Shaye Moss and her mom Ruby Freeman had their lives turned upside down when then-President Donald Trump and Rudy Giuliani singled them out in an increasingly unhinged effort to overturn the election. Giuliani accused the two election workers from Fulton County, Georgia, of pulling out suitcases of fake votes and passing a suspicious USB stick to each other while counting election results. But the “USB stick”—which Giuliani later suggested might be dope—was a ginger mint, Moss told the January 6 committee in stunning, emotional testimony Tuesday.

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It felt almost offensive to be returning from an urban weekend when the weather prescribed the ideal summer day; viz., azure sky with fluffy white cumulus, blazing temperature and balmy air. Late this afternoon I drove to the grocery store to replenish our provisions.  Everything about the day screamed summer! There was very little traffic for a business day of the week. I imagined that masses of people had launched their summertime resort and vanished into the interior. The grocery store echoed the abandonment of drivers. Once again It was though I were violating an unwritten summertime loyalty, that I should have instead been on a deck overlooking a pool, sipping a coloured drink and chortling with disregard.

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Following breakfast this morning at the trough on the 18th floor of the hotel we checked out electronically and descended with our luggage from the suite in the sky overlooking Toronto harbour to the commotion of the lobby below. The city was alive with Monday morning vigour. We’re currently situated adjacent Front Street directly across from the Royal York hotel in Union Station at the lounge waiting to board the eastbound train to bring us home.

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We’re in luck again today! It’s a fresh and sunny morning in Toronto! To make it even better we have no plans, no obligations, no agenda. We intend only to absorb what is at hand. The strawberry jam and butterballs on this morning’s festive board in the lounge afforded a soothing recollection of forgotten times at my mother’s breakfast table. Two elderly couples seated next to us were overheard discussing the old Seigniory Club (now Montebello) and other railway hotels across Canada including Banff Springs and Lake Louise. Yesterday I read on a plaque attached to the front of the Royal York hotel that at the time of its construction it was the tallest building in the British Empire.

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Cabbagetown in Toronto has become an increasingly influential and sought after venue.  For many years now it has been the resource of a Parliament Street congregation which for our purposes has been highlighted by Gilles and Scott. It was among other salient moments the place of their late afternoon wedding dinner following completion of the ceremony at Casa Loma in which we had been privileged to contribute. Today we celebrated Gilles following his recent precipitous and unanticipated death. It was a hugely successful and uncommonly buoyant congregation.

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Initially my excitement about visiting Toronto this weekend was the train ride to get here. It turns out that travel by train isn’t far removed from travel by plane. It is but another example of public transportation. There is still the panic to get to the station on time; the lineup to board; the fuss to find one’s seat (and squeeze around those in the aisle trying to stow their bags in the overhead compartments); the babble about who wants the window seat; the gymnastics to get into the seat; and finally the manipulation of the seat to its best advantage.

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There is much hardship in the world. I direct this to disadvantaged people in particular. While the physical privation may not be as acute for those of us currently on the other side of fortuity, there is no assurance that any one of us will escape similar or worse difficulty. I have personally seen a young lawyer from a reputed “good “ family in the exclusive Village of Rockcliffe Park descend within a matter of a year from an awakening solicitor to an addlepated idiot. By complete coincidence months following our legal encounter on opposite sides of a commercial transaction, as I was walking on Rideau Street in downtown Ottawa where I had a condominium apartment, the young lawyer passed me. He did not acknowledge me. He was shabbily dressed. He was talking to himself. He kept circling his hands on either side of his head. I subsequently heard (perhaps through his former clients) that the young chap had completely decomposed.

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Whether legitimate or not the generic statement lately being circulated that we’re stressed out (presumably by popular social and political activity as opposed to our health and the weather) is not uncommon. There may indeed be supportable bases for the statement. It has however been observed that the universe is ultimately personal, an assertion from which derives acute foundations of anger. This arena of frustration is very often aligned with the prevention of progress or success. It frequently embraces an upset regarding others though most probably because the obstacle affects oneself; but as regularly includes obstruction of one’s devotion to and love of another.

Frustration:
The annoyance and disappointment arising from inability to achieve or change something.

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John Hawley Kerry was born August 5, 1929.  He will soon celebrate his 93rd birthday.

This morning as I accomplished my routine cycle throughout the neighbourhood and along the former B&O railway line I fortuitously passed by John’s private residence and saw him and his daughter Lisa sitting on the front porch enjoying the balmy summer air. They graciously invited me to join them.

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Listening to witnesses at the American Insurrection Investigation concerning the attack of January 6 on the Capitol is alarming. The first and foremost conclusion is that Donald J. Trump is unhinged from reality. Second that Trump is malicious. Third – and most importantly – that Trump was so obviously overwhelmed by his need for election approbation that he determined to continue spouting the “false narrative “ nationally.

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