Doc Kelly was well-known for his magnanimity. It was not uncommon for example for him to accept potatoes or corn in payment of his medical services, especially from those who would, as fate would have it, oblige him to travel by sleigh on a blustery wintry night from Town to the nearby Village of Barnhart Mills where several of his more elderly and struggling patients lived. They relied upon him and his good advice, always given cheerfully and without restraint. They would have given more to him in compensation of his professional services, but they hadn’t any more to give and Doc Kelly knew that. It is no accident that if one is good at something in particular, one is often so in general. While it may be considered an odd extrapolation, the beneficence of Doc Kelly was so widely disseminated as to include not only human kind but also animals, particularly the small ones which are so often ignored on the theory that their diminutive size somehow accounts for a greater likelihood of survival in the harsh winter months, an observation which Doc Kelly understood to be patently erroneous.

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Throughout his nearly 80-year-long artistic lifetime, (Jonas) Mekas embraced the diaristic form, arguably more than any other through cameras, sound devices, and written journals, while maintaining a radical dedication to elevating the personal and poetic aspects of daily life, always seeking to capture the essence of the moment. Mekas recorded what was happening in front of him in the present, the here and now. With an emphasis on that which is typically regarded as the small and insignificant, he was unwaveringly committed to sharing “fragments of paradise on Earth.”

Elle Burchill, Microscope Gallery, New York, NY

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With the promise of wind, rain and cool weather today it was appropriate for sleeping late. But the moment I arose I saw that my email in-basket was pleasingly visited with a number of messages from friends. It was that time of year to connect with friends at Christmas! I punctuated the welcome ceremony by adding a cup of black coffee to my ritual morning repast of sliced green Granny apple and sprouted multi-grain toast with Kerrygold Irish salted butter, peanut butter and honey.

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The weather forecast throughout North America is a winter storm.  In Florida this translates to the possibility of rain, wind and temperatures plummeting to 56°F judiciously isolated to Saturday, Sunday and Monday which in this instance means Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. In anticipation of this impending peril, and knowing that children and grandchildren have already begun to arrive on Key Largo to holiday with the senior generation, I ensured I was positioned at my chaise longue by the pool early this morning. It must have been shortly after 10:30 am.  There was no one else there so I had no trouble locating what for me is the most desirable perch; namely, southeasterly (for the morning sunrise), most northerly (away from the impending afternoon shadows) and westerly (to avoid the shade of the trees on the far side of the pool).

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Toby, who had a protuberant little belly (over which hung a tag strung from his neck announcing his pedigree), was a Red Panda Teddy bear made in Germany of Mohair, No. 458 of a Limited Edition of 1000 pieces. He “lived” in the Village clock shoppe of Mr. Dilwert Schomberg on top of The Concise Oxford Dictionary (Fifth Edition), which in turn rested upon two thick volumes of telephone books (one of which was the Yellow Pages, the other a listing of Regional Residential numbers). From this vantage atop the old metal filing cabinet (which in turn supported the Regional Listing, Yellow Pages and Dictionary), Toby was afforded a clear view across the room where Mr. Schomberg (squinting through his gold rimmed spectacles) worked assiduously during the day at his well-worn wooden desk, cluttered with a collection of pliers, small screw drivers and other implements of the trade. Toby’s view further extended over the glass-cased oak counter, and finally to the pine door entrance, appended to the outside of which was a large brass door knocker in the shape of a mighty lion’s head. Fortunately for Toby, in the poorly heated shoppe of Mr. Schomberg, he had the benefit by day of a nearby lamp which poured forth both its light and radiant heat upon Toby, at least that is until Mr. Schomberg at the end of the business day unpocketed his set of keys, turned off the lights, turned down the heat even more, then removed himself from the premises, locking the door with a double click behind him. As a result of Mr. Schomberg’s precautions, the nights were fairly uncomfortable for Toby, and no doubt accounted for the enthusiasm (in his heart only of course) with which he greeted Mr. Schomberg upon his arrival the next morning, when the light and heat were restored.

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Living as we do in North America where the traditional holiday schedule surrounds Santa Claus and the New Year (December 24th to January 1st), it is impossible to ignore the delirium and commercial toxicity which prevails in anticipation of the festivities. Even thinking about food supplies and booze is characterized by a concern about how busy the supermarkets and liquor stores are likely to become. And if one were to live in a snowbound locale, the collateral issues of weather and travel are commensurate.

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“What profit hath a man for all his toil, in which he toils under the sun?”, expressing that the lives of both wise and foolish people all end in death.

I’m not about to dwell upon the obvious peculiarities of old age, like the daily handfuls of pills, that the bathroom is your favourite room in the house, that you cannot sleep soundly longer than two or three hours, that you can’t get out of bed before not less than nine hours, that your physical complaints cover endless biological issues. No, I’m talking about things like forgetting what you forgot to do when you initially remembered to do it.
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From yesterday’s fecund rains has blossomed a bouquet of circumstance and events. The effervescence is precisely the mundane fodder of life which cheerfully animates our temporal flavour. Long ago I have surpassed the unrealistic drama of space travel or comprehending the meaning of a myriad of technological expressions.

To begin, today was an inexpressibly lovely day – absolutely clear blue sky, dry air, a cool breeze and of course drenched in a syrup of yellow sunshine. As I savoured my afternoon swim, I floated on my back, gazing into the limitless azure sky surrounded by a margin of green and sage trees and the flashes of sunlight through the palm fronds.

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