It is well-known even among those who are not forensic specialists that a criminal is drawn to the scene of the crime after the fact. Something there is about the heightened adrenalin which so frequently accompanies a radical exploit that one is inexplicably summoned to revisit the place where it transpired, as though one were capable of re-enlisting the historic events, recapturing the rush. On the other hand it may be just an overwhelming desire to consume as much detail of the place as possible on the assumption that the fleeting occurrence of the original deed eclipsed those erstwhile minutiae. In its most essential context it may be no more significant than visiting the place where one was born – mere curiosity. On the balance however I am inclined to stamp the obsession as more nefarious than a thirst for knowledge.

Perhaps it is easier to gain an insight into this peculiar behaviour when one considers that re-living any moment of singularity – whether one of elation, despondency or otherwise – is not especially uncommon. A victory for example may be particularly compelling. To re-enact the moments leading up to the win (whatever the forum) can be irresistible. Often these dramatic events in our lives occur so quickly that we only attempt to slow their assimilation by rewinding them, sometimes monotonously (though always to our continuing advantage).

Generally speaking however it is not considered sound to dwell upon the past, good or bad. The absorption can nurture unhealthy preoccupations from which it may become more and more difficult to withdraw. Playing back a particularly fierce argument, for example, with one’s friend or spouse may be a dead-end street calculated only to re-open the wound and foster further unspoken odium.

The unusual feature of savouring a particularly emotional moment is that, unlike feasting, one can seemingly never get enough of it. It is oddly an almost insatiable appetite, all the more so by virtue of the frothiness of the original motivating cause. But just as the criminal should be forewarned about returning to the scene of the crime to avoid incrimination, so too must any one of us be chary of re-living any other unpleasantness. The result in every case is nothing but accessorial contamination.

What it takes to synthesize an experience is time and distance. Repositioning oneself in the original discourse does nothing to advance the process. It is advisable to keep in mind that the thrill (or disgust) of the initial occurrence can never be recaptured. Once the event has exhausted itself the mute button is on. To avoid getting on with things is rather like the man who tries to sleep with a pack-sack on his back; the effort is completely encumbered. At first we may be reluctant to let go of the strings which connect us to the past – whatever it is – but there will be no advancement until we do. As much as we may have been stunned by the randomness and unexpected consequence of a circumstance, re-hashing it will change nothing. I have this notion that it is far more mature to abandon nastiness and to opt instead for a livelier horizon. In a word, foreclose the scene of the crime.

Anyone with a ghost of a conscience knows in his heart that revenge is the domain reserved for criminals and Hollywood thrillers but it hasn’t any place in the lives of people who pretend for a moment to elevate themselves above the dregs of society or the fiction of cinema. Granted the subject can make for some rivetting reading and entertaining viewing (even, dare I say it, a catharsis), but it is otherwise a capitulation to moral turpitude. In the end we know we owe it to ourselves to avoid the bait.

Revenge: The action of inflicting hurt or harm on someone for a wrong suffered at their hands; a retaliatory measure.

The definition sounds simple enough and may even coincide conveniently with the “eye for an eye” theory which has the benefit of Biblical authority (Exodus 21:24). However, revenge has by contrast been described as “a boomerang – although for a time it flies in the direction in which it is hurled, it takes a sudden curve and, returning, hits your own head the heaviest blow of all” (John M. Mason). Revenge has also been depicted as “wild justice” (Francis Bacon) or “like biting a dog because the dog bit you” (Austin O’Malley). Yet there are others who are of contrary opinion: “Revenge is sweet – especially to women” (Lord Byron Don Juan); or such proverbs as “Revenge is a dish best served cold” (which has been interpreted as a persuasion to forestall vengeance until wisdom can reassert itself) and “Don’t get mad, get even” (which embodies the modern Western legal system’s goal to make the criminal “pay his debt to society“).

The trouble with pay-back – at least on the personal as opposed to the institutional level – is that it springs from bitterness which like most deep feelings of rancour, enmity and hostility does nothing but promote heartburn in the vessel that harbours it. It is sadly true for those of us intent upon destroying our enemies that they frequently are unaware of our estimable preoccupation and thus the undertaking does little more than secretly diminish ourselves. Furthermore there is the possibility that the harm we imagine to have suffered is not real or may have been unintended In matters of the heart, as in matters of commerce, there exists the conceivability of misunderstanding such that our surreptitious efforts at retribution are entirely unexpected or unimaginable by the object of our cause. Often we are so driven in our sense of social justice that the proposed punishment in revenge far exceeds the original injury. To this detractors argue that revenge is a logical fallacy of the same design as “two wrongs make a right“. As noble as the subject of revenge may have been characterized by Shakespeare (Hamlet) and others, perhaps it was best put by Confucius: “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves“.  This admonition is nonetheless lost on the likes of the Scots who, when not talking about their ineffable selves, are routinely planning the annihilation of someone else.

