It is to be predicted that unpleasantness happens but no one likes to think it really will.  Yet it does.  And it did. We learned this morning by telephone call from the Property Manager of our new digs that the elevators are not working; at least they are not approved by the certifying agency to be useable. This impacts our scheduled move on the morning of November 2nd.  Apparently the elevator people were recently on strike. Now that they are back in gear they are first attending to the most urgent places such as hospitals and nursing homes.  Our place pointedly qualified as a “retirement” residence but even so they do not anticipate approval of the lifts until late in the afternoon on November 3rd by which time we have planned to be miles away.

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Whenever one is told (usually by someone in a fit of comic hysterics) that “It’s easy!” one has to question the unvarnished purpose in sharing the intelligence with oneself (usually recovering from the embarrassment of a petty defeat like opening a can). Indeed there is a case to be made for the proposition “It’s easy!” though I would be more approving if there were added the subjunctive clause, “… if you know what you’re doing”. Be honest, whenever that happens, that we can’t figure out the simplest thing, our immediate reaction is unease.  Yet equally certain – but far more mortifying – is our discovery thanks to the input of the comedian that indeed it is perfectly stupid! In the end it is easy!

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The world is much as it was fifty years ago. Cities and towns have grown; infrastructure has been modernized. Children are seen walking to school. Politics is as enigmatic as ever. Technology has awakened an era of precision and accessibility. Wrist watches have recaptured utility over cosmetics. Doing anything and everything remotely or on-line is now the fashion; it attaches to university courses, employment, stock trading and shopping. Some worry an isolation is developing. I believe functionality will trump novelty and curiosity; and that we shall restore our erstwhile itch for socializing. The parasitic stigma of technology will in time lapse unobserved like air, rain and sunshine.

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This too is another of those instantly gripping directives worthy of scrutiny; viz., “Say what you mean!” Not always a pleasant task; one which may come with embarrassment. Who among us has not been told the bullying mandate at least once? Indeed there are perhaps less complimentary renditions such as when one has been caught in a deceit. Saying what you mean is not for the pusillanimous!

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It is conceivably an amplification to speak of downtown Almonte. There is only one central business street in Almonte and that is Mill Street on which was historically conjoined the post office, Peterson’s Ice Cream Co and two of the town’s woollen mills (one at the top of the hill by the Old Town Hall, the other at the bottom of the hill opposite Doc Metcalfe’s hydro station) with limited retail and service shops between the two mills. Yet our recent discovery of the Mill St Apartments has encouraged the more ambitious denomination thanks to its cunning utility within the realm of our current private affairs.  Just this afternoon upon returning home I responded to an enquiry from another resident about “where you are” by reporting “we’re in the middle of the fray”. Pointedly Rob Prior’s new “fully furnished luxury suites ready for your extended getaway” answers our temporary residential needs ideally.

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The instant we set upon our two-wheelers this morning we were moved to proclaim the magnificence of the day! Though I know the winter season does not officially commence until December, and without wishing to detract from that date, I have always attached import to October 21st as though it were a celestial or astronomic signal of change. Not infrequently as today the weather was divine. But the trees which have been exotic this year are showing precipitous signs of autumn’s incalculable passage.

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Longer ago than I care now to recall I was invited by John G. Jamieson to dine at his grand home on the eminent street where historically had lived the owners of the town’s now long-forgotten woollen mills. He informed me it was to be a black tie affair. At the time I felt honoured by the invitation which portended an elegant taxonomy. It would however prove to be a less than venerable and a more than unintended social engagement. Continue reading →

It’s late in the day on a Thursday afternoon. Outside the air is cold. I am projecting through the drawing room sheers over the head of my limited edition (2/25) bronze sculpture Îrhe Wapta by Don Begg. The horizon is a mixture of grey and white, a prolonged and erratic tarnish upon the sky. The vermillion roses blend among the dark emerald leaves and in a bold and exuberant proclamation stem from the elaborate Lalique vase. Roberto Cacciapaglia mists the apartment.

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John Hawley Kerry died today. His son, Glenn (executor and long-time business associate), telephoned earlier to give us the news. According to my records John’s date of birth was August 5, 1929.  So he achieved his 93rd year. Reportedly he had cancer.  When I saw him last (shortly before his birthday) he looked well and professionally attired as always.

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Looking down the hallway I can almost see a light,
The signal of a new path across my prow of sight.
The flicker of a presence which yet is undisclosed,
The promise we’ve awaited and for many months proposed.

We’re leaving where we come from to get to where we go
The swaying sea it’s hot-tempered winds may drift us this I know.
I’ve never tried to get there without a clean and measured plan;
The parallels sometimes infect an unpredicted span.

You ask me what it means to reckon with design
Amidst these many stars we’ve so perilously aligned.
The whisper of perfection in the azure sky above
Splashes waves of cool upon the deck and vanishes like a dove.

Your idle hair is dense and glistened by the sea;
Your lips are moist but purged by salt that I can see.
A trail of former magic scurries down the hall
I have no sense or logic where it leads at all.

Should I meet the others when tacking on the lee
I’ll hail and grasp them to come along with me!
We’ll parade upon the fathoms that glide us far above;
I’m set upon my future and the people whom I love.