Fine art is customarily regarded as the last enterprise of domestic acquisition. It is usually heralded by fine china flatware, sterling silver or plate cutlery, crystal goblets and vases, exotic wooden furnishings, Oriental rugs and brass lamps. Paintings, sculpture and jewellery constitute the ultimate refinement of personal possessions. Photography, woodwork and engraving qualify as well. The specifics include musical instruments and clocks (always mechanical only). Notably absent from the collection of fine art is anything so vulgar as electronic devices which are nonetheless critical to the modern household but which suffer the distinction of precipitous and inevitable decline and replacement, things like sound systems, televisions, computers and smart phones (and their accessories). Also excluded though of importance is one’s library of books, music and film (either hardcover, CD, DVD or electronic). I have but one antique book, an early legal text given me by former clients. I am also proud to say I have two books I have written, one an autobiography, the other a history of our local Masonic Lodge (a copy of which is housed in our local library).

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Without exception everyone with whom I speak these days is going stir crazy! I am as well. The pandemic lockdown is a penetrating affliction. Some suffer the further indignity of having lately lost a loved one and are thus obliged to endure the disfavour alone. Our latest campaign for distraction is a puzzle. We naturally ordered it on-line. It comes from Québec and arrived promptly by UPS. It has proven to be my ruination – though His Lordship has seemingly conquered the unenviable task. I couldn’t handle it!  After having devoted several hours over as many days to the challenge I literally found only one piece that connected to another! According to what is written on the box it came in there are 1,000 pieces.  And to me they all look alike. I am so not into puzzles!  I’m thinking I’ll have to invent an inbred disorder to explain the violation of my acuity. Something akin to dyslexia. As a result I have relapsed into what has now become highly predictable and repetitive behaviour.

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Many of us are understandably devoted to the search for superiority. I’m not here talking about social superiority – though that psychological perversion is at times sadly evident  – rather about the search for what we believe to be the best in life. Clearly the latitude of the subject admits to vast definition. What however I’ve discovered in my researches is the often misguided belief that it is the chandelier above one’s head not the floor upon which one treads that marks the defining quality; that is, that glitter trumps basics. This is an unfortunate error.

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As much as I warm to the expression “To toddle off” implying as it does an acceptable saunter or meander say to your local library for improving literature the likes of Oscar Wilde or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the word also denotes the wobble of a child or, worse, the shuffle and lurch of an old fogey dragging his feet. I regret that I fall – so to speak – into the latter category. My meander has turned from a tootle to a teeter.

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Not certain whether it is impolitic pride or outright impracticality that stimulates one to venture inappropriately beyond one’s scope.  Perhaps it is conceived a dynamic view of moral imperative. But it is categorically erroneous to undertake anything outside one’s norm at least where the enterprise is not purely for unmitigated adventure.  Otherwise outcome matters. It is feasible when starting out in life that everything is beyond one’s terms of reference – but even that I have learned is a horrid mistake.The limitation is connected to competence not one’s personal ambition; and as such should be assessed critically not as confinement or a missed opportunity. What is at stake is aptitude and performance. Even within a vernacular other than that of one’s trade or profession – say a mere social engagement – any extension should be evaluated before entertaining the latitude. Keep in mind too that the guiding principle is how one feels about the enterprise; that is, knowing what you do best is as instinctive and visceral as any other appetite.  The edict is as much a prescription of gut as of mind.

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It’s the beginning of a snowy day at the end of the week. Listening to the jazz of Bill Evans, remastered from long ago.  The music soothes. And the overnight fast is emphatically broken by Le Pizy from Fromagerie La Suisse Normande skillfully applied to Ace Bakery “Everything” Baguette bagel. These are superb local products! Yet another reminder that you don’t need to leave home for the best.

La Suisse Normande (Fromagerie), Québec

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What is it that transforms a state of commotion to one of accommodation and understanding? As rhapsodic as the result may be, the rejig is nothing more impenetrable than listening to one’s inner voice. The solution is within the problem. It is a time-honoured formula. The felicitous part of the beaconing is that the longer it is ignored, the louder it becomes. There are in fairness so many features which compete with the initial cymbal. Learning to listen to one’s own instruction is fraught with sometimes ungovernable suspicion – usually promoted by convincing but deceptive argument which only succeeds to prolong the initial annoyance.

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As gripping as American politics have been for the past four years, I’m hoping that with the second impeachment and Mitch McConnell’s castigation we’ve seen the last of Trump. The picture of a nation constantly at loggerheads is exhausting. I’m not saying American politics differs wildly from that of any other country, but the visceral nature of Trump has made it singularly depressing. Assessing the job of politicians from afar – that is, as a “member of the public” – is like the regard of another man’s pain; namely, innately prejudiced and uninformed. But the analysis does admit of some constancy.

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Retrospection is not something I normally do. Looking back on or reviewing past events or situations, especially those in one’s own life, is I find usually plagued by wistfulness and regret. Quite simply, I have no regret. This does not mean I can’t see how transfigured things may have been if certain choices had been otherwise; but I never wished I had done so. I have on occasion visited singular junctures in my life when going one way instead of another would likely have radically changed my life. In every case I’m glad I went the direction I did. I see it not as mere accident but rather a positively beneficial outcome. Indeed I can become quite proud – even haughty – though I concede that is no shocker!

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Apart from the obvious desirability of business alliances when working for a living the only evident fealty in relationships is to family (in which I include amorous relationship) and friends. What distinguishes allegiance to family is the complete lack of necessity (unless you include duty);  but for the most part it’s sous entendu. What distinguishes friendship is the pleasure of association, a close second but nonetheless having an underwritten objective (though not so much a need or ambition). Competing with these predominantly selfless confederacies is the confession of the ultimately personal nature of the universe.

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