We awoke this morning at 5:30 am in preparation for an out-patient appointment at the Arnprior & District Memorial Hospital on John St N. If that early morning congress were not enough to disrupt a normal day we afterwards did so indisputably. As a celebratory reward for our abrupt communion with the real world we bought two pieces of signature carrot cake from the Tea & Cake restaurant on Bridge Street in Almonte. Okay, yes, at home we added a bit more for starters; some delicious baked flatbread with select toppings. So we made a complete meal out of it.  And there was coffee afterwards. But the dessert was the killer!

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This subject of comfort and succour reminds me of Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning,  “How do I love thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 -1861)

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While poking along today like an old fogey with my stick into the grocery store I encountered a young fellow whom I hadn’t seen – except coincidentally several times walking on the sidewalk while I was driving – for quite some time, about 5 years ago we figure.  When I asked him repeatedly, “What are you doing these days?” he as often ignored the enquiry and seemed intent upon moving onto another less intrusive topic of conversation like our health or the weather. It finally became apparent that he was doing nothing and that he was having a hard time of it. This was disappointing for me as well because the last time we had talked with him he was cheerfully reporting involvement in something promising.

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Talk about rain!  For the past couple of weeks we’ve experienced a shifting canvass of not only horridly hot, humid sunny days but also brilliantly cool, arid autumnal weather preceding torrential rains, rain which punishes the apartment windows, rain which drives hard upon the car windshield amid the mist and fog, rain which blusters the sheers and saturates the air, rain that glistens the roadways and parking lots, rain which cloaks the verdant fields revealing sparkling emerald gems.

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In the late afternoon when the shadows are long there are two instances of especial notice contrary to what we are accustomed when taking our predominantly morning bicycle rides. First, the declining afternoon sunlight switches its angle to the other side of the Mississippi River which dreamily wends its way through the centre of town directly past the Old Town Hall; and, second, the town is muted by the dark shadows of the lush and verdant summer foliage which everywhere distinguishes the town, specifically the dense cavern along the erstwhile B&O railway line (now a pedestrian and cyclist pathway).

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It was a very long time ago. Long ago at a time I seldom recall because the memories are so vague, like watching children play, or recalling a river’s clear and frozen ice before the snowfall, like the face or name of your first classmates. When small birds fell from their colony nests from high above. When through fields I chased the horizon with my companion dog Sheen at my side; she always behaved so well. Perhaps it was when I was 11 or 12 years of age. Before I knew that silk scarves were comfortable against the winter wind. Before I understood the physical bluntness of agriculture and livestock.  It was when I first saw the appeal of symmetry and substance.

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Though I haven’t a clue what sarsaparilla is, it nonetheless invokes the same brightening tonic in my mind as does the sudden advent of brisk September weather and dry azure skies. Such is the weather today, invigorating from the outset, refreshing and exuberant.

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TikTok is not an internet phenomenon I would recommend. Its notoriously juvenile reputation is well-founded. Apart from what is preposterously entertaining (everything from exploding beverages to prolonged swan dives from mountainous precipices) there is a good deal of what captures youthful narcissism and plainly lascivious piety. Among those extensions are navigations to websites for Low Cost Dental Implants.

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Every year at about this time we take our bikes to Bill Barrie Jr of Almonte Bicycle Works for their annual reconditioning and any needed repair. As I said to Bill upon collecting my bike early this afternoon the bike looks better than the day I bought it (which frankly was a good number of years ago – I’m guessing ten at least if not indeed considerably more). Bill takes very good care of us and our bikes. He is a trusted friend and cycle specialist.

Almonte Bicycle Works

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When my predecessor the late Raymond A. Jamieson QC lay ill in his hospital bed at 96 years of age and I told him in response to his question “What’s the news?” that funeral director John H. Kerry was building a chapel attached to his funeral home, Raymond replied with a glint in his eye (the only one he had), “I’m looking forward to going there!” And in case you’re wondering, Raymond lost one of his eyes as a child at age 13 on the 13th day of the month while playing with some toy. It was a fortuity which subsequently inspired him to wantonly dispose of any $1 bill he happened to have in his pocket in addition to $12. It was the only suspicion I knew him to counsel.

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