In the heat of the moment it is more than an inductive leap for most of us to adopt scripture which prescribes: “Do not seek revenge…love your neighbour as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18). As compelling as the philosophy may be against the enactment of revenge, more often than not we unabashedly – even audaciously – pine for it. Likely we may even go so far as to pretend we haven’t an appetite for it, but usually it persists. It takes a very special person to rise above it.

Recall the words of Francis Bacon: “The man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green“. Herein lies the palatable and pragmatic advantage of avoiding revenge; viz., it spares us our own self-inflicted misery. Some may even assuage themselves to believe that passing it over elevates us above our enemies. In a word, revenge is corrosive. Liberation from the hackles of revenge must come from within. Yet even if one seeks to avoid retribution, it is not clear that we so easily forget notwithstanding that “to be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves“.

If nothing else one must weigh the advantages and disadvantages. The actions and behaviour of some people are perhaps intolerable but to indulge ourselves in the weaknesses of others may only prolong what is implacable vengeance.

The logbook of existence for many people is scarcely enviable. Rather it is a balance sheet with uncommon liabilities. In brief, life is hard.

The accomplishment of getting out of bed in the morning is a victory won with only waning pride. It merely sets in motion the lurching disappointment which already reigned through much of the night when frustratingly trying to smother one’s orbiting dreams in the pillows. Once standing disarrayed and staring into the mirror, one lamentably murmurs, “How long can I keep doing this?”.

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No doubt you have overheard it promoted to someone who has recently suffered a loss or set-back that they should do something to take their mind off it. Very often the politic proposal is to do something which is for the benefit of others rather than oneself. This is clearly a device designed to distract the injured party from his or her own misfortune. Strangely enough it unremarkably unfolds that industry directed to the betterment of others vastly uplifts oneself.

There are of course exceptions, those who are steadfastly dedicated to their own vexation and who are extremely reluctant to divert themselves from the preoccupation. Generally speaking however the subterfuge works even though it smacks of nothing more artful than putting on a happy face. Besides one can appreciate the return on the capital investment. Putting others before oneself, acknowledging that there are so many others whose condition is far worse than one’s own, and merely distancing oneself from the knots of one’s own sometimes stodgy existence is easily more profitable than cultivating an unhappy circumstance. This is not to say that the task is undaunted but there is a good chance it will provide at least temporary relief, by which time the strength of the original incident may have subsided. And even if not, there is seldom anything lost in so altruistic a venture.

Along this line of self-imposed deceit are other prescriptions such as learning to “rise above it”. This too is mildly Machiavellian though once again oddly successful. This is an especially cerebral misrepresentation, more in the nature of a private act of deliberation than an overt act of public kindness. Nonetheless almost by virtue of its enigmatic lineament it appears to vitalize one’s resolve. There is additionally something terribly civilized about it as well, stoic in a word, right up there with the “stiff upper lip”! One can readily enlarge upon the tact by vouching for its conspicuous maturity, capturing as it does a good deal of the philosophical element, the randomness of life and so on. In short it purveys every hint of sophistication, dare I even say Sophistry? This particular device has a leg up on the less empowering adage that “it could happen to any one of us” which when you think of it is hardly relieving and instead seems to convey some entitlement to adversity.

A more passive remedy for one’s personal troubles is – if you’ll forgive the temporary lapse into the vernacular – the adoption of something approaching “Don’t let the bastards get you down!”. In spite of its aggressive tone, it is of course little more than snapping one’s fingers at the dragon, a mere “Pshaw!” in the face of the devil himself. The dissimulation here is the pretense to be unmoved by seemingly insurmountable obstacles. While it may put too fine a spin on it, if your calamity is ostensibly at the hands of others, you might even consider going the extra mile by proclaiming that it is the privilege of the masses to mock their betters! This particular arrogance really rubs their collective noses in it while indirectly avoiding the decided indiscretion of having to stand on others to make yourself taller. It’s almost a trivial concession which has the effect of deflating the opposition, certainly a dismissive act of the most extraordinary order!
Some measures are more generic, things like “Into every life some rain must fall!”. This I find has the poetic bent to it, though as a result it is equally dispiriting in my opinion. Ever it was that resort to poetry so often accompanies a heightened level of despondency. Waxing poetic with one’s eyes uplifted and distantly focused on the stars was never my idea of getting through a rough spot; rather it appeared more like caving under the weight of it.

