It will not be the first time we’ve been to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. We were last there for the winter in 2016. At that time – following a succession of prior trips to Hilton Head Island – we were being prompted by our vagabond friends to consider a more temperate zone for hibernation. Spirited by adventurous ambition – and perhaps by the snootiness of our friends – we began slowly to descend the Atlantic Ocean coast along the justifiably popular Route A1A overlooking the frothing sea while glinting through what at times resembled local fishing villages. It proved to be an uncomfortable and unwelcome transition most notably from the concierge-style property management of the agency on Hilton Head Island to the strictly commission-based application of the real estate agency on Daytona Beach Shores.  And while we certainly valued the overall comfort of the modern three-bedrosom apartment on the Atlantic Ocean, it wasn’t with much hesitation that we subsequently canceled a further booking at another place nearby for the next year and chose instead to check out Longboat Key. We had a small acquaintance with Longboat Key through the resort on Longboat Club Road where coincidentally we ended staying during our first winter there.

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We’re all familiar with the transcendental adage that happiness comes from within. When I contemplate for a moment my current status and recall the retail abuses in which I so gleefully luxuriated over the past fifty years, I have to confess that I have not by any measure overcome the enquiry into or pursuit of happiness. I am however convinced of the cogency of the thesis. It has to be one of the unscripted transports of old age that one needn’t buy anything (other than food naturally).  We have for example all the real estate we need (which is to say, none); we have all the furnishings we shall ever hereafter require; I shall never commission another painting; nor have I any intention of visiting antique dealers or Persian rug stores; and over the years I have succeeded to purchase 2-complete wardrobes in fat and thin sizes. And don’t get me started on sterling silver utensils, Crown Derby, gold jewellery or crystal anything. I am now in the exclusive business of disposition not acquisition.

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Early this afternoon I went for a drive in my Lincoln Aviator. In playful construct I have fashioned that the characterizing name “Aviator” is by entire serendipity reflective of my late father’s history as a pilot; and, that the “Lincoln” feature similarly reflects my late paternal grandfather’s passion for fine automobiles (as my grandmother advised, they needed a Packard limousine for their seven children). As for my contribution to this fabrication it ironically reflects its own “tangible” singularity; namely, not only the bloodline between us but also a motoring passion that was elemental to each of us (all of whom by further coincidence have “George” in their names). This sufficiently buoys the underlying theme; namely, that the Lincoln Aviator is an automobile of distinct and quality dimension. And with this too I would agree.

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We lingered immobile in our leather reclining chairs watching television until well after midnight before succumbing to mounting fatigue and going to bed. We strangely both arose in the middle of the night and began the new day’s agenda. I won’t say we were sprightly. Yet we significantly accomplished the creation on-line of the Province of Ontario COVD-19 Vaccination Passport for each of us. This is but one of many trifling matters we’ve recently addressed with uncommon zeal. Having now surpassed the middle of October, the time is rapidly approaching our departure on November 30th to Hilton Head Island for the remainder of the winter.

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When European settlers first came across the phenomenon in America it became known as the Indian’s Summer. The haziness of the Indian Summer weather was caused by prairie fires deliberately set by Native American tribes. It was the period when First Nations/Native American peoples harvested their crops.

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We knew early this morning that things were happening. The commotion had begun yesterday after we reached out to our erstwhile American estate agent for assistance following announcement of the international border opening in early November. The estate agent’s referrals were investigated and the results revealed today. Though I had hoped the outcome were desirable, it was beyond my anticipation that things proved so exhilarating. In an instant the initial devotion to particulars and certainty was settled. I have reignited my lingering affection for the magnificent barrier islands along the Atlantic seaboard among them Hilton Head Island, Tybee Island and Jekyll Island.  Contemporaneously I have revived the gusto reserved for my dearest personal enterprises; namely, bicycling, photography, writing, music and reading. My modest artistic juices are already percolating!

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Fully vaccinated Canadians will be allowed to enter the United States at land and ferry border crossings starting in early November.

Senior U.S. officials announced Tuesday night a plan to begin reopening the land borders with Canada and Mexico, which have been closed for non-essential travel since the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic in March 2020.

An exact date for the reopening has not yet been determined, according to senior administration officials who briefed reporters earlier about the plan during a conference call.

They said a number of details are still being worked out, including the type of documentation that will be accepted to prove a traveller’s vaccination status.

Canadian Broadcasting Corporation

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Following Thanksgiving weekend – which as you know spins out the familial immoderation to Monday – I began my cathartic re-entry to assignment and moral imperative by attending this morning (Tuesday) upon Mr. Sam, the  barber.  My appointment (which initially was booked for two weeks ago but I canceled when my endodontist advised of an earlier appointment) was at 10:20 am this morning.  When altering the time I presumed someone had already booked the ten o’clock slot which is my preferred time for no particular reason other than my obsessiveness. When however I arrived at the barber shop (and after maneuvering the car to align it with the yellow lines) I found there was no one ahead of me.  I was swept into motion at the shampoo station and then seated before the master’s mirror for precision upgrading. I told Mr. Sam I needed all the help I can get! I am especially fond of Mr. Sam not only because of his unqualified professional expertise but also because I have been party to some of the difficulty he has had to endure since he first opened his business about the same time COVID-19 struck the globe. I was pleased to learn from Mr. Sam this morning that lately business has been good and that he is very busy. He also spoke glowingly of his son Jude who is about to begin pre-school day care. Mr. Sam’s wife is reportedly also doing well in her studies which I believe are at Algonquin College.

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The skill we have in the exercise of our capacity – that is, the deftness by which we do what we do – is I believe a combination of innate talent, forward thinking, visible credential and accident. The paradigm is easily contaminated by features such as subterfuge, avarice and slovenliness. On the balance though we are all seemingly dedicated by whatever power or motive to the goal of happiness. It is as native a passion as an appetite; just as deep-rooted and as clinically irrational.

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There is for me always a lax element to Sunday morning. Everybody sleeps in. Nobody I know goes to church (though I enjoy listening to choral classics by St Martin-in-the-Fields). Except in emergency I cling to the patently old-fashioned view that there is no shopping on Sunday. A late brunch is always tolerated.  And token exercise by walking or cycling throughout the community is popular – punctuated naturally by casual conversation.

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