The Council Meeting

In point of fact it wasn’t a Council meeting that we attended this evening in the Council Chambers of the Municipality. It was actually an “Information Session”, a session specifically designed for the recently elected Councillors as well as any other members of local Boards and Committees who cared to attend. It was in my capacity as a Board member that I joined in this enterprise.

My specific intention for attending, however, was to put a face to the man with whom I had dealt on previous occasions, an exceedingly pleasant lawyer from a nearby County Town, a man whom I had never met in person. This gentleman was giving this evening’s address to Council on the prickly issue of “Conflict of Interest”.

Winter Lull

The yellow sunlight pours through the tall narrow windows at the front of my office. Everything within is bathed in honey-coloured light. It is mid-winter and commerce has entirely subsided. I am just as happy for the reprieve. It is a positive delectation to be so inordinately peaceful. Meanwhile I occupy myself by imagining what if anything I can do to improve the physical environment but conclude it is saturated. Nonetheless I place a call to an upholsterer to enquire about having a roller towel made for the bathroom to replace the threadbare towel made years ago by a gentleman no longer whinnying among us. Otherwise I admit this is likely to be it forever apart from the on-going maintenance. I am at the opposite end of my career. Even if I were to indulge in idle speculation about the future it is better not to disturb the character of what has been developed over the past thirty-five years. I remember when I took over the business of the old lawyer who retired at 82 years of age after fifty-six years of practice there was still a hand-operated Gestetner copier and pot-bellied oil stove in his office. Each era has its patina.

Batten Down the Hatches

It is not uncommon to hear people speak disparagingly, or at least half in jest, about high-strung A-type personalities, those individuals who distinguish themselves by being obsessive or neurotic. The attributes or ramifications of such people are partly pop psychology and the term has been determined obsolete by many researchers. Nevertheless even to the layman there are obviously people who are less laid back than others so it is not entirely unreasonable or inconvenient to permit the generalization.

Tea Time

It’s 2:30 p.m. on Saturday afternoon. The dazzling sun dipping in the southwest is beaming through the Venetian blinds making my eyes blink. Today’s newspaper and the week’s unread magazines and journals are piled upon the kitchen table. We’re clad in our comfortable lounging clothes awaiting the arrival of our guests for tea. Meanwhile the kitchen is humming with activity and pregnant with appetizing smells, mostly garlic and rosemary. His Lordship is hard at work preparing lemon/lime hummus and a sauce Créole.

One's Portion in Life

One doesn't have to look very far to encounter people whose fortunes in life are far less favourable than one's own. Looking out over these sometimes distressing fates it is difficult to allow oneself to become anxious about one's own lesser hardships. Nonetheless the universe is ultimately personal and our private reality defines our destiny whatever it may be. The thread which is common to the challenging experiences of both ourselves and others is the manner in which we address them.

Snow Day

Normally I am already awake at six o’clock in the morning. But last night I had gone to bed later than usual, and the night before I hadn’t slept well at all. So last night I got caught up and slept relatively peacefully. The last thing I recall before retiring was looking out my study window to see if the snow had begun. When the radio alarm suddenly announced the six o’clock news it startled me. For the previous twenty-four hours the media had been predicting a snow storm for most of Eastern Ontario, and this morning there was no let up in the pronouncements. Aside from the Egyptian uprising in the Far East there seemingly wasn’t much else to occupy the journalists.

Wending Along

I am not complaining that we are pushing the end of January. January is a hard month, getting back into the thick of things after a holiday, having to do all those tedious year-end chores, not to mention having to cope with the unfolding winter weather. Besides I always enjoy the closing of one event and the commencement of another. I need every available platform from which to launch a fresh start. Unless one is Catholic, there is a need to secure new venues for purging. The calendar is as good as anything for that.