I cannot now recall the last time I gripped my fingers to the edge of a bridge and cautiously peered over the railing to survey the roaring water below. It is an arresting exercise as I am sure you know. One can so easily loose oneself in the turbulence. Yet if it were not for the gushing current I suspect one’s interest in what is going on below would be more romantic than inspiring. The gurgle of a shallow stream might instead blend with the chirping of the birds. The adage about “water under the bridge” refers to events in the past that should not be worrisome because they happened a long time ago and cannot now be changed. This doesn’t however alter the intrigue concerning what did in fact occur in the past, happily or not. And just what if anything should linger as a concern or otherwise.

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The fortuity of life is mercurial; but when it’s on the upswing it’s marvellous! And what could make today’s serendipity more beneficial than a balmy summer morn under a cloudless azure sky. It was in the grip of this unexpected Nirvana that I took off mid-afternoon with the windows down and the landau roof open along the ribbon of highway towards Renfrew County through the verdant fields.

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I am part of the venerated Anglican communion of the Church of England. I presume so at least because – though I am no longer a contributing member – to my knowledge I’ve never been formally banished from it. Nor have I have received a rejection letter in the mail or an email regarding embarrassing proceedings to be undertaken against me. In 1963 at fourteen years of age I was formally branded one of the fold while attending public school at St. Andrew’s College where we literally went to chapel “every day of the week and twice on Sundays”. As a consequence Sunday has always been a marked day of the week for me.  Even the advent of retail shopping on Sunday never succeeded fully to withdraw me from the solemn wash upon the seventh day of the week.  No doubt in later years my devotion during the rest of the week to the profane (and may I add parenthetically, rather demanding) practice of law and the vulgar enterprise of making money contributed to the welcome sustenance of the dignified nature of Sunday. It is a predominant feature which to this day I have yet to undo from my otherwise knotted being.

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Acquaintances of ours lately disappeared off the local map to far away Newfoundland where they’re on the North Atlantic Ocean across the Labrador Sea from Greenland and Iceland on the same latitude as England 52.3555° N, 1.1743° W. I cannot help but be taken by the nautical theme and the mettlesome spirit of the move. Both lifelong ambitions of mine!

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It is a long time since I have had any particular ambition. At least, one that warrants celebrity. I have no remorse or misgiving about this dissolute state. It is no disguise that instead of looking forward, I define a good deal of my life by looking back. It’s too late for me to do anything new. Besides it can be so unbecoming to see an amateur attempt novelty late in life.

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Though I haven’t a deck chair upon which to flop, I am nonetheless dead set upon taking it easy this afternoon. After navigating a frightfully organized late morning involving an ultrasound scan at the Almonte General Hospital – a search for invisible flaws preceded by fasting and prodigious water consumption, it is now a day devoted to elemental ingredients only. The high humidity out-of-doors recommends the air-conditioned coolness of the apartment. My irrigated carcass is fortified for filtering.

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Lately there has been a current of events which have disturbed the resonance of normal activity – not the least of which as you know is the COVID-19 pandemic. Naturally there have been other more personal obstructions along the way, some important, others just irritating, but all engaging, time-consuming and disruptive. Regaining one’s balance and reverberation is at times a wearing enterprise. When stability is fortuitously restored, it’s heavenly! This stimulating environment is I am certain fed by a number of branches of a larger resource. It may be the weather, a lovely summer day. It may be turning the corner on trifling daily necessities. It may be a friendly banter with an acquaintance when out for a walk or a bicycle ride. It may be the start of a diet or the end of an era. We each have these milestones of one degree or another in our daily lives – and when we’ve reached one or more of them things begin to return to normal.

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As each day of the pandemic straggles – and threatens at times to expand and ignite its virulence further abroad – we await, immobile and with increasing anticipation. The insufferable inertia hasn’t us yet talking to imagery friends but the imperturbability and frozen filming are palpable. Because Americans have – rightly or wrongly – succeeded to adjust more quickly than Canadians to social distancing, shut-downs and isolation, the Floridian winter resort market has already been sopped up.  Availability for prolonged periods such as 3 – 6 months is gone. And prices are rocketing.

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“How grateful we were to the BBC in the dark days of the war, when every night at 9 o’clock Alvar Lidell would bring us news of fresh disasters.“

Dudley Moore et al., “Beyond the Fringe”

News and social media are in my opinion tarsome to an Olympic degree. While there are elements of each which warrant attraction and approval, they have become less a means of communication and more an organ of instrumentality. Like toilet paper the presence and utility of news and social media persists but always at a cost.

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The subject of diet has arisen on the heels of my surgery yesterday by an endodontist whose post-operative prescription includes a soft-food diet of water and apple sauce. The central theme of diet is always portion control. It appears however that even my nominal breakfast restriction to one bagel and two pieces of cheese and a sliced green apple with prunes exceeds the limits.  Nor seemingly does my casual daily bicycling assist me to trim the calories. Similarly a dinner of raw salad (diced cabbage, broccoli florets, sweet peas, sliced tomatoes and green pepper) and boiled salmon filet is no assurance of dietary maintenance. I am however convinced (based upon historic detail) that the main problem is the bread and cheese. I formerly confined myself to steel-cut oats for breakfast and my weight was more favourable.

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