My first inclination was to talk about the improving alterations which have recently affected my life. Then it occurred to me that the currency of my affairs is hardly much different from the past – at least that is when estimating my accomplishments. The indicia of repetition are perhaps painfully evident. Certainly there is no denying the natural declension from which we all suffer in one way or another – and the indescribable gusto emanating from an unpredicted triumph.  The truth is that the stability or turbulence of our inner mechanism very much govern our behaviour and the ensuing chronicle of things. Naturally an element of this propulsion is the inescapable feature that some days are more breezy than others. Today was just such a day – one which was blithely of the more persuasive character.

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Language
Published on October 28, 2017

Although President Donald Trump’s use of cryptic language is normally understood by even the lowest common denominator, certain words suffer misconstruction due to auditory distortion. Take his use of “bigly” for example. Apparently what he’s actually saying is “big league “. In either case the assumption is that he’s using the word or phrase as an adverb, something to modify a verb, as in “We won bigly” or “I intend to do something bigly”. If what he is really saying is “big league ” it still amounts to doing something on a grand scale and therefore the sense or meaning in either case is relatively clear even if both renditions are paradoxically more poetic than prosaic.

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There is perhaps a favourable though unforeseen endorsement which attends the neurosis of obsessiveness; that is, the feeling that when things are good, they’re very good! Naturally a similar nap prevails when the feeling is that things are bad; namely, they’re very bad!  Nonetheless when the prevailing circumstances are such that one is settled upon the more desirable alternative, the cheerfulness is unparalleled. These mercurial passions – when the palette of serendipity and casual coincidence align – render a remarkably pleasing episode. It is this “boomps-a-daisy” sentiment which brands my day today.

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A year ago we congregated for lunch at Heirloom Café on the other end of Mississippi River in the Town of Almonte.  This year – closer to the Town of Carleton Place – we sat on the patio overlooking the first tee at the Mississippi Golf Club in the Village of Appleton adjacent Glen Isle. Fortuitously the only robbers among us were brazen sea gulls who occasionally approached the bread on the festive table. The mosquitoes and horseflies did however do us the favour of avoiding the clubhouse atmosphere.

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It is perfectly lamentable that I so look forward to a day unblemished by obligation of the least constraint. Certainly there is nothing I do which qualifies as either weighty or extraordinary. Yet there is a private distaste I harbour for anything engaging before noon. It is a manifestly disruptive assignment which enforces the morning ablutions and matutinal nutrition by unmitigated preparation. What a stoic beginning to a day! What a catastrophic alert to life’s unfettered resources! Today by contrast was void of any such purposeful alignment.  Instead I leisurely contemplated the narrow shard of toxic sunlight escaping the end of the bedroom draperies. Repeated insights of this tell-all nature have over time insinuated my awakening capacity of this gentle nature – none of this business of clock radio alarms or iPhones propelling some preposterous Looney Tune concoction over the air waves!

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Once every two weeks we rejoice to the revitalization of our digs by our long-time friend and very accomplished housekeeper. We have the courtesy to remove ourselves from the immediate environment throughout the 2½ hour expedition following which we return home to an immaculate apartment. The little I know about productive housekeeping leads me cheerfully to the conclusion that it is an undertaking best left to the professional advisor.

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It would be preposterous of me to suggest that each day isn’t very much a repeat of another.  I suppose that were not untrue even years ago before the sterilizing advent of face masks, social distancing and the global pandemic. Certainly what for me has materially altered as the mere consequence of aging is an evaporation of the commercial vernacular, that mixture of employment and capitalism. The payoff is freedom from obligation at the expense of occupation. Currently my agenda – which is seriously lacking in social exchange – is little more than the predominantly solitary and lonely ambitions of sleeping, breakfast, bicycling, driving, writing, reading, Netflix and photography. The list has the appearance at least of moderate activity and productivity but I have to admit it is unvarying. Like my cycling the scope of achievement of it and the other amusements is distinctly amateur and hobby-like.

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What it is that prompts one to relive an old recipe from the cellar I shall never know but the vintage ingredients do not go unnoticed. The spearhead today is what was called “911” – basically, cream cheese, whipping cream, butter, smoked salmon, dill, leeks, sun dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, pasta and Parmigiano-Reggiano. I am doing this strictly from memory so I am uncertain that I have everything straight. Certainly some makeshift additives are tolerable (mushrooms and prosciutto for example) . To my credit at the last minute while shopping at the grocery store I recalled the components for hors d’oeuvre; namely, garlic dill pickles and dried sausage slices. From where I sit the only thing missing is a vodka martini! I’ve settled instead for a double-shot espresso Americano coffee and Dosecann THC Oil Spray. The butter tarts may lose some of their attraction this evening!

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Lakes or rivers are not my preferred choice for swimming. It’s gotta be either a swimming pool or the ocean.  Interestingly I have met those who feel quite the opposite. In either case – fresh or salt water – there is normally some underlying dislike of (1) a muddy bottom and reeds or (2) shellfish and sharks which drives the preference. For those confined to the hinterland – especially on a hot summer’s day – the allure of a clear, shallow river tumbling gently over a nearby waterfall is nonetheless hard to resist.

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It is paradoxical that in an atmosphere of unrestrained behaviour – such as currently prevails amidst this enfeebling global pandemic – the formulation of purpose is apparently strictly academic. I say this to capture the difference in attitude arising from necessity. If one were for example compelled to accomplish even the lowest domestic fundamental then the debate about existential meaning is far less engaging. Indeed one may be hard pressed at the outset to establish a modest stimulation for the philosophic investigation. Nevertheless my scrutiny of the redeeming features of humanity survives the most inured perspective.

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