I suppose I could go on recounting those many other exhortations which often flow so freely from the mouths of others, those innumerable proverbs which are invariably designed to separate you from the poignancy of your own bad luck. Yet it probably matters very little in the end how one packages the condensed saying. What does matter is that – by deceit, logic, arrogance, poetry or otherwise – one manages to insulate the problem and isolate oneself from it. It may seem a glaring oversight on my part to have failed to mention the possibility of confronting the problem head-on and dealing with it, but that can be such a consuming undertaking, very often at the risk of devouring oneself in the process. In any event, what I am talking about here is merely a bit of taradiddle, a little white lie just to get one through the initial difficulty. There will always be time to go right deep down into life’s misery.

It is hardly enlightened to observe that – especially in Western society – most people have a deep affection for the things they own. Materialism seems to be part and parcel of life in the so-called modern world. The automobile in particular has long been acknowledged as exemplary of this fundamental disposition. But the affiliation goes far beyond what is at its worst mere unilateral idolatry. The ownership of a car, to continue the metaphor, can set up fairly significant barriers between oneself and other human beings. While it might at first be speculated that only those who enjoy the ownership (or lease) of the recognized high-end automobiles are likely to turn their respective noses well into the air, the truth is that there are as many divisions of ownership class as there are automobiles. Each brand carries with it its own entitlements (and causes for segregation). So, for example, the operator of an energy-saving small machine is just as probable to sneer at gas-guzzling SUVs. Likewise the owners of practical and economic cars are no doubt ill-disposed towards the owners of excessive and opulent ones (my preference, by the way). Then there’s the German vs. North American thing; propane vs. fuel, and so on. There’s simply no end to the forces which drive automobile owners apart and consequently provide ample fodder for indexing and honking horns when perturbed by a bit of bad driving on the part of another.

But picture my embarrassment to discover that this controversy had somehow made its way into the realm of bicycles. After all, even admitting (as is true) that there are cheap and very expensive bicycles out there, I never imagined that the brethren of the saddle would tarnish the fraternity by allowing a bit of metal to come between them. Yet it is so! Recently, as is my wont, I have taken to the country roads in an endeavour to engage in some healthy out-of-doors exercise on my bicycle. Now, I must explain immediately that my bicycle is not one of those racing bikes. Oh, no! Those days are long gone! At the age of sixty years, and having been on the operating table once already for open-heart surgery, my interest in speed and sleek has been replaced by high handle bars, balloon tires and (if you’ll forgive me for lapsing into the vernacular) a fat-ass seat (not mine, I mean, but the saddle). There was, however, a time when I thought nothing of spending an entire day on my bicycle climbing the hills in the Gâtineau Park, sporting clipped shoes, silk-like pants and a lock and chain about my waist. Now (though I wear a helmet to avoid being thought completely uncool) I tend to look rather more like a tourist from Florida on an early morning expiation along the beach before settling back into lunch and a mid-day cocktail . Nevertheless, I would never have thought that either my bike or my appearance would have alienated me from the world of which I have been a part for so many years. Wrong! Let me now catch sight of a cyclist on one of those racing machines coming towards me on the highway (I always ride against the traffic because my Fat Frank tires – that’s truly what they’re called – enable me to take to the gravel when a car flies by), and I can guarantee that the fashionably clad fellow (perpetually wearing dark sunglasses and the deadpan visage of a sheep) won’t so much as acknowledge my existence as he sails past. For the longest time I made what turned out to be the undignified effort to say a cheery hello, never succeeding in any correspondence. Now, adulterated and bent as I am by past experience, I pretend to out-do their snobbish ignorance by doing the same (though I suspect they only interpret my avoidance as deference).

