My old friend Louis de la Chesnaye Audette, QC OC – who “ate like a bird” – frequently quipped, “The best sauce for any meal is an appetite!” Normally that dismissive adage is a predisposition difficult to challenge. But every so often, upon patting the white linen napkin to one’s lips and pushing back from table with a contented groan, the culinary stimulation is more inventively artistic and less uncompromisingly visceral. This evening was one such an event. And I have my partner Denis to thank for the accommodation.

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Rain was forecast all day. Early this morning at 6:30 am In the dark and drizzle we nosed the Cadillac northeastwardly to the Queensway Carleton hospital in Bells Corners. The object was a bone density test.

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There are incalculable topics beyond my comprehension.  Even so some of those arcane matters have intriguing though not immediately recognizable identity. This disturbing monologue from a former law school roommate and current professor of law in Paris, France is an example:

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Speaking to young people should not be a difficult task. I mean, what could possibly be the hindrance? Yet often the paradigm is not without obstruction. This, irrespective whether you are teacher, parent or grandparent (with the possible exception of godparent – as I gleefully report I have the distinction to be to my elder and inexpressibly handsome niece Jennifer, the equestrian and professional photographer non pareil). As a general rule though, if you’re an outsider such as I am most frequently there is added vagary and irrelevance to the menu. And don’t get me started about the ostracizing ambiguity of being a lawyer! White hair – or, simply, the over 30 crowd – don’t always predict a welcome insinuation or digestible narrative in the nest of vigour.

Orange Horse Studio

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Whew!  Finally! I get to remove my street shoes – the Sperry Top Siders – and put on my evening wear – Clogs (size 11 to accommodate my made in Canada thick mohair therapeutic socks from The Real Wool Shop in Carleton Place). And sit down! As enthused as I am by the inexpressibly magnificent weather we’ve had this autumn, the pervasive reality – the splash of cold water so to speak – is my increasing paralysis (or at least, decomposition and withering). Thank gawd for Tylenol Arthritis 650 mg each caplets! Honestly I wouldn’t survive without them. Instead I’d be in a condition of constant complaint.  Pain is an uncompromising additive. Yet, without the pain, and perhaps the help of some THC/CBD – well, we’re on the road again!

The Real Wool Shop

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Fifty years ago I graduated from Dalhousie Law School and commenced Articles and subsequent employment as a Solicitor with Messrs. Macdonald, Affleck, Barrs. &c. in Ottawa at 100 Sparks Street at the corner of Metcalfe Street bounded by Royal Bank Dominion Securities and Henry Birks & Sons Ltd. Drummond Birks was one of my clients. I lived in the fashionable Mayfair Apartments  at the corner of Metcalfe and MacLaren Streets, a short walk to work. At lunch I would go to my nearby health club at the Château Laurier Hotel for a swim and sauna (and sometimes a massage). It was also but a short walk to the House of Parliament, the Supreme Court of Canada (in which I had appeared) and the Rideau Club (when it was on Rideau Street before it tragically burned to the ground). But then things changed. At the instance and urging of Senator George J. McIlraith, PC QC I quit my job and moved to the country where I succeeded to open my own law office and conduct a rural solicitor’s practice for the next 40 years.

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While there is no accounting for outright lies or wilful deceit, I have long held that differences between us are insubstantial or rooted in misunderstanding. Or, frankly, the differences are wholly irrelevant. If you want argument just sit at the bar with a beer. My overall view of society is that we’re all in need of identical governance for our well-being and survival. I’m here talking about fundamentals only – the type required to dissolve differences and to obtain resolution. I recognize that lack of knowledge and education quickly contaminates the topic (but that speaks only to the irrelevance of argument). Acquainting myself with “the other side” is a rhetorical adherence of mine, not especially because I believe I’ll be convinced of the opinions, mostly just out of curiosity, specifically my search for what it is that stimulates them.  My news channels for example include FOX NEWS among the others – CBC, CNN, MSNBC, BBC, Al Jazeera. Today I listened at length to Sirius XM Patriot – a channel described as, “Conservative talk and opinion featuring Breitbart News, Andrew Wilkow, Sean Hannity & Mark Levin”. After listening for only a few minutes, it evidently includes “Christianity, flag waving, the military and the family”. There was as well as an unwritten acceptance of white superiority (in spite of token interjections designed to drive a coach and horses through the error). Sometimes you only need to hear or see someone on the other side before sensing their preferences.

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In what now seems to have been an immeasurable second of time the passage of my life is suddenly like that of a rocket that has burned out and precipitously begun to fall back down. From a distance the flagrant spectacle is but an abbreviated recollection of its once atmospheric trajectory. Life’s erstwhile planetary orbit is in a moment reduced to the thrill of a cheap firecracker display. Life has gone from rocket to reverse as it plummets to earth in uncontrollable descent. What remains of the initial ambition is a muted memory of the ascent.

The descent though undaunted is nonetheless mysteriously prolonged, affording an unanticipated journey of reflection and recollection.  But the starry gaze is only upon life’s former path, reliving its historic energy and strength. For now the realities of experience are predominantly wistful only; the rest is accommodation only, perhaps relieved by occasional deceit or excuse. The vision of movement is replaced by a sedentary portrait imperiled by the granular immediacy of progressive decomposition. Memento mori sings like an aching hum or a Socratic truth.

Today I seek to cushion the dread of futility by convincing myself of a need for a “day off”, recess from my customary habit which increasingly diminishes in extent and capacity. The jarring fall to earth approaches by repeated intensity and always with the same inevitability. I am not hopeful but instead pragmatic. I have always said life owes me nothing. I am content to recall the vivid moments from my past and to embellish what remains. Granted it is not a particularly buoyant proposition but it captures the blunt but gratifying reality. Meanwhile I remain as frightfully tactile as before – though perhaps vicariously only. Regret replenished by metaphor.