I recall one Sunday morning in our house in Stockholm, Sweden hearing from the main floor to the third floor where I slept my mother’s howl, “How’s God going to bless this goddamn house if no one goes to church!” She evidently had just returned from church. When my father did go to church he customarily sat behind one of the large stone pillars. My sister and I had seemingly already abandoned any religious custom.
Having the conviction there is a tomorrow is itself perfectly digestible. On the other hand leaving something undone until tomorrow presents an entirely different model. I recall being dismayed by my late mother’s casual discharge “until tomorrow” of what I thought was a pressing need. Tomorrow was never exactly defined. The protraction – indecorous in my opinion – seemed to me to taint the organization of the universe. What if it never got done? Then what?
Apparently farmers and the unemployed share a fascination with the weather. This is especially so on the last day of March as we approach what is forecast to be April showers for May flowers. We’re having today an introduction to that poetic recurrence, drizzle persisting into the morrow. Meanwhile the inclement weather affords a welcome reprieve from the more industrious preoccupations which normally attend a day of atmospheric high and sunshine. As I await the warming temperatures and clear air – interrupted though they may be in the morning tomorrow by a delayed March blizzard which I am certain will melt by the afternoon – I am at liberty to dwell upon the trifling recreations which now characterize my existence; namely, idle reflection upon my past, present and future, a car ride naturally (including the blatant immersion in the automobile’s many switches and conveniences), absorption of the limitless fields of Renfrew County and ultimately a strong, black coffee and general revelation in the events of the day which by the way have already been preceded by a highly profitable visit to my barber.
Never have I considered myself an entrepreneur. It’s a privilege associated with famous business operators like Steve Jobs or Elon Musk. But when I read today the “About Us” section of Mr. Sam Barber Shop on the internet I was instantly smitten with interest. It’s the newest business in Town and something tells me it’s the beginning of a marvellous adventure. Almonte is curiously known for its successful and singular businesses, enterprisers who attract those seeking quality in a rural environment.
Sam
Sam has been a successful hairstylist and barber for more than 15 years serving both female and male clients. He has always enjoyed hairstyling and we are confident you will be pleased with the services you will get.
Sam has finally achieved his lifetime dream of opening his own salon.
The Rive Gauche (Left Bank) is the southern bank of the river Seine in Paris. Here the river flows roughly westward, cutting the city in two: when facing downstream, the southern bank is to the left, and the northern bank (or Rive Droite) is to the right.
“Rive Gauche” or “Left Bank” generally refers to the Paris of an earlier era: the Paris of artists, writers, and philosophers, including Colette, Margaret Anderson, Djuna Barnes, Natalie Barney, Sylvia Beach, Erik Satie, Kay Boyle, Bryher, Caresse Crosby, Nancy Cunard, Hilda Doolittle (H.D.), Janet Flanner, Jane Heap, Maria Jolas, Mina Loy, Henry Miller, Adrienne Monnier, Anaïs Nin, Jean Rhys, Gertrude Stein, Alice B. Toklas, Renee Vivien, Edith Wharton, Pablo Picasso, Arthur Rimbaud, Paul Verlaine, Henri Matisse, Jean-Paul Sartre, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Baldwin, and dozens of other members of the great artistic community at Montparnasse. The phrase implies a sense of bohemianism, counterculture, and creativity. Some of its famous streets are the Boulevard Saint-Germain, the Boulevard Saint-Michel, the rue Bonaparte, and the Rue de Rennes.
What better preoccupation on a drizzling Sunday afternoon than to square oneself! The ordination of life – putting it in order – affords its own elevation not entirely dissimilar from the process by which individuals are consecrated in various religious rites and ceremonies. The object is perhaps not as dynamic as an understanding of ethics, spirituality and humanity but it legitimizes one’s life by strengthening the fibres that insinuate our being. Clearly while there is a metaphysical world of untold dimension there is also an inescapably blunt but equally wholesome foundation beneath us all. Straightening the corners, overlooking the trifling debris and dust gives a bigger picture, one which clarifies and expounds.
Steel-cut oats are oat groats that have been sliced into smaller pieces, whereas old-fashioned oats are oat groats that have been flattened. They all contain the same pieces and parts, but the difference between slicing and flattening explains why steel-cut oats take longer to cook (around 30 minutes).
Much to my surprise yesterday I heard myself say to someone whom I have only just met that I recognized her good breeding – an abrupt compliment to a young woman made all the more astonishing by the fact that it subsequently arose from a brief enquiry into her ancestry that I was perfectly correct in my initial summation! It was a two-fold reward: one, that people of good breeding do in fact exist; and, two, that the breeding itself was so palpable – as pleasant as the aroma from a fresh rose, as gentle as the offered hand of a charming new acquaintance, as stimulating as a conversation with a learned person. I think that pretty well covers all the relevant odoriferous, tactile and intellectual sensibilities. No doubt there are far more acute methods of determining someone’s breeding but I consider the talent akin to identifying the magnificence of a Steinway grand piano upon completion of the first movement; viz., as plain as daylight.
After an unsettling time – whether a succession of small annoyances or an event of material disruption – a day devoted to precision and alignment, clarification and assessment is a welcome abstraction. Today is for me such a day. The weather is by common standards currently unfavourable – drizzle and a moderate wind from the south – but the afternoon forecast is for sunshine and a high of 19°C which translates to good biking weather which will hopefully enable me to fulfill my daily ambition for purgative exercise. The overall aim of an agenda such as this is the cathartic effect, ridding oneself of unwanted feelings or memories.
I knew when I heard the clang of the grandfather clock at 1:00 am this morning I wasn’t likely to go back to sleep. Normally I would just have stayed in bed, tossing about for perhaps the next hour or so before finally having relented and slept. But today I had things on my mind. Late yesterday afternoon when I returned from grocery shopping I was asked, rather sharply I thought, why I buy so much at once. The grocery bill was only about $76 so I did not see that as the basis of the complaint. Nor did I imagine it mattered that I had bought 4 apples, 1 celery stalk, 2 English cucumbers, 2 green peppers, a bag of lemons, 2 packages of Black Forest ham and 2 bags of frozen jumbo shrimp. What did however seem to be the root of the cool enquiry was the three bags of steel cut oats (2 of which were gluten free) – particularly since there were two others in the cupboard, one of which was already open.