The other side of the coin is, as you might expect, that when the on-coming cyclist is someone who is clearly doing the cycling for the enjoyment (and not the punishment, as seems to characterize the racers) and is more often than not clad in something anyone of us could find in a bottom drawer at home, the reception and communication is a great deal more enthusiastic. Birds of a feather, and all that, I suppose. Those of us who ride clumsy old bikes, or what were once called cruisers, relate to one another instantly, and – more to the point – charitably. As a result, I’ve given up being concerned about my fellow creatures, at least when they’re wearing skin-tight one-piece multi-coloured outfits and riding bicycles with wheels the width of my thumb. Regrettably, however, I am unable entirely to abandon the pretense of not having even noticed them. Seeing through people takes years of practice, and having been removed from the urban scene for thirty-three years I find it difficult to adopt that unpleasant posture. I am soothed in my commitment only to think that I didn’t even glance at them as they whizzed past!

If ever we spoke the truth about one another, the conversation would be considerably more entertaining. To sterilize our comments is equivalent to removing all the fat from the gravy, it just doesn’t taste as good. The unfortunate part of such a candid posture is that it invariably dwells upon what are considered by many to be the more undesirable elements of another’s personality. Can you imagine, for example, what you’d be inclined to say if someone asked you how your family were? Of course the immediate inclination is to gloss over the matter entirely by saying they’re all fine, but that really tells the listener nothing. How much more engrossing it would be to say, “Well, my husband has become a certified alcoholic; we now know with certainty that my nephew will never marry; my mother is driving me crazy; I haven’t spoken to my sister since the fracas last Christmas; and my aunt who lives with us is a complete jerk!” Such an overview provides numerous avenues which to explore in further detail; cuts to the chase, so to speak, broadens the horizons. I mean, why bother with all that namby-pamby stuff about how excellently well everyone is doing? None of us lives in a cartoon world of defined edges and limits; we’re all constantly overflowing and making a mess of things, if the truth be known.

Among friends a juicy bit of gossip goes a long way to keep the fires of interest burning. Indeed, it is the essence of communication that one should communicate not only fact, but information. To teeter on the brink of propriety (which normally means saying nothing but platitudes), as though that somehow meets the challenge of living, is an entire mistake, not to mention completely boring. And who do we thinking we’re kidding anyway? Most people who know anything at all about us have a pretty fair idea what’s really going on. To avoid the reality is not only insulting to the other party, but it needlessly and painfully protracts the conversation to the point of abandonment (assuming, that is, that one or both parties doesn’t finally break the ice and interject some common sense into the proceedings).

There are many ways to be candid and informative without being rude and aggressive. Like so many other things in life, it all depends on how you look at it and what you’re looking for; viz., Do we see what we believe, or do we believe what we see? That’s the crunch of the matter when you think about it. Is Little Johnnie what we hoped he would turn out to be, or is he one greedy number intent on stealing whatever he can from you or anyone else who dares to come within his sphere? That may be pushing it, but I use it only to illustrate the point. Naturally, more refinement in our discernment of others’ characters not only softens the social blow, but is more enlightening. And what’s wrong with throwing in a bit of wisdom when it comes to thinking about our friends and relations! You never know, we may even in the process end by convincing ourselves of the legitimacy of what was once so annoying about them. It is always perilous to apply intelligence to the castigation of others. Tends to open up other possibilities for fault, not exactly what one likes to discover after a prolonged cultivation of dislike based upon nuance and prejudice only.

I shouldn’t harp on the distasteful elements of those whom we know. One could just as easily talk about a happy relationship. But I’ll leave that chapter for another day. Far more amusing to squander one’s efforts on the short-comings of others, if for no other reason than that we have such a vast resource upon which to draw. After all, scuttlebutt is by far more engaging than that perfectly dry stuff about charm and pleasantness and lasting devotion, which all tend to be so glossy and superficial.

Like it or not, we’re part of the animal kingdom, and as brilliant as we may wish to fancy ourselves, it takes but a scratch of the surface to reveal the driving instincts of our being. I’m not for a moment suggesting that everything below the surface is damnable, but rather that our essence is not something with which we clothe ourselves, it is a flavour which is ours alone and which makes us what we are. And it doesn’t make one a nosy-parker to discuss it. I prefer to look upon it as an artistic duty to seek from life the meaning that it has, not the meaning I’d desire. Funny, too, how connecting oneself with the basic fundamentals of life, as earthy as they may be, is oddly more uplifting than treading about in an ethereal rarefied atmosphere where we more likely to fall through the gaps.

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!”

