It feels as though it has been a long day. I was awake with my feet on the hardwood at eight o’clock this morning. Denis is always up and at it by that time. Indeed far earlier. For me it represents an early morning moral imperative. I should add that we turned off all the lights last night not much later than ten o’clock.  I never sleep well because of my neuropathy and whatever else is currently affecting me. On occasion I have attempted spuriously to quell my paranoia about staying in bed beyond the recommended 8 hours/night by arguing that it is a privilege of age. Nonetheless the Protestant Work Ethic always wins in the end!  As a result I rather applaud myself for my purity this morning!

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It wasn’t until the British enacted the Constitutional Act in 1791 that Ontario would be known as the land upstream from the St. Lawrence River, or Upper Canada, and Quebec considered the land downstream from the St. Lawrence River, known as Lower Canada.

Almonte’s first settler was David Shepherd, who in 1819 was granted 200 acres by the Crown to build and operate a mill. The site became known as Shepherd’s Falls.

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We lunched at the club today.  The Mississippi Golf Club. In the clubhouse on the Mississippi River in the Village of Appleton across from the serene and exclusive Glen Isle. I recall having had years ago from Glen Isle clients who although unconventional were nonetheless kind and generous. They were an elderly couple who, rightly or wrongly I cannot now recollect, took exception to the ambitions of a local property owner and developer. Like most people in remote, rural, idyllic environs – especially riparian – they had their idiosyncrasies and predictable conventions.  As well they might! I too feel commited to my Elysian view upriver without the benefit of feudal entitlement.

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Ship money, in British history, was a non-parliamentary tax first levied in medieval times by the English crown on coastal cities and counties for naval defence in time of war. It required those being taxed to furnish a certain number of warships or to pay the ships’ equivalent in money. Its revival and its enforcement as a general tax by Charles I aroused widespread opposition and added to the discontent leading to the English Civil Wars.

Apparently there has forever been a price to pay for seaside dwelling. This historical reference to ship money is but a reminder of the allure to me of the Atlantic Ocean. One of my first expressions of this nautical enchantment – aside from having attended Dalhousie law school au bord de la mer in Halifax, Nova Scotia – was the acquisition of a ship’s bell.

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Once you’ve posted your review, email us
with your Google profile name,
Halo location, and RFID tag number to claim
your complimentary week.

It is seldom if ever that I have responded to an invitation by a retailer to promote its product for free benefits. This however is an exception. Not because I want free benefits but because I adore the product. I am hugely impressed with the retailer in this instance. Quite frankly I willingly and heartily embrace the chance to speak endearingly of it.

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To my credit I began the day by reading The History of England by Thomas Frederick Tout.

Born in London, he was a pupil of St Olave’s Grammar School, still then at Southwark, a graduate of Balliol College, Oxford, and a fellow of Pembroke, but failing to obtain permanent fellowships at All Souls (1879) and Lincoln, his first academic post was at St David’s University College, Lampeter (now the University of Wales, Lampeter), where his job title was ‘Professor of English and Modern Languages’.

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Forgive me. I can’t resist the view from the balcony. Even on a rainy day. Yesterday the brilliance of the sunshine and the effulgence of the blue sky were remarkable. But we all need a break. Even from the good stuff.

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Having drained myself of energy yesterday (and having overnight survived an indecipherable though completely irritating and sporadic sound) I’m rather enjoying gazing blankly upriver at the distant clouds.  In fact the azure dome is completely clear. All evidence of storm has passed. The cumulonimbus subsides on the horizon as though being drawn over the edge. In the meantime I am saturating myself with my own tonic of schmaltz, deep bass notes and delicate pianissimo on the keyboard.

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Man was not intended to live like a bear or a hermit, apart from others of his own nature, and, philosophy and reason will each agree with me, that man was born for sociability and finds his true delight in society. Society is a word capable of many meanings, and used here in each and all of them. Society, par excellence; the world at large; the little clique to which he is bound by early ties; the companionship of friends or relatives; even society tete a tete with one dear sympathizing soul, are pleasant states for a man to be in.

This society, composed, as it is, of many varying natures and elements, where each individual must submit to merge his own identity into the universal whole, which makes the word and state, is divided and subdivided into various cliques, and has a pastime for every disposition, grave or gay; and with each division rises up a new set of forms and ceremonies to be observed if you wish to glide down the current of polite life, smoothly and pleasantly.

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This morning upon awakening I was smitten by an email from Mrs. Conscience (as I now call her). Mrs C is a new but in many ways an old friend. She and I have a caring relationship animated by humour (mostly on my part if I may say so) and directness (mostly on her part). In addition to my old friend being stubborn (which of course she has repeatedly denied and then embellished with threats of abandoning our acquaintance), she is always attacking my seeming disquietude (to which objection once rendered I predictably end up crawling). She commands social regulation surpassing anything the “The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness (rules for the etiquette to be observed in the street, at table, in the ball room, evening party, and morning call; with full directions for polite correspondence, dress, conversation, manly exercises and accomplishments)” by Cecil B. Hartley (1860) would ever have imagined or prescribed.

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