After having met certain dogs and people it is instinctive to wash one’s hands. No doubt everyone and everything in life leaves its own film, contamination or imprint upon us. By contrast there are those who impart a lingering glow quite removed for example from the vulgarity of a sweat. I trust I may be forgiven this crude comparison but my late father educated me that sometimes the best way to illustrate a point is by a gross example.
Lately the Town of Mississippi Mills has been beleaguered by comparatively high-stake controversies involving a modified hydro plant, the imposition of a heritage control by-law and the closing of a dedicated parkland. Tempers have at times soared. Even from my vantage in South Carolina I can feel the heat! Common to each of these disagreements is a reference to City Slickers, a doubtful distinction I have discovered is exceeded only by being a lawyer (or perhaps more egregiously, a drunken one).
It sounds odd to say so – because we’ve got another month here before we go – but we’re already glued to the idea of leaving. I suspect we’re just being impatient. Nonetheless our minds are set. I even measure out the toothpaste on my brush to coincide with our departure. Everything is viewed with an eye to amortization – oil, vinegar, salt, spices and bathroom supplies. There is no intention to buy anything which could possibly outlast our stay. We’re ready to go.
My abhorrence of redundancy resides in its superfluity. Redundancy is a condemnation which goes beyond mere lack of necessity. It signals lack of assertion, an unfortunate corollary to the uniform deprivation of both utility and capacity. Redundancy is normally a casualty of evolution, such as no more work being available or the obsolescence of gunpowder. Redundancy acquires an especial fungus when it attaches to someone who persists – usually with a shameful degree of arrogance – in pretending to fulfill an empty function. Sadly the person is either unaware of (or determined to ignore) their superfluity.
As much as I esteem Herman Melville for his detailed and realistic descriptions of whale hunting and of extracting whale oil in Moby-Dick, “the greatest book of the sea ever written”, I trust I can be forgiven for limiting today’s account of bicycling on the beach to my personal experience without the benefit of specialized explanations.
In the context of Canadian grocery shopping I have discovered that Farm Boy is in the category of superior food products. As for the run-of-the-mill grocery stores I prefer Sobey’s mainly because its aisles are wide and the imported cheese selection is excellent. From there the trajectory of quality is about the same for Loblaws, Metro and other similar stores. I exclude from this global account the specialty food stores and “health food” stores where one can sometimes find extraordinary locally-made foodstuffs for example.
Recently I met a young professional who just got married. I was astounded to learn that he is carrying the burden of $100,000 debt from his education. What however was more depressing was that he has resigned himself never to be out of debt. Everything he imagines about his future includes living in the shadow of that debt.
Vacation is work. The initial packing is not a frightful obligation but it is a boring chore at the other end of the trip, sorting piles of soiled clothing, reallocating items to specific drawers and cupboards and closeting the remainder, restocking the bathroom counter with the necessary paraphernalia. There is hauling the stuff in and out of the car, in and out of hotels along the way and repeating the same routine of unloading and repacking at each stop. And when you finally get to your destination there is a frenzy to get on one’s horse and ride off in all directions – to see the place, check out the resort, schedule times for spa treatments and dinners, arrange bicycles, perhaps have some laundry done and often to call the front desk to complain about one thing or another, get robes or more soft pillows, plug in the various devices to charge their batteries and figure out the electrical switches and heating/cooling system (not to mention having to straighten the lamp shades and secure the finials). All perfectly exhausting! Even having to endure formal dining night after night, listening to the performance of the staff, addressing the customary pleasantries, waiting to pay the bill. Whew! If ever there were a reminder that it is man’s fate to labour, holidaying is it!
Often I have delighted in the observation I heard years ago from a quirky, Coke-bottle-bottoms-for-lenses Rabbi to the effect that there are two ways to get down a river – either you know where to go or where not to go.
The Jupiter Beach Resort and Spa is unique in a number of ways. Foremost it is a boutique venue. It is likewise located in a small, lesser known community of Florida, below Daytona Beach and above Fort Lauderdale. When I met a former employee of the Resort today (she was visiting for old times sake) she told me the Resort was the only one located directly on the beach in this area.