It isn’t every day that I recover from my irrepressible anxieties and thrill to the soothing sensation of a balmy afternoon and the unmistakeable feeling of bien-être, “État agréable résultant de la satisfaction des besoins du corps et du calme de l’esprit“. Today was just such a day. Perfection about captures it! My first hint was immediately upon awakening this morning. As I drew back the patio door to the balcony I overheard a marvellously uplifting bird chirping. This was the prelude to our leisurely bicycle ride alongside the channels of the Mississippi River skirting Coleman’s Island and then through the tranquil countryside to Martin St N.

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As we set out for our constitutional bike ride this morning it was evident that the buds of the trees had suddenly awoken. The entire horizon was transformed in an instant to burgeoning verdant wildlife. Where before there had been spines of branches resembling diminished candle wicks, there now blossomed unmistakably nutritious and vigorous leaves and flowers. The diaphanous atmosphere was soothing and enveloping no doubt boosted by the ambient temperature which had risen sufficiently to promote the overnight growth. The fine weather forecasted for the next week will undoubtedly ignite a final explosion of blooms to herald the arrival at last of springtime.

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Employing an official agreement to resolve a dispute is never a bad idea in business. It’s a record of what the parties agreed upon. But the adjudication of a compromise within oneself is a different calculation. Not that there is anything specious about the personal endeavour. On the contrary the stakes surrounding continued loggerheads even within oneself are as unsettling as any public or commercial friction. But the determination of an acceptable conclusion regarding an internal disruption rises above formality – though perhaps not compromise. The competition is so often between what we expect and what is – two of the more dangerous antithises.

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Wandering about the countryside today in my aeronautical Aviator I caught myself idly reminiscing. The memories were prompted by an apparent thirst for purpose. Seemingly there is no satisfaction without fulfillment; and there is no fulfillment without industry. I wasn’t long in reckoning that the perpetual ambition for anything in the future is but a diversion from the rewards of the present. Perhaps I can be forgiven for lingering momentarily upon the past wherein after all there are similarly choice contemplations.

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There are I am discovering but two critical elements to social survival – something to talk about; and someone to talk to about it. The coffee shop and pub owners clearly landed upon this seemingly uncomplicated recipe many years ago. During this pandemic however the simplicity of the prescription is by no means easily perfected. Either – after having stewed in isolation for days on end – there is zip to report other than tarsome complaint; or – what is sadly more likely in this estranged environment – there is no one with whom to share the intelligence whatever it may be. The choice of topic is as challenging as the choice of correspondent. Some people have of necessity adjusted themselves to a state-of-art manner of communication through the internet, normally an inventive way of conducting business. For those of us less inspired by the force of circumstance the occasion for socializing is far more restricted.

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As narrow and repetitive as one’s focus might have dwindled during this frightful pandemic – which for me means an agenda confined to eating, grocery and pharmacy shopping, cycling, photography, writing, driving my car and sleeping – there remains within this limited parameter the occasion for unanticipated exhilaration. Today for example I ventured northward to Neat Café in Burnstown, County of Renfrew where I chanced to meet and chat with the affable proprietors, Mark Enright and Bill Virgin.

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To my horror I have unwittingly discovered that the term Peacock Alley applies to luxury linens, a television entertainment corporation, a black-and-white silent film, a black-and-white sound film, a restaurant, a jazz club, a room at the Windsor Arms Hotel in Montréal and naturally the walkway in the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Upper Manhattan at 301 Park Avenue, New York City.  Reputedly it was along this walkway that patrons of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel would perambulate with the shameful ambition to show themselves off.  I prefer to characterize the vulgarity as the more innocent expression of native curiosity affecting those of any class of society.

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A lifetime of unflinching dedication to routine has perhaps left me mildly toxic. Certainly I am unhesitatingly ambitious for buoyancy. The virulence is my uncompromising intolerance of a shift from originality.  This may echo an obsession with currency and the incapacity for change. It is rather a reluctance to dilute nature’s subtle ingredients. Any attempt to unravel the curiosities of nature requires at the outset a delicacy of analysis. By contrast it is every child’s instinctive inclination to take apart the petals of a flower – not just for the romantic preoccupation acquainted with “Loves me, loves me not” but for the hopeless task of revealing the secret. The indiscretion is equivalent to the ruinous habit of pulling the wings off flies or combusting unsuspecting ants on a hot summer day with a magnifying glass. It evokes nothing of profit or utility; and most certainly fails as an artistic endeavour.

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I’ve heard it said that if you get lost in the woods you end going in circles by trying to get out. This gyration sufficiently describes the outings I routinely make in the afternoon to divert myself – though the purpose is more adequately achieved.  By design I never want to get too far from home.  I know for example the coffee shop at Neat Café in Burnstown (under the capable stewardship of Mark Enright) is conveniently within my allotted time frame (anywhere from 2 – 4 hours depending upon how much time we seek to absorb). If by contrast we venture southward towards the St. Lawrence River (Brockville, Ivy Lea Club, Gananoque) the duration of the exploration is protracted.

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Though I don’t actively search for a reason not to exercise, I confess that the sudden gusty commotion of a snow squall dampens my athletic enthusiasm for bicycling. Happily the cycling ritual is so hardened that the re-appearance of blue skies and sunshine as quickly restores my erstwhile ambition. The predominant feature is that a breath of fresh air from moderate out-of-doors exercise always succeeds to enliven me.  Indeed without the prerequisite my day is assured to be muffled. The beneficence of exercise is a product not only of routine behaviour but also of manifest physical improvement – though I am willing to acknowledge the lurid attraction of habit!

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