The season is upon us. Time and again today while reclining on the powdery white sand of the beach at Lido Key I heard interlopers comment upon the congested traffic (presumably to and from Longboat Key and the islands beyond such as Bradenton Beach and Anna Maria Island) and the necessity to get to the beach early enough to secure an umbrella for rental. The chap renting chaises longues and umbrellas ran out of umbrellas by early afternoon and could easily have amortized the cost of many new ones for rental. It made me reflect upon the unspoken elements of his standard rental agreement; namely, not containing an assignment entitlement nor the right to sublet. Seemingly these esoteric legal issues do not regularly arise. I further wondered how the rental chap might have handled the dilemma should it have arisen – especially considering that he displayed an exceedingly active business acumen. He did for example apologize more than once to the woman who hadn’t cash or PayPal by which to pay for a rental – though he did suggest a nearby ATM machine. To his credit the chap refused to do business on the strength of the woman’s proposal that she would be back tomorrow with the money. Even were he to have believed the woman, there were so many others like myself overhearing the conversation that his deviance from routine may have offended others.

I wonder how far one must go to discover the world? At the risk of sounding horribly complacent I’m not certain I really care. I do however admire the adventurers of the world, those who are inveterate travellers. There is unquestionably something exotic about flying in a balloon and going where the wind blows. My personal focus is perhaps shamefully far more domestic. The conviction is not entirely one only of restriction (though that certainly is a predominant feature) but also excusably philosophic. The competing rationale is that “there ain’t no ship to take you away from yourself“. Or as has been more lyrically interpreted, “Is that all there is?“

This morning’s routine breakfast performance was unexpectedly protracted by a modest genealogical investigation (which had been sparked yesterday when chatting by the pool but which didn’t assume complete persuasion until four o’clock this morning) and an alert from my web host that I was about to exceed my storage limit. The technical matter was resolved with complete success. The genealogical search was just a start. Tracing the lines of family descent is complicated especially when one is pursuing an off-shoot and not a direct line. I found myself wondering repeatedly whom I might hire to look into the matter. Agency is always an option!

I have always proudly proclaimed that Dalhousie Law School is the oldest law school in the British empire (including England). I graduated from Dalhousie Law School in 1973. I articled with Macdonald, Affleck, 100 Sparks Street, Ottawa, Ontario 1973 – 1974; attended Osgoode Hall for the Bar Admission 1974 – 1974; practiced with Macdonald, Affleck 1975 – 1976; joined Galligan & Sheffield, Almonte, Ontario 1976 – 1978; conducted my solo law practice in Almonte 1978 – 2014.

What curiously arises from the following information is the distinct possibility that I am remotely related to Richard Chapman Weldon who started the law school. The connections by name and the association with New Brunswick are inescapable.

As a post scriptum in deference to my burgeoning complement of cherished American acquaintances, not to mention the expatriate family members who have joined the ranks of the Revolutionaries, I understand that the oldest law school in the world is Harvard.

My lethargy today nearly approached total inertia. It was a sweeping dormancy made all the more difficult to energize because it was so indisputably pleasant. The pleasantness was reminiscent of a soporific or a drugged state of mind. It was though I had somehow earned the privilege of indolence. Securing industry was a noticeable effort, a struggle against languidness. I nonetheless succumbed to my customary habits of showering, breakfast and bicycling. Being in the burnishing sunshine on the pathway along Gulf of Mexico Drive revived my yearning for the beach and the sea – though for the added exercise I extended my routine cycle beyond Bayfront Park at Block 4000 to beyond Block 5000 near Joan M. Durante Community Park.

Customarily when I am unable to sleep I just toss and turn in bed, likely adding to the aggravation of my neuropathy and my stiff broken ribs which still haven’t fully healed from my bicycle fall on Ponce Inlet, Florida almost exactly three years ago to the day. Early this morning I had attempted to mollify my aching legs and ribs by lying face-down (which I almost never do) but it just made me anxious. It did it because I thought the alternate sleeping position might quell the recovery of my ribs – which I felt was the effect upon them when I lay in the sun at the beach yesterday afternoon. Apparently not. Approaching 1:00 am this morning I decided to get out of bed and do anything other than try to sleep.

When I was still working for a living I regretted getting out of bed after 7:00 am – even on a weekend when vacation time was sparse. Now that I have been retired for five years it is seldom that I get up much before nine o’clock in the morning. Today however we had appointments to have our nails done at nine o’clock so we were out of bed and into the shower shortly after seven o’clock. The awakening was abrupt but I sought to adjust by having at least a sliced green apple with a restorative cup of chilled black coffee. The partial observance of habit succeeded to focus me upon the day without the customary complement of steel cut oats. Besides we had decided last evening to go to the Blue Dolphin restaurant for breakfast after our manis and pedis.

A year ago we resided in a condominium adjacent the Gulf of Mexico. It was seldom a debate whether to lounge by the pool or instead by the sea. If the weather were warm and clear it was a manifest prescription for the beach. This year however we’re adjacent Sarasota Bay. While the scenery overlooking the boat slip and the Bay is unremittingly magnificent, the proximity has removed me from a routine visit to the beach notwithstanding that beach access is conveniently at hand.

Though anyone knows the past is done and over, its texture nonetheless insinuates the present – and by extrapolation, the future. It is however otherwise largely unimportant – possibly barring a criminal theme. To dissect the past from the present is about as easy as removing the salt from a culinary dish. The damage is done so to speak. Or the flavour is there if you prefer a more generous rendition. Either way we’re stuck with what we’ve got.

When one’s régime is abated to breakfast, bicycling, dinner and bed, there’s a need for middling enlargement. Luckily for me the illumination is at hand; namely, the Gulf of Mexico. On almost every level of my sensibilities the sea is paramount. It speaks to my love of nature, to my poetic inclinations, to my physical ambitions and my native senses of smell, taste, sight, touch and sound. I therefore knew unequivocally that the sea was a port of call today. A succinct dawdle overlooking Sarasota Bay was my springboard.