Today is one of those days! Everything is boomps-a-daisy! From the moment of my awakening at 8:10 am (altogether a civilized hour in my opinion) I reckoned I had flourishingly approached the day with vigour and gusto. Following the customary morning ablutions and the statutory repast of fried eggs and steel cut oats with judicious (and gratifyingly oily) spoonfuls of nutty organic peanut butter, I launched onto my tricycle to complete the usual circuit of 4 Kms about the neighbourhood. My partner joined me on his bicycle.

The subsequent drive in my car to Stittsville and back (through Arnprior naturally) was singularly pleasant. I swirled along the winding velvety roads into the sunshine with the windows open, listening to the other cars speeding past, leaving me comfortably behind, out of the loop, unidentified and alone. Upon my return to Almonte I hobbled with my stick into Equator Café for a double espresso. I encountered Allan Goddard of Almonte Landscaping fame.  He and several of his cronies were congregated on chairs or upon the banquette at a large corner table. Goddard invited me to join them but I respectfully declined. Later however, after Allan joined me at the nearby lounge table, we together removed ourselves from the lounge to the corner table where the others lingered. Our lounge vernacular was briefly interrupted by a former client who informed me she had sold her house (for an undisclosed price) and downsized from 7 acres to 900 sq. ft. cushioned by a grand view of the falls in the former woollen mill condominiums on Coleman’s Island.

Initially one of the gentlemen at the corner table kindly recognized me as the author of contributions to The Millstone News. This endorsement naturally excited me and my vanity. I took the bait and offered an account of my latest publication on Substack. It was no doubt a tiresome recess. Another of the gentlemen at table (coincidentally named Dave Scott – our former neighbour on Laura Crescent) here introduced the unanticipated familial connection of Gordie Donaldson (a former surveyor in the area) to “Jack” Purdon (ostensibly the man behind Purdon Conservation Area in McDonald’s Corners which I had earlier mentioned). This peculiar intelligence caused a resulting avalanche of information, spiralling into historic memories of several of us in Montréal where another of the gentleman had emigrated at 4-months of age from Holland; where I was born; and where another had lived and whose mother was a former Head Mistress of a girls school there.

The unwitting threads that united us all were lively and amusing. I learned too that the gentlemen regularly congregate on Monday mornings at Equator Café. The traditional connection of local inhabitants was astonishingly manifest. I was invited to join. I suspect however that I shall not. There may be authentic reasons to reconsider the matter, undiscovered rituals and treasures. But I have never been a “groupie” or whatever is the apt description of such a candidate. My membership in the Masonic Lodge was predominantly activated by my literary interest in its ritual. The performance of duties and obligations was to me more important than the subsequent casual alliances. Effort for purpose.  Something like that; always research and a goal; plus the hidden conjectures.

One member of the klatch was 90 years old.  He had graduated from a flip-phone to an iPhone. He lived alone and regretted the solitude. He embellished the value of the coffee group. I didn’t ask – but I believe it is safe to assume that his spouse predeceased. Another of life’s less charitable commonalities. Reality is indeed a blunt instrument. Interestingly I am now listening to the Choir of King’s College, Cambridge, Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, Sir Stephen Cleobury. One of the gentlemen at table expressed his attraction to choral music. I agreed. We then got into a prolonged discussion of pianos, uprights, grands, etc. There were as usual tales of old dusty pianos which have sadly escaped currency.