Family

By degrees the world is resolving. Though it may sound preposterous for any one person (such as I) to comment upon the world, yet that is our individual reality.  As I have heard it said before, and as I have so often repeated, “Moi, je suis le centre du monde!” I believe it was Albert Camus in one of his novels, something to do with L’Enfant. I’ve forgotten precisely what.

Camus was born in French Algeria to pied-noir parents. He spent his childhood in a poor neighbourhood and later studied philosophy at the University of Algiers. He was in Paris when the Germans invaded France during World War II in 1940. Camus tried to flee but finally joined the French Resistance where he served as editor-in-chief at Combat, an outlawed newspaper. After the war, he was a celebrity figure and gave many lectures around the world. He married twice but had many extramarital affairs. Camus was politically active; he was part of the left that opposed Joseph Stalin and the Soviet Union because of their totalitarianism. Camus was a moralist and leaned towards anarcho-syndicalism. He was part of many organisations seeking European integration. During the Algerian War (1954–1962), he kept a neutral stance, advocating a multicultural and pluralistic Algeria, a position that was rejected by most parties.

In a world in which we daily endure untold complications – and annoying obstacles to our sometimes trifling expeditions – it is perhaps small wonder that we bemoan the fate of the world. To distinguish ourselves from the immediacy of world affairs (as seen through our eyes) – as though there were separate narratives – is an unlikely possibility. Similarly, however, when the flavour of a bon vivant characterizes the whole, there is a marked and notable improvement. Today was one such day, the sort of day Bertie Wooster would identify as inspiring a casual boomps-a-daisy, an urge to be all aflutter, to recover from life’s toxins.

Out of the gate at eight o’clock this morning we drove along the picturesque and decidedly autumnal winding rural roads to Renfrew County for breakfast at Neat Café in Burnstown by the Madawaska River. We began our communal attendance at the trough with a homemade muffin and a breakfast cookie, respectively . The triumph of this preliminary venture coloured not only the matutinal plat principal but also what followed this evening for dinner.  It was just one of those days when everything goes the way you wish it would, unperturbed by annoyance or distaste.

The height of our domestic achievement today was the calculated reduction of the electric energy under the hood of the car to a statistic below 20%. I reached 3% – which I confess was rather more critical than I had intended (and frankly a bit threatening until I reached the safety of the garage where I hastily plugged the car to the 240v outlet).  For some time now – since the purchase of this EV – I have wanted to indulge the operation of the vehicle to its lowest point of electric charge. The object was to see how long it took to recharge to the recommended 80%.  Late this afternoon – following a repeat journey into Renfrew County on two occasions after having visited my sister and brother-in-law in the city to deliver them apples from MacLaren Orchards  – the GPS screen on the dash alerted me to “Charge Vehicle Soon” while the “gas tank” showed only 31km remaining. Now, the MyCadillac App reports that the car, charging, will reach 80% by tomorrow at 5:45 AM – which is only a couple of hours before I head to Reid Bros Motor Sales in Arnprior for the first of the scheduled maintenance checks (Lithium-ion Battery, Electric Drive Unit, Regenerative Braking System, among others).

Underpinning this empirical view of the world is the equally motivating thread of communication with family.  My family is now ostensibly small – namely, my sister and I. Naturally I embrace the broader patronage of cousins and nieces and those who are similarly identified for my partner’s family. But it is, as always, the proximate cause which is relevant to the proceedings. In this instance I therefore welcomed the opportunity to chat with my sister and brother-in-law at noon today at their place on the Rideau Canal near Dow’s Lake.  For reasons not entirely clear to me even upon subsequent reflection, we were today an uncommonly buoyant congregation. Perhaps it was the blunt acknowledgement of entitlement that comes with old age.  I am quite certain none of us imagines that we are “old” but the curmudgeonly feature of each of us is, I am afraid, inescapable. Buoyed – to continue the metaphor – by this supportive endowment, we all agreed that we should each do what one wishes to do. Granted, this has the appearance of being sous entendu (a matter of obvious mirth and benediction); but when I tell you that we laboured for several moments to form the suitable dialectic for this relieving position, I am not disguising the friction affixed to the motive. Nonetheless in the end we succeeded to a state of tremulous excitement.