The moment I threw back the duvet this morning and projected myself from the virginal lair onto the precious Persian I peaked through the patio drapery to check the weather.  Although the forecast on my iPhone was 100‰ snow precipitation for the next hour, the driveway was clear and there was only an ominous bank of grey clouds in the distance. I speculated that before the snow showers overtook us there was yet time for a bicycle ride! But we hadn’t any time to lose – not even time to make the bed.  That could wait.  Just dress and begone!

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It isn’t every day that one feels an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and fulfilment. When one does, it is the Sacrament of Heaven! Friday affords a convenient occasion upon which to be cock-a-hoop, representing as it does a traditional day for unblemished merrymaking and the start of what may become a weekend of flawless frivolity. This is especially so today as temperatures have for the first time in weeks risen to the astronomic level of precisely 1° above freezing! What greater imperative can there be for a burgeoning springtime!

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When I began attending boarding school at St. Andrew’s College in Aurora, Ontario at 14 years of age in 1963 my address in the year-book school directory was c/o Canadian Embassy, Strandvagan 7-C, Stockholm, Sweden. I remember being dropped off at the school by a driver in front of MacDonald House on a grey, miserable day. The “new boys” to the school arrived earlier than the other boarders.  I suppose it was to give us time to acclimatize but it proved to be more lonely than anything else. The discomfort wasn’t long-lasting.  As soon as the regular régime of academic, athletic and cultural activity began there was no time for anything else.

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As the news about vaccination percolates into the countryside we’re steadily more anxious to do what we’ve always done in the past. Not the least of which is to foregather for a meal. Finn wants to do the same – though perhaps more especially a game of throw-and-fetch! His personal ambitions are for the moment trumped by the continuing pandemic isolation and the family’s overwhelming focus upon Sophia. Having now passed the 6-week threshold post-nascence everyone is looking and breathing better – though maybe still with less sleep.

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Not everyone is comfortable living in a small town like Almonte.  I am.  It’s not that I haven’t an interest in large urban areas like New York City and Paris, France; but when it comes to working and living, I am decidedly more animated by a bijou environment.  No doubt the preference is because I haven’t the chutzpah for corporate resolve.  Indeed it is consistent with my dislike of shopping malls and employment in the federal government that I withdraw from those venues. When on March 1st, 1978 I began my solo law practice, sitting in the swivel wooden chair of Raymond A. Jamieson, QC at his large writing desk, glancing out the second floor window onto the back lots of the historic adjoining Mill Street buildings, I knew it was for me.

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My iPhone and Apple Watch are set to go off each morning at eight o’clock. The alarm is a pleasing sound, quite different from the normal awakening noise, more a buoyant seaside musical piece. I like almost anything to do with the sea.  Anyway…the alarm did not get to do its song this morning. I instructed Siri to “cancel sleep alarm”.  Which it dutifully did.  The reason?  I was awake and out of bed around 6:30 am.  I drew back the drapes sufficiently to enable me to check the condition of the pavement on the driveway surrounding the apartment building.  It was slightly damp but there was no snow.  I returned to bed but didn’t last more than a moment before regaining my zeal for an early morning bicycle ride. The forecast was for snow late in the morning.  One mustn’t miss the opportunity to cycle in the winter when occasion permits as it did today. Besides not having cycled yesterday I was in need of penance and rehabilitation.

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What distinguishes the past 25 years from any other period of my life is a strangely secure sense of perfection. While there is no advantage to comparison of one quarter century of one’s life to another – the mere fact of survival alone is a credit – there is however a constancy and uniformity to the past 25 years which is akin to a work of art having an endurance and feature of almost mystical superiority quite unlike a more historic account.

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As we approach March 1st my enthusiasm heightens!  Although March can have its share of snowstorms it nonetheless promises to unfold towards springtime. I learned today that my hair salon is back in business though “not for walk-ins” which translates to a diminished level of activity. Based on what I recall from our pharmacist it may be March or April when we are able to get a vaccination for COVID.  All in all it makes for steps in the right direction!

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My late father lived until his 96th year. As the inevitable approached he often expressed the wish only for peace and quiet.  Considering his age and all that he had endured throughout his lifetime (including bobbing up and down in a dinghy in the North Atlantic in World War II) it was not surprising he should have wished only for peace and quiet. The focus arose about the same time he agreed at last to allow me to refer the completion of his annual income tax returns to a chartered public accountant.  Until then – the last several years of his life – he had insisted upon filing his returns unaided by professional advice (and as a result he was as regularly reassessed). He visibly enjoyed driving to the offices of Canada Revenue Agency to meet with an officer in person to review his account. But as I say the thrill or whatever it was that initially enthused him dwindled near the end.

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Reportedly there has been a spike in alcohol and food consumption during the pandemic. They’re the stock mollifications. The currency of the need in the middle of winter is but another expedient for the indulgences.  The dreary, grey skies of midwinter are unendurable at the best of times.  Consequently the subjects of abstinence and diet are neither infrequent nor unfamiliar.  Those of us who have both a “fat” and a “thin” wardrobe know full well that the season for confrontation of one’s habits is replete with a list of standard persuasions. The not uncommon failure of repentance means those gimmicky trends seldom work. Why for example would we suddenly decide that we no longer like what we’ve enjoyed for years! Clearly a smarter approach is required. The answer I believe is that less is more.

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