Although not a singular occurrence it isn’t often I’d compare dining out with going to the circus. This evening’s nosh at Les Fougères in Tenaga, Quebec in the Gatineau Hills near Chelsea promises to be just that; viz., an amusing assortment of rides! One of our team in particular is notorious for atmospheric conduct. I take strictly an observer’s opinion without contaminating the performance as somehow personal or embarrassing.  My interest is more clinical, perhaps extending to the realm of artistic content. Whatever the characterization of the evening I am certain it will inspire both mirth and wit.

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Be assured the assertion – “Something’s missing!” – is far from trifling! It nonetheless remained until early this afternoon part of the imperceptible veneer of my life. I nonetheless have no doubt whatsoever that it is a signal and long-standing hobby horse of mine. It is one whose recognition amounts to the casual discovery of pearl in an oyster. Comically – or perhaps I should say coincidentally – I misplaced two items today. This for me qualifies as an unusual event and one which recommends my attention. My iPhone fell out of my pocket while bicycling this morning (I recovered it); and later this afternoon my lip balm fell from my pocket while driving (I haven’t located it). Both instances highlight what for me is always the equal importance of maintaining connection with things both big and small. Perfection is as indiscriminate as anything else!

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It pains me to recall what normally I felt on a Monday morning back in my working and student days.  I mention this because today is Monday and quite honestly if I hadn’t checked my iPhone I wouldn’t have known. Besides it feels like a Sunday. Perhaps because the air is calm.  I yearned to play some choral music.  It must have been at that point that I checked my iPhone or remembered we had met with friends at the golf club for breakfast yesterday – a Sunday.

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Within the unseen bounds of the COVID-19 pandemic it is an unusual though tolerable confession that the only thing I have planned for the rest of my life is breakfast tomorrow at the golf club with friends. Oh, and a haircut next week. Apart from those minor conventions there is quite literally nothing else on the horizon other than a tentative “we must get together” with other residents here.

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I have this interminable preoccupation with the measure of things.  I am driven by an inexplicable necessity to explain what has happened. Mine hasn’t the dignity of the historic absorption; rather, my urges are motivated by the more vulgar assessment of purpose and the identification of tendencies as opposed to actual events and other material hardware. Lest you consider this a trifling enquiry I must interject that the opposite pole of such scrutiny is that related to pure imagination, exotic scientific and psychological analysis, Star Wars and similar movies from Hollywood, religion and the various vehicles advanced to create life and enable reincarnation. I presume you will agree that confining oneself to the more introspective boundaries of personal thought is sufficient insight into the “hereafter“. The truth is that no one knows what is to come and therefore restricting literary rumination to current circumstances is perhaps not entirely unfounded.

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The rampant adage, “Focus on the here and now!“, may at first appear merely to isolate the present from the past and the future.  I am not convinced it is quite that simple. I believe the admonition goes far beyond the obvious implication that we can only truly know the present. Without engendering a trite high school argument to the debate, the reprimand to stick to the present does not diminish the sweet texture of the past and the tantalizing seduction of the future howsoever we reignite them either in our memory or in our mind’s eye. I discovered today that “Living the dream!” is neither an assessment of the past nor a fantasy of the future; it is instead nothing more complicated than the road directly in front of you. And you can be guaranteed that following that particular path will be the same fleeting journey you’d take by any other design.

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As dedicated as I am to that popular fiction which passes for imperturbable optimism, I am developing a twitch about the future. It is safe to say that my tentativeness surrounds the global pandemic. Whatever delight we may once have had in mobility throughout the globe has been seriously eroded. More significantly a similar reluctance affects anything we plan for the future. It was until only recently that one could with impunity book an appointment for a haircut.  Dining out is as yet either a thing of the past or gravely considered.

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My precipitous descent into curmudgeonly behaviour has unwittingly introduced me to an unimagined discovery. It surrounds that iconic symbol of maturity, intellect and manhood generally; namely, fishing. In retrospect there isn’t one person whom I’ve known who was a fisherman who was not as well tolerably sociable and manifestly refined. The thought alone inspires sophistication! Indeed so pungent was this envious image that I categorically never once pictured myself doing likewise. Not that is until today. This unanticipated admission to the fold of propriety did not however transpire quite as might be expected. In one way I failed to follow in my late father’s footsteps as a fisherman; in another way I achieved a similar height of flawlessness by modifying the model to make it more digestible for me while maintaining the orthodoxy.

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On the bike trail this morning I crossed paths with Stravoula (“Voula“) Charos and her 27 year old daughter Katerina (software specialist).  Voula and her husband Peter are I believe first cousins of well-known brothers George (Angela) Charos and Terry (Danae) Charos. Meeting Katerina inspired me to absorb the talent and success of the Charos family. I briefly shared with Katerina my historic knowledge of the contribution of her family to the Town of Almonte. She was visibly moved by the comment. The bottom line with the Charos family is that they work hard and keep to the grindstone. What began primarily as retail expression soon turned to professionalism for the younger members of the clan.  Dr. Jim Kontogiannis, DDS for example has made a terrific reputation for himself. I hasten to add however that the contributions of the Charos family to the Town are but exemplary of similar endowments of many others whom we’ve been privileged to include among our long-time notable residents.

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The hole we’re digging throughout this pandemic deepens by the day.  Increasingly I lose track of the day and the hour. I have yet to forget what month or year it is but no doubt that transgression is in the wings. The predominant obstruction is not only social immobility but also life’s uncertainty in general. When one is fastened to the past the evaporation of the relieving element of planning threatens to poison the future. Evidently it is this disruptive calendar which has until recently blocked my interest in recovering my erstwhile gusto.  Now however I have hardened myself to the reality that nothing much will alter the current landscape. I am therefore wise to figure out a way to overcome the anxiety other than vodka martinis. We’ve already experimented with Oreo cookies and butter tarts. The results are palpable!

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