Not all misrepresentation is of course the product of social disgrace. Sometimes it is merely the preferred course of conduct. Self-deception, while not exactly a model to be counselled, can for example, cushion the blow of unmitigated and uncomfortable reality. Some may consider it nature’s way of insulating oneself from the surpassing perils of life. To the casual observer, however, the picture can be anything but the delight which such falsehood may conjure in the mind of the exponent. Very often, the outsider sees only the pathetic result of cumulative collapse and deceit. For the performer, on the other hand, these genteel fibs enable one to participate in the social network without having to do anything more than talk about it.

Retiring from the world of participation to the world of inactivity is by definition a reclusive project, a venue normally reserved for those who collect stamps or newts. Historically, the plight of people like Howard Hughes was unapologetic, but for the most part, others who suffer from the same urgency tend to want to preserve at least a life-line to the other side by maintaining a pretense. Such involvement is of course always upon the terms and conditions of the fraudster. It would be unthinkable for the illegitimate to lay claim to anything other than the mendacity, a decision which naturally promotes only further illusion.

The mind is clever enough, especially when practiced, to maintain a level of pervasive falsehood which, if dissected and analyzed point by point, would never be sustainable. But, as I say, given enough time and rehearsal, even the most pragmatic person can become accustomed to such scheming and knavery. One has to ask how many little white lies, that collection of taradiddle, each of us cultivates and maintains over a lifetime. We gradually condition ourselves to believe what we want to believe. Given that most of these fabrications are innocuous, it hardly seems worth the effort to contradict them. Who, for example, is about to criticize the octogenarian woman for having dyed her hair black! Or the shrivelled old man for cruising in his new Chevrolet Corvette? I ask you, are these not patent lies and fabrications! But what harm are they!

The unfortunate result of prolonged paltering is that it succeeds eventually in putting more and more distance between oneself and reality, an effect which may in the end be nothing but a curse. It is one thing to fudge; it is another to elude. The real crime is not the damage that is caused, but the loss that is suffered by estrangement from one’s real world, beliefs and experiences. After all, the texture of life for each of us is only that which we live; and surely any camouflage we may employ for whatever reason does nothing more than estrange us from the essence of our life. Besides, lies are such an awful lot of work!

When I was young, I imagined anyone who was especially odd or different as being dynamic and likely beyond my immediate comprehension, being too complicated to fathom. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, if you see what I mean. Those unique individuals were, I thought, exponentially talented, no doubt enjoying a vast realm of worldly experience which gave them licence for what was at times otherwise borderline behaviour. Now – less charitably – I settle instead for their denomination as nut cases! Crack pots! Weirdos! Looney tunes! You name it, the plain fact is that they are on balance unhinged! The drama of their social ineptitude is for me no longer entertaining. I have unashamedly given up trying to psychoanalyze their condition with a view to improvement. The conscious and unconscious elements of their mind which bring to light repressed fears is something best left to the professionals. In my hands, such study is wasteful dabbling at best.

“Why”, you might ask, “do I even bother to mention this?” Why not simply be done with such misfits? Dismiss them out of hand! Unfortunately, such a robust approach is easier said than done. The “characters” of this life are not always so comfortably ignored, more so if you have for the past several years been in the unwitting habit of counting them among your friends (at least prior to the rude and pivotal awakening). Often it isn’t immediately apparent that one’s singular friends have “issues” which significantly set them apart. When at last one becomes aware of their “differences” it is sometimes obliging to provide them support in their jarring reality.

The odd thing about this line of thinking is that, upon analysis, one begins to wonder whether any of one’s friends are really all there. With the turning of each page of life, the element of wackiness in one’s associates becomes more and more manifest. Oddly a bit of self-reflection can at times produce the same conclusion. Touching upon one’s countless private thoughts over the past several decades can reveal some startling fodder. Perhaps the entire world has gone mad! Certainly the daily media reports do nothing to diminish the possibility.

