A trip to the country is forever a passion of mine. It is not only an escape; it is an enlightenment, an indulgence in the bounty of nature, inspiring wistful moments of dreamlike fancy. First thing this morning I made it a point of mine to captivate that specific objective; namely, a day at the cottage. Initiating the modest but nonetheless delightful pleasure this morning at the cottage were freshly cooked farm eggs, grâce à Jeff who lives in a rural home nearby. In spite of the diverse strong points of real estate, this morning we suffered the sobering annoyance of what is as yet an unresolved matter with the refrigerator. Luckily we had decided upon a visit to the cottage toda – thus, forcing us to address the technical matter at hand. We had already packed our belongings in preparation for the adventure. Thankfully the preparatory work was minimal (which means unpacking is effortless). In this extraordinary heat one wears only the simplest of outfits. As for food, we took what was in the freezer and placed it into the refrigerator – yet another fortuity because it was the freezer that our Superintendent analyzed as the source of mechanical difficulty (for which he has subscribed a Service Ticket for Monday following).
Upon my arrival at the cottage – mere steps from home – I parked the car in the nearby sheltered common area where it is hidden from view and awarded the merit of cool subterranean air. I hadn’t anything to transport from the car to the cottage because everything we require is already there. Nor was there a barrier of any substance whatsoever between me and the balcony overlooking the river – where I instantly set myself unabashedly savouring the midday sun. It was hot!
As I became immersed in my idyllic environment on the balcony (having the character of a tree house buoyantly removed from the ground-level repetitive habits of mosquitoes and flies) I heard the call of a loon from the river. The magical trumpet called again. And again. Meanwhile – as I dazed from the sunshine – the voices of children were heard reflecting upon the water. A motorized launch briefly interrupted the afternoon tranquillity as it moved up and down the river, pulling behind a young boy bouncing in a rubber raft. But soon the stillness was renewed when I saw someone paddling a kayak upriver.
The humidity and heat forced me to retreat from the balcony to within the cottage – where, as is my custom, I subdued myself and revived my intellect with a cooled espresso. We haven’t undertaken investment in an umbrella – such as distinguishes the nearby perch of an acquaintance whom we recently met. Her umbrella is exotic with furls of white cotton rimming the periphery of the umbrella – reminiscent of the “bavoline” or trim of a fashionable lady’s parasol. While investigating umbrellas further I came upon the following website. Instantly I was captivated by the content of the site – and this notwithstanding its complete irrelevance to anything on my mind or attention.
Encountering a persuasive communication such as Marina Shul alerted me not only to its matters of undeniable historical interest; but also to the appetite so many like I have for knowledge and involvement. I regret to say however that the preservation (and interpretation) of these often extraordinary insights into common behaviour represents what I perceive to be a frequent alignment of both social and political priorities with religion of one description or another. Competing with the latter qualification is the inarguable strength of community which derives from these and similar sites. As a format for objection, religion of whatever caliber is a difficult argument to contradict – except perhaps the silliness about people with wings and blazing light from the heavens.
This fictional visit to Marina Shul is no different from that to our cottage. It’s all just a matter of how you look at it and what you propose it to do. Please don’t assume I here contradict the reality and vitality of your own cottage or religion – whatever and wherever they may be. My objective – regarding the location and summary of both my cottage and religion – is to create (or attach to) an environment which is easily accessible, which draws upon my palpable strengths, which quells need with availability, which acknowledges what is transparently obvious, which defeats the false hope of a world that does not exist or which no longer exists, which by practical application overcomes the burden of doing what we’ve already done or which we no longer wish to do. And yet (here’s the stinger) enables mystery and removal without compromising reality.
Fantasy is for some a tall order. Whether ingeniously or stubbornly we frequently resist the mirthful allure of visions and versions. Yet the inescapable truth is that – notwithstanding our dialogue of convenience – we’re all looking at the identical world. As I am wont to enquire (observe), “Quelle est votre perspective!” The admission of this abrupt clarification does not succeed to dampen our individual inclinations. Like the solitary cornstalks they grow and shimmer in the wind, reflecting a commonality while at the same time enhancing the priority of mass sustainment. It is all part of what I derived from a day at the cottage.