In a matter of hours – a measure which under any other circumstance would be inconsequential  – the public news media has evaporated and in the process regained its erstwhile rôle as a colourless reporter of announcements, stories and tragedies. The inconvenience is, with President Donald J. Trump sequestered in the White House and uncommonly reserved, there’s seemingly nothing of urgency to report or read. Unwittingly I’m afraid we’ve become constrained by our morning, afternoon and evening toxin,  “Now what!”

Trump’s daily sideshows succeed to the inferior denomination of another so-called “reality TV show” an incongruity I’ve frankly never fully understood. The last thing I’d attribute to a reality TV  show is reality. Undeniably though Trump is engagiing – at least upon a curiously visceral level.

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The vivifying eddies of Smetana’s Moldau River don’t compare to the recent counter-flow of Senator Lindsey Graham that is music to the ears of Democrats while surreptitiously promoting the Republican agenda. This commonality gives new meaning to bi-partisanship! Graham meanwhile proves he is a seasoned mandarin and fully prepared for the unanticipated changes in the flow of the river.

Bedřich Smetana (2 March 1824 – 12 May 1884) was a Czech composer who pioneered the development of a musical style that became closely identified with his country’s aspirations to independent statehood. He has been regarded in his homeland as the father of Czech music. Internationally he is best known for his opera The Bartered Bride and for the symphonic cycle Má vlast (“My Homeland”), which portrays the history, legends and landscape of the composer’s native Bohemia. It contains the famous symphonic poem “Vltava”, also popularly known by its German name “Die Moldau” (in English, “The Moldau”).

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Living as I do in the back country to the Nation’s Capital I am no stranger to a Lanark County twang or F-150s. My formal introduction to country living was unforgettably by virtue of a casual question from my predecessor Raymond A. Jamieson, QC who upon meeting me for the first time asked, “How’s trade?” The inquiry momentarily set me back on my heels.  This was a cryptic glance into my psyche.  As a young lawyer who only a year earlier had cut his teeth in the Supreme Court of Canada on behalf of West Coast Transmission Co. Ltd. regarding an attack upon the McKenzie Valley Pipeline Hearing, I was less than acquainted with the trades. My upbringing in a predominantly literary and philosophic atmosphere – and not having worked for a living other than among lawyers (unless you count being lifeguard at the golf club pool) – pointedly worked against my worldliness.

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There likely isn’t anything in this life which hasn’t been said before and I can pretty much guarantee you won’t hear anything novel from me. There are however certain truths which bear repeating. I would like to share some of them with you. To illustrate the first universal principle consider this brainteaser, a foceful reminder that things are not always what they appear:

If a baseball and a bat cost $1.10 together, and the bat costs $1.00 more than the ball, how much does the ball cost?

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We Westerners may have a thing or two to learn from our primordial ancestors. I’m not saying the Egyptians, the Greeks or the earliest natives of Africa have risen above the vulgar allure of capitalism and all that it entails – the likes of garbage, pollution and climate change – but we perhaps owe it to ourselves as a human race to be circumspect of the direction in which we’re so gleefully heading. In doing so we must at a minimum adopt a platform of open-handedness. It continues to be an undercurrent of my catholic thesis that in the end it is cooperation that spells profit and success all ’round.

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I’ve heard it said that the political division among Americans is axiomatic – namely, a predictable corollary to a two-party system. Though the term binary doesn’t capture the imperative of division it nicely explains the constant polarity of politicians. The word axiomatic on the other hand goes beyond self-evident to the point of logically conclusive. As I am sure you know, the common example is 2 + 2 = 4. What however poisons the otherwise indisputable deduction is the contamination of differences of opinion with extreme positions. The Republicans regularly call their Democratic colleagues the “Radical Left“. The Democrats meanwhile routinely insinuate that Republicans are the demons of wealth, white supremacists and mysogynists.

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This misty Sunday morning – threatened as it is by freezing rain – proves to be an ideal stage for languorous expression.  And the romantic sentimentalism of Gustav Mahler. I awoke mid-morning after a prolonged sleep fostered by Melatonin (the naturopathic sedative heralded by the wife of my dentist).  With the aid of Tylenol 650 mg I struggled as a consequence to restore a semblance of manipulation to my recovering and now arthritic broken ribs, deteriorating lower spine and neuropathic limbs and feet. Just saying. Likewise the elements prevailed. Gone for the moment at least is the urgency to cycle to restore one’s psychic balance and physical decorum. The diminished temperatures and already alarmingly low sun on the distant horizon contribute naturally to the clime of wintry isolation. I too intend to sink to provincialism.

What shall we do when the snow flies?

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Not infrequently one sadly reads of criminal activity in small rural towns.  Ours is no exception. Since my arrival here in 1976 with my yellow Labrador puppy I have learned of several instances of the criminal mind at work.  My personal involvement (very early in my career) was the attempted bribery of me by two young tricksters whom I met late one night by chance in a bar “on the other side of the River“; namely, a soda fountain in Hull, Québec. One of them at least came from my home town. Apparently I subsequently made the mistake of inviting them to my home for a drink.  After their visit I was telephoned twice by an unidentified person (whom I knew in an instant was either or both of the youngsters). They demanded $50 or “there would be trouble!”

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By contrast to what I suspect is more standard – especially during this beastly pandemic – my current state of affairs is anything but distressed.  Indeed if I were compelled to render an exact account of my status it is a subject willingly approached and with decided gusto. Such is the tincture of life that its detail is for me almost one of a fairy book mock-up. I suffer a flagrant and barefaced self-satisfaction.

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It quite astounds me to hear on American cable news that journalists are as strung out as I by the bickering politicians who rather than dedicate their ephemeral political lives to the common good prefer instead to the preserve a lifetime career. It creates a motley image of worldwide discontent. Though we inferior nationalists from the outlying city states resent having to cow-tow to the United States of America as the modern-day Roman Empire there is no denying that their ambitions – failed or successful – are perpetually intriguing.  Yet there is likewise no denying the frequency of Americans wishing to emigrate to Canada. We can derive some strength from the hardship endured at Reading Goal by one of our greatest literary minds Oscar Wilde.

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