While I by no means include everyone in this whitewash, it is an increasingly common occurrence to discover that many of the most stalwart members of our community have their issues, some of which are profoundly disturbing, involving as they do the most exotic behaviour imaginable. Indeed ofttimes the behaviour tends more to the strange and alien. One has to wonder as an aside whether such aberrations are equally prevalent in the animal kingdom; or is this simply the preserve of humanity? If so, it succeeds to advance the case against being overly qualified. In any event, it is not a subject upon which any other than the medical people are likely to dwell at length. For those of us lucky enough still to be counted within the herd of society, we satisfy ourselves merely to marvel at the limits to which some people are (often sadly) stretched. The challenge is to keep one’s own head screwed on, again not always as easy as one would imagine! I suppose that within limits there is even a bit of fun to be had in being off-centre though in polite company at least the disaffection is not always wise counsel. It rather depends upon whether the majority rule is by the whackos or otherwise. The perpetual and imperceptible change in social mores has led me to conclude that younger people in particular have less difficulty accommodating what I might call unusual standards of deportment. One doesn’t like to get one’s nose too far in the air in these matters, if for no other reason than to avoid the appearance of being a complete duffer. The trajectory of change merits at least some appeasement.

As stock as it is to observe that if it weren’t for funerals and weddings, family and friends might never get together, the ceremonies are nonetheless invariably penetrating and frequently uplifting even in the face of adversity. Not insignificantly both events customarily involve such unvarying routine and regular procedure that the experience is akin to any other event which superimposes regimentation and thereby temporarily suspends the yearning to be productive. For at least an hour or two one is strictly an observer, assured of a welcome and uninterrupted opportunity to reflect idly upon the many meritorious thoughts which are prompted by the heady subjects of death and marriage, beginnings and ends, and the myriad of sentiments which naturally flow from and are accessory to such considerations. There is an intoxicating factor to the heightened emotions and sentiments provoked by funerals and weddings.

One element which is common (though undergoing change) in both funerals and weddings is the religious feature. In many instances I sense that the ecclesiastical backdrop is akin to wallpaper or a television ad and with about as much general appeal (though admittedly for the immediate parties this element is often imperative). I have heard it said of young people in particular that they have considerable difficulty accepting the religious spin on death.

Regrettably in that respect much of what issues from the pulpit is little more than an exhortation to feed or clothe oneself with divine provision without offering the means of doing so, amounting to a potentially empty and somewhat off-putting promise to intellectually thirsty people.

In the context of weddings, much of the standard biblical themes are now overwhelmingly anachronistic and as a result repugnant. In the final analysis, the uncomfortable truth is that if it weren’t for weddings and funerals, most people would not be in a church at all and it appears that an hour’s sojourn is not about to succeed in conversion or temporary persuasion. In some cases the attempt to obtain submission to the clerical process is met with indignant reaction, itself only suppressed by the superior desire to keep one’s own peace.

Clearly the focus of the particular event, whether a funeral or a wedding, assists in distracting us from our habitual preoccupations, which in some instances involve disagreements and hostilities with certain of those in attendance. Funerals and weddings are after all family affairs. Even given the surfeit of dissolving sadness and joy which accompanies these occasions, I am not however so gullible to assume that adverse parties will ultimately be moved to reconciliation. Nonetheless, the opportunity is there to reconsider the merits of long-standing disputes, and it may be that miserly improvement is the eventual product.

During both funerals and weddings, there is much said about the parties at the heart of the proceedings. Regularly the comments about the deceased or the newly weds are highly revealing. It is perhaps unfortunate that a summary review of one’s life is confined to such poignant moments but I suppose that is one of the traits which contributes to the depth of the affair. This reminds me of the adage that everyone worth his mettle should have his obituary written. Such a direction hardly applies to wedded parties, but it is a useful reminder to us all that one’s actions are in the final analysis recorded.

Social congregation following the pivotal service is of course usual. Barring the supremely unique case of total strangers who make a point of attending funerals for the benefit of the luncheon, the repast (whether a tea or a sit-down meal) affords the opportunity for the spectators in attendance to give voice to their prior ruminations. This custom is accompanied by much hand-shaking, embracing and kissing. Once again the opportunity for such conviviality and human contact is infrequent except at funerals and weddings, and increasingly the show of mutual affection is becoming more evident sometimes destabilizing standard myths of macho behaviour.

I suspect that on the whole, apart from the central parties concerned, the experience of a funeral or a wedding is but an ephemeral hiccup in the broader scope of one’s life. Jolted though we may be for the moment, it isn’t long before we set adrift the mesmerizing soliloquies and right ourselves on our determined course. As compelling as any funeral or wedding may be, the universe is ultimately personal and we are bound to travel the suburbs of our own mind. Nonetheless, funerals and weddings foster some of the finer human characteristics and recall at least momentarily some of the expressions which we may one day wish to have bestowed upon us in our own particular hour of sorrow or joy.