Casting a casual eye about me I see a record of interpretations. The interpretations are paramountly artistic – books, paintings, photographs, hand knotted rugs, furnishings, carvings, statues, toys, seals, crystal, lamps, clocks and walking sticks. Within many of them is a tale of adventure sometimes in turn insinuated by yet another story, another anecdote. What makes them all an interpretation is not so much their particular characteristic but rather their unique meaning to me. Identity is not always from without but often percolates from within.

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Excerpt From
Sabatini, Rafael. “Captain Blood.”

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For those of us who instinctively tend to the margins – whether at table or the trough – I suspect the evening cocktail hour presents the occasion for one of the more egregious violations of society’s daily conventions. This speaks to the exceptional attraction of the protocol. Admit it, it’s hard to get too much of a good thing! When the chimes of the grandfather clock ring on the hour at 6:00 pm the old dawgs in the drawing room will habitually expect the first of a series of libations. If the venture were ideal it included a blazing fireplace and robust conversation – but never the interfering annoyance of music no matter how classical or operatic. If were alone by the hearth I found Jane Austen an inspiring addition to the frozen martini.

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Viticulture is the study of grape cultivation, while enology is the study of wine and winemaking.

Somewhere in my youthful past I first heard the curious philosophic adage, “Clothes maketh the man”.

Many articles mistakenly attribute the source of the proverb to Samuel Langhorne Clemens better known by his pen name Mark Twain. Twain made a fashion statement when he began wearing white suits late in his career in 1906 only to be outdone by Thomas Kennerly Wolfe Jr. who began wearing his iconic white suit early in his career in 1962 and attained notoriety through his novel “Bonfire of the Vanities”. According to Merle Johnson’s book “More Maxims of Mark by Mark Twain (1927)” Twain wrote: “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society” . However Johnson was paraphrasing passages from Mark Twain’s short story “The Czar’s Soliloquy” (North American Review, March 1905). Here is an excerpt: “[One] realizes that without his clothes a man would be nothing at all; that the clothes do not merely make the man, the clothes are the man; that without them he is a cipher, a vacancy, a nobody, a nothing… There is no power without clothes.”

The proverb as it is recorded in Latin by Erasmus (Adagia 3.1.60) is: “vestis virum facit” meaning “clothes make the man.”

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Apart from the what are now considered normal pandemic restrictions and social distancing, it isn’t often I feel confined.  But confined I am today.  There was a threat last evening and earlier this morning of freezing rain. The incommodious prospect is to me anathema; it strikes at the heart of my metaphorical materialism – vehicular transport. Fortunately the forecast has since altered to rainy conditions at above-zero temperatures for the next twenty-four hours so it looks as though the wave of ice crystals has been avoided. It has yet succeeded to dampen my cathartic bicycling spirit. It is nonetheless a fortuity. I have a legitimate interruption to my harnessing Protestant Work Ethic. Today is clay in my hands, an open and unlimited satisfaction. To celebrate I have made a triple-strength espresso; I’ve had a late morning brunch sans bread (some of that lingering delinquency); I’ve secured about my aching knees the Mueller Advanced Patella Strap; and, I’ve settled upon the stuff I’m putting into the car for our upcoming hibernation.

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Notwithstanding the Republican trumpeting of a mythical threat to Christmas, I frankly think there is no immediate concern. Once again this year to my utter surprise the so-called holiday spirit is alive with its infectious allure. On the public screen certainly the priority is boldly commercial; and then descending to every sub-category thereof starting with food then booze, apparel, accessories, even automobiles or perhaps a space mission for the well-to-do. And Christmas music affords endless tranquillity and remorse. Recall for a moment the doleful lyrics of “I’ll be home for Christmas!” The more festive chant is in the sharing of Christmas cards predominantly now by email and often through the agency of Jacqui Lawson who has succeeded to ornament “Christmas/Winter” with an entirely new level of banality.

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When I awoke this morning and curiously peered through the bedroom draperies onto the world beyond, my initial reaction upon seeing the light snowfall was to rejoice that I had an excuse to stay in bed. I burrowed once again beneath the duvet. But my indolence was short lived. Plagued by inescapable imperatives, I acknowledged the purgative value of a bicycle ride to complete my upcoming day. Regular exercise is necessary; but there is nothing other than bicycling that suits me. The thought of confining myself to an indoor gymnasium is totally unappealing.  And I cannot walk any distance.

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Listening this afternoon to Tchaikovsky’s Orchestral Suite No. 3 I was reminded of its publication as recently as 1885. The majestic images of the The Year 1812 Solemn Overture, Op. 49 were brought to mind as well.  Subsequently I listened to Shostakovich’s sometimes ominous but always hopeful compositions which pointedly arose from his birth around 1905 coinciding with the first Russian Revolution. Between those two composers and between those two dates was a history of courtiers and revolutionaries. Things changed rapidly within a relatively short period of time.

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verb (with object)
announce or publish (something) in an official gazette
we will need to gazette the bill if a decision cannot be reached imminently;
a gazetted holiday;
publish the appointment of (someone) to a military or other official post
he was gazetted the Somerset Light Infantry

ORIGIN
early 17th century via French from Italian
gazzetta originally Venetian gazeta de la novità
“a halfpennyworth of news”
because the news-sheet sold for a gazeta a Venetian coin of small value

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Amidst expressions of incredulity the American media is discharging its ritual execration of the retail advertising habit of transitioning immediately from Hallowe’en to Christmas. I have always wondered why the Americans seemingly skip over and disregard the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday in November. This is particularly so because I have been led to believe that in America Thanksgiving is more popular than Christmas – except perhaps among certain Republicans who as routinely skew the social nicety of not assuming everyone is either Christian or cares.

This year, Thanksgiving will fall on Nov. 25, which is the fourth Thursday of the month. This has been the way that the date for the holiday has been determined since 1941. Before this, the holiday was traditionally held on the last Thursday of November.

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