doubt what comes to mind is some glossy American magazine about how the smart set live in Florida on the intra coastal waterways, in large mansions with endless bamboo and overstuffed furniture. In our small Town, however, the enclave known as the "Island" is considerably different, though equally exclusive in its own way.

Now There’s a Thought!

The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation carried a story this morning about a groundswell idea. While I can’t recall the name of the group advancing this latest bit of popular legislation (I think it has something with the word "patriotic" in it), and in spite of its nationalist overtones (which I have always found about as inviting as the Fascists - though in this case its personal yet superficial appeal gives it more the flavour of something comfy like the Green Party), the idea struck me as not only novel, but more to the point, illuminating. The proposal is to give everybody in Canada who is over the age of 50 years the sum of one million dollars, on the condition that the recipient retires, buys a new car, pays off his debts and sends his kids to university. One hardly need dilate further upon the subject to disgorge the theory behind the plan, namely to create employment, revitalize the retail sector (after all everything is somehow connected to the automobile industry), put a stop to the preposterous debt/equity problem, and do what every developing nation knows - educate our youth.

Autumn

Something there is about a rainy Fall day that captures the very essence of Autumn. Already the skies are dreary enough in the morning when we rise, so the crying Heavens throughout the day sympathize nicely with the soggy landscape. We’re only missing the violent winds to rock the trees and dislodge the drying leaves. As yet we haven’t made the move to woolen goods, but the current warm temperatures are reportedly soon to drop to more seasonable numbers. It is likely but a matter of hours before the Summer blanket is ceremoniously retired for another year to the cedar box. The young fellow who looks after the grounds at the house and the office was in this morning (with another bill, naturally - he has a tiny son at home), already complaining that things are drying up on his agenda. Likely he’ll have but one last visit before yard maintenance becomes entirely redundant, and he must start to think (as do so many labourers at this time of year) about what he’ll do over the Winter and whether Employment Insurance will figure in his plans.