Around 4 o’clock this morning (when I disturbed my peaceful sleep to “check the children “) I noticed a message on my iPhone suggesting something involving Amazon was wrong with my credit card. I instinctively deleted the message. At the same time I ticked a box to confirm my suspicion that it was a scam. Six hours later when finally I decided to get up, I received an email from Bank of Montreal advising there may have been suspicious activity on my card, recommending I call the bank to discuss. I ended speaking with a woman stationed in the Philippines. Out of what I imagine to have been no more than an abundance of caution, she terminated my credit card with a replacement to follow by mail. I noted it on my electronic calendar.

Immediately afterwards, while attempting to remove the old credit card from My Bell Canada preauthorized payment and replacing it with another card, the alteration project took several frustrating attempts before it was accomplished.

Having recovered from this anxiety-driven awakening to the world, I thankfully undertook a relieving tricycle ride. When returning home, after having almost completed my 3.98 Kms jaunt about the neighbourhood, I was approached by M. Gerald Bédard, an 84 year old nearby resident of the community. He was on a tricycle too. His was larger than mine, fatter tyres, with what appeared to be more buttons. Together we launched into a discussion of tricycles. And of course other things. For example, he informed me as well that his name “Jerry” actually began with a “G” because his Christian (Catholic specifically, as he emphasized) name was Gérald. He was born into a francophone family in Sudbury where his father worked in the mines. At this point I jokingly informed him of my privilege to report having been born in Montréal, an entitlement I as humorously advanced as my creditable alignment with la Belle Province de Québec (while mutedly acknowledging the enduring high school competition between les Franco Onntariens and les Québecquois! We both agreed that life is good; and, that being alive after 7 decades is no small compliment. I felt we could have gone on discussing a great deal more; however I alerted both him and me that I had promised to drive my partner to the grocery store. So I excused myself. We discussed how we each might easily remember one another’s names (today was the first time we had met) but naturally I cannot recall how. I didn’t tell him that Gérald is one of my partner’s middle names. I cannot imagine what bait he might have used to recall my name in a pinch. Not that it matters.  These days it seems that everyone we know is suffering some degree of mental collapse – an affliction which conveniently excuses a great number of inadequacies.

As a matter of record, I shall note that the venture to the grocery store – although successful in terms of collection of provisions and pharmaceuticals – was singularly uneventful.  Already the once vast consolidation of gardening items in the parking lot had been condensed to a number of potted plants – well actually a quantity of them – along a facing wall of the main building. Because I was parked so far from the entrance, I hadn’t the usual perspective of people coming and going.  So I sat in the car with the windows open, watching and thinking. Soon there was a tap on the window – to unlock the car (it does it automatically) – and thereafter we were on our way home.

Surprisingly it was still just sometime before noon.  I remember that detail because I recall, upon our return, having taken my customary Tylenol Arthritis pills which I have always religiously taken at 12:00 pm.  My subsequent “drive” was to be conducted alone. Another of my routine definitions. Not that I’m complaining. Not everyone gets such an undisguised thrill out of driving as do I. And – to my tangible personal advantage – not everyone enjoys driving with all the windows down.

Thus you can see from the start that the drive was in the correct mode. It was not minutes later in Stittsville – as I entered the plaza where I often get the car washed – I spotted a barber shop.  They appeared to be open (there was no neon sign but there seemed to be lights on inside). I parked then walked (struggled) to the shop.  I signed in (because I’ve been there before) and awaited a barber. Not long afterwards she called my name. After a discussion of hair, we lapsed into more personal conversation.  She, 2 children (boys) and I’m guessing her husband arrived in Canada 4 years ago from China (her parents are still there). She wanted her boys to get a proper education. She said it is not especially difficult to get into a good university in China, but staying there is another story. Her boys are now at Merivale Elementary in Ottawa. When I asked what the boys wanted to study at university, she quickly advised: business for one boy; chemistry for the other.  Already too they had considered which university to attend: U of Ottawa, U of Toronto and McGill.

After my haircut I felt relieved of the shaggy dog syndrome. The subsequent car wash perfected the overall relief (plus the bit of extra I did to remove scuff marks). The drive home was incomparable. Balmy wind, softening late afternoon sunlight, green cornstalks reaching to the sky, yellow fields of hay, terrific drive and a lovely evening. The remainder of the day was domestic; a delicious evening meal, chatting about stuff, a telephone call with Bunny; and the prospect of good weather tomorrow.

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Excerpt From
Twain, Mark “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer”