It is more accurate at times to describe a relationship not as that of spouses but rather one of friends or maybe partners. Anyone living alone appreciates the value of companionship. The relevance is especially acute when one is noticeably older than the other. Yesterday after a mercurial battle with cancer Donna left her spouse, friend and partner John. Her passing was untimely and as a result both sad and provocative.
Earlier today when contemplating my evening amusement of writing I pondered a suitable title for the post. The inexpressible and unwitting Nirvana of the moment drew me to such words as “legitimacy” or other expressions characterizing a sense of clearance from the heat of embargo. I settled upon “sanction” as the most apt distinction. Strangely sanction is either punishment or approbation. Either way it involves chastising or applause of one degree or another. The meaning which arose in my mind on this sunny day as I soared down Hwy #416 to Burritts Rapids was that of accreditation. Inexplicably I was consumed by a transcendent state of peace and serenity. It was as though my inner mechanism had been transformed to an ideal free from anguish.
These days drifting is the closest I come to any purpose. It is what I’ve heard called that magic feeling, “Nowhere to go, nothing to do!” Yet within this aimless ambition there persists rumination about such modern thinking as changing the face of retail through on-line work-from-home and door-to-door delivery. In the case of grocery delivery, the pandemic has acquainted the aging population with a relieving option. Telephonic medical consultation is no doubt proving to be a matter of further intense consideration. The global feature of today’s anxiety is at the very least a reminder that the realities of humanity are inescapable over any border.
In anticipation of the upcoming US presidential election in November, 2020 there are many who purport to envisage Trump’s re-election for a second term following his scrape through the Electoral College in 2016. One such person is Pulitzer Prize-winning author David Cay Johnston:
“Though he is not a criminal like Gotti, Trump’s unsinkable reputation shows he is a Teflon Don for our own era. Deceptions, lies and near-treasonous acts of disloyalty such as saying he trusts Vladimir Putin over American intelligence agencies merely slide off him.“
Christmas morning with my parents – whether in Canada or abroad – was always a buoyant atmosphere. My mother, in addition to lavish household decorations, gifts and endless baking, ensured an appropriate punctuation of the moment by first serving Champagne in fresh squeezed orange juice. The breakfast – tender filet mignon, creamy yellow scrambled eggs, croissants with butter and homemade strawberry jam – was so rich and fulfilling that we often interrupted our dining pleasure to re-visit the drawing room beside the Christmas tree to investigate more presents or to read my father’s recently composed and handwritten Yuletide message to the family.
It is with a qualified sigh that I relate having collected my new car from the dealership service department today. After almost two months of complaining and hounding the dealership principles and Lincoln Motor Company all seems well with the exception of a cosmetic part on order. The final proof is to test the erstwhile offending exhaust system from a cold start tomorrow morning. It is but hesitatingly that I rub the palms of my hands together in utter glee as after parking the vehicle following a prolonged drive this afternoon there was minor evidence of what seemed to be carbon residue from what was otherwise a solely Adam’s ale condensation. For the moment however I shall content myself with having regained possession of my new toy and so far having tested it with mostly favourable results.
This pandemic business of quarantining, self-isolation, social distancing, face masks, disposable gloves and closed retail and professional services is wearing upon me! It may appear that in the context of my admittedly repetitive and diluted agenda nothing much has changed. This is incorrect. I miss going to Neat Café for a “normal” coffee experience – that is, other than bending into a keyhole to order and then the acrobatics of exchanging product for payment. The rest room is closed to the public, not exactly an endearing feature for those of us who travel a distance to get there. The outdoor seating arrangements – aside from suffering the whim of the weather – are technically illegal. The prospect of planning a Sunday brunch with friends is completely off the map.
Amidst the kerfuffle of daily living it is at times difficult to maintain a sense of propriety such as one would imagine attaching to a mildly sophisticated bearing for example. The cultivation of humanity in the human race is no casual endeavour! I do of course imply that the measure of civility is one approaching the cerebral above the visceral motivations. Not that I particularly extoll the virtues of reason beyond instinct. In fact I rather prefer the gut reaction to the strictly reasoned and often prolonged analysis that characterizes much of what I find distasteful. But without dwelling unnecessarily upon that which is ultimately purely diminishing I am reminded of the useful adage to the effect that “Manners are only needed when the going gets tough!”
It was 7:45 am this morning when at last I succumbed to my indefatigable work ethic (which at this particular juncture amounts to nothing more than indigenous guilt) and tore off the linen sheet and red lightweight woollen blanket. After a stimulating breakfast of chilled black coffee, sliced green apple, a wedge of Brie cheese and precisely five dried prunes, the day began as usual with a purgative bicycle ride along the erstwhile railway right-of-way from the Old Town Hall to Martin St N and back. While I cycled on the path a medical assistant from the local hospital called to report that my family physician had not informed me of the outcome of my recent blood work and X-ray because “everything was perfect“. This was a hugely curious response to my latest enquiry! Clearly they are unfamiliar with the legal adage that “silence is not acceptance“. Presumably the commercial vernacular is more acute than the medical!
Horse trading, in its literal sense, refers to the buying and selling of horses, also called “horse dealing.” Due to the difficulties in evaluating the merits of a horse offered for sale, the sale of horses offered great opportunities for dishonesty, leading to use of the term horse trading (or horsetrading) to refer to complex bargaining or other transactions, such as political vote trading. It was expected that horse sellers would capitalize on these opportunities and so those who dealt in horses gained a reputation for underhanded business practices.