We briefly ventured off the property this morning. I felt an urgency to determine the precise location of Cindy’s Hair Place. Yesterday afternoon I had made an on-line appointment for a “Short Haircut – Unisex” with “Cindy D (organizer)” or so the Message I subsequently received indicates. The venue we discovered is 0.3 miles (7 min walk) from here.  We drove.  Basically we crossed the road. At this southern end of Key Largo the frequency of commercial establishments is much diminished. Instead there are hotels, resorts and gated communities. Predominantly throughout Key Largo the businesses – except standard grocery stores and big box stores – appear to be sole proprietorships or mom-and-pop styles of trade. As a former rural business owner I am accustomed to that medium of commerce; and, in fact I prefer it in many ways especially for personal goods or services. Plus the parking on these obscure business sites has not the congested traffic one encounters in season at the malls.

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Charles Reginald Gamble (known to his friends and clients as “Reg”) was one of the first people whom I met when I arrived in Almonte in June of 1976.  He visited his close friend and my new employer, Michael J. Galligan QC, at the latter’s home on Church Street not far on the same street from where Reg and his wife Gail lived atop the funeral home then called Gamble & Comba in the erstwhile Galbraith mansion.

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There are admittedly many marvels of life. Those of mine indisputably include swimming in the sea as I did earlier today. Although the swimming pool is a mere 100 yards from where I now sit, the allure of the sea is for me irresistible. It does however oblige me to mount my tricycle and pedal along the shaded laneway approximately 0.5 Km to where there is a white stone pathway between the row of townhouses bordering the sea enabling me to penetrate to the small private beach.

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This morning, as is my tradition, I opened my computer to check for overnight email. There was one from a funeral home in my hometown (I follow the obituaries), another from the Swiss luxury watchmaker Hublot (I subscribe to the list of latest products) and one from a friend, Michael Tweedie, whom I have known since the late 1960s. Michael is a long-standing friend.

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Winter has arrived on Key Largo. The forecast high today is 79°F. The locals are wearing long-sleeved shirts and windbreakers. Similar Baltic weather is predicted for the upcoming week. We turned off the A/C and opened the windows. The northeast breeze from across the North Atlantic Ocean was marvellous! My bedroom windows are louvered. After morning ablutions and application of soothing cream, I sat in my bedroom on the thatched vanilla-coloured chair apathetically preparing to dress myself in a wintry costume (a cotton shirt to replace the linen one). While doing so I stared at the shimmering sunlight and shadow upon the carpeted floor and listened to the rotating hum of the ceiling fan before gathering myself to descend to the larder.

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The Theory of Moral Sentiments
Adam Smith

In many governments the candidates for the highest stations are above the law; and, if they can attain the object of their ambition, they have no fear of being called to account for the means by which they acquired it. They often endeavour, therefore, not only by fraud and falsehood, the ordinary and vulgar arts of intrigue and cabal; but sometimes by the perpetration of the most enormous crimes, by murder and assassination, by rebellion and civil war, to supplant and destroy those who oppose or stand in the way of their greatness. They more frequently miscarry than succeed; and commonly gain nothing but the disgraceful punishment which is due to their crimes. But, though they should be so lucky as to attain that wished-for greatness, they are always most miserably disappointed in the happiness which they expect to enjoy in it. It is not ease or pleasure, but always honour, of one kind or another, though frequently an honour very ill understood, that the ambitious man really pursues. But the honour of his exalted station appears, both in his own eyes and in those of other people, polluted and defiled by the baseness of the means through which he rose to it.

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Chap. II: Of the origin of Ambition and of the distinction of Ranks

It is because mankind are disposed to sympathize more entirely with our joy than with our sorrow, that we make parade of our riches, and conceal our poverty. Nothing is so mortifying as to be obliged to expose our distress to the view of the public, and to feel, that though our situation is open to the eyes of all mankind, no mortal conceives for us the half of what we suffer. Nay, it is chiefly from this regard to the sentiments of mankind, that we pursue riches and avoid poverty. For to what purpose is all the toil and bustle of this world? what is the end of avarice and ambition, of the pursuit of wealth, of power, and preheminence? Is it to supply the necessities of nature? The wages of the meanest labourer can supply them. We see that they afford him food and clothing, the comfort of a house, and of a family. If we examined his oeconomy with rigour, we should find that he spends a great part of them upon conveniencies, which may be regarded as superfluities, and that, upon extraordinary occasions, he can give something even to vanity and distinction. What then is the cause of our aversion to his situation, and why should those who have been educated in the higher ranks of life, regard it as worse than death, to be reduced to live, even without labour, upon the same simple fare with him, to dwell under the same lowly roof, and to be clothed in the same humble attire? Do they imagine that their stomach is better, or their sleep sounder in a palace than in a cottage? The contrary has been so often observed, and, indeed, is so very obvious, though it had never been observed, that there is nobody ignorant of it.

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Though we did not formally introduce ourselves to one another, a woman and I chatted ever so briefly today by the pool. She was sitting in a deck chair facing the sun when I arrived at approximately three o’clock this afternoon. My daily mission of cycling about the compound and lounging by the pool had earlier been interrupted by domestic and personal matters. As late in the day as it was for the performance of my customary régime I nonetheless felt obliged to expiate my simmering guilt for not having exercised or swum.

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It was mani/pedi day at the local Vietnamese-based nail salon where, apart from one enthralling quirk, there were all the customary processes and hardware (including the predictable battle to hear and understand what was being whispered or mumbled by the staff). What distinguished my visit today to the salon located in the mall adjacent Publix was the presence of a small fluffy dog quietly ambling about the salon. At times the tiny creature materialized beneath the chairs of the salon clients or the manicurists. Its variable course was impossible to follow or predict because it was constantly evaporating beneath the larger desks and chairs. Its movement seemed to be ceaseless and purposeless, betraying no doubt its long-standing acquaintance (and possible ennui) with the environment. No one, either staff or clientele, held any sway with the animal. It had an unquestionable paramountcy in the establishment.

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I met two women today. The first was a woman whom I met this afternoon at the pool; the other was a woman whom I met later at the apartment. The woman at the pool (Carol) is a resident of Buttonwood Bay Club; the other (Mercedes or “Mercy” as she is nicknamed) is an employee of our estate agency who was here to change the lightbulbs throughout the unit. As you might justifiably expect for any number of reasons, there were palpable differences between the two women; but there were also a number of noticeable similarities.

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