A number of years ago on a visit to New York City we spent an autumn weekend at the stodgy Carlyle Hotel at 35 East 76th Street.

Continue reading →

The stock enquiry, “What did you do today?” is I have decided elliptical for “What did you do today to bring you one step closer to your goal?”  Not “for your country” or “to save the world“.  And I suspect there is inherent a nasty corollary, “If you do tomorrow what you did today, you will get tomorrow what you got today.”  Not exactly sure what that means though my sense is that we’d better get cracking! Continue reading →

I awoke this morning with an unmistakeable sense of regret. The nostalgic and all too recognizable consciousness was uncomfortably similar to the instant remorse I used to feel upon reviving from a late night of heavy drinking. So much for leaving it all in the past! Those indelible demons will no doubt linger for years to come!

The despondency was however quickly expunged when I weighed myself on our mockingly named “Thinner®” digital bathroom scale and discovered that last evening’s sumptuously rich meal with Monsieur le docteur in the Village of Ashton had apparently added a negligible one-half pound to the diminution we have so far accomplished on our newly subscribed (mainly) vegetarian diet. What relief!  Advancement in these dietary matters is too hard-won to be dismissive of even a temporary fall-back or forgivable capitulation. Yet the happy avoidance of anything but a slight stigma has exponentially heightened the pleasure of the lavish feast. We were initially knocked aback by a velvety caviar mousse-like cream smeared copiously on crusty French bread. For hors d’oeuvres we were further distracted by slices of a variety of hot, barbecued sausage, freshly cooked beets with goat’s milk cheese, a rich British Columbia brie, extraordinary feta cheese and a fine South Africa olive oil for dipping. When we repaired to the dining room table our plat principal was a delicate pasta dish infused with homemade pesto, garden garlic scapes and tiny Danish shrimp. After all this provender we nonetheless acceded to a mixed berry pie from a local farmer’s market.  Meanwhile outside the stone house the wind rose and fell across the meadow ushering in dry, cooler air. Findlay, the black labrador pup, didn’t stir under the table.

Our rambling conversation throughout the evening was diffuse and far-ranging. There were just the three of us, a communication to which I have become accustomed when our host’s partner is absent for one reason or another. When he initially called to arrange the convention, he heralded it as a “Boys’ Night”. We embraced the singularity of the venture by touching upon sensitive topics which do not normally qualify for admission at larger social gatherings, things like how to raise children, the mystical – and sometimes fictional – sense of belonging to a community, the possibility of divergence in a relationship, the hopes for the future and the precariousness of it all. Our relationship spans at least thirty years and we have known our host’s children since birth.  We too have shared the account of their progress and the metaphysical distraction of the younger generation.

Intermittent gatherings such as this are now infrequent. Our circle of friends has narrowed considerably, an amortization fuelled by retirement and the cultivation of curmudgeonly habits and highly personalized preoccupations. As a result I am temporarily broadsided by such hedonism and it requires absorption to regain my balance in what has increasingly become an uncomplicated and admittedly predictable sphere. Small wonder that an outing such as this is so enticing and that we embrace it with earnest abandon!

The Shouldice Hospital I have decided is a mean and nasty institution! Today I received an email from their Reviewing Doctor in response to my application for admission to repair a right inguinal hernia.  Here is the gist of what they had to say:

Continue reading →

At last! Rain! We’re relieved of our regular duty to go for a bike ride!  The rain welcomes a restful Saturday morning, lingering over coffee, breakfast, the computer.  And listening to a CBC classical music webcast. If the sun were shining I would have felt compelled to be out-of-doors, exercising.  Not that bicycling is something I dislike doing, not at all.  But when I have the opportunity – or should I say, the excuse – not to do so, I embrace it.  The rain  subdues me.

Honestly I can’t think of another thing in life I’ve always wanted to do that I haven’t already done.  My so-called “bucket list” is complete.  For now on it’s just a matter of refinement, tweaking the details, basically repeating the same things in a slightly different way or perhaps if I’m lucky with more sophistication and skill.

Continue reading →

HAIL to thee, blithe spirit!
Bird thou never wert—
That from heaven or near it
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest,
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

To a Skylark by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Continue reading →

It’s 8:30 p.m. on Sunday evening, the middle of a long weekend and the end of another balmy summer day. I can barely recall what I did since I awoke this morning.  It seems so very long ago.  That’s becoming an increasingly common failing of mine, instantaneous memory recall.  I prefer to think of it more as a reflection of the inconsequence of what I do rather than a signal of my mental declension. Probably a bit of both I reckon.  This aging business is as incremental as it is irreversible.

I do however call to mind that I suffered consternation about the computer of my new car. I discovered that the Driver Information Centre (DIC) – that collection of computer graphics where the speedometer used to be – no longer showed the radio volume going up or down.  And it indicated that my iPhone was not connected though the Infotainment screen over the centre console showed that it was connected.  I then found that the button on the steering wheel used to operate the voice commands (such as placing a telephone call or changing a radio station) was inert.  In a state of accelerating panic I drove into a vacant shopping mall where I stopped the car to fiddle with the controls. But my aimless pursuit was without success.  I then opted for the standard reboot option.  I turned off the engine and removed myself from the car, locked it, re-opened it and started it up again. Still nothing.  I gave up. Instead I stewed about the problem sufficiently to exasperate myself even further. There were echoes of the all too familiar curse that these gadgets are inevitably doomed to failure.  It of course annoyed me to the core that the car was only three days old. That too is more common than I cared to admit.

When I later parked the car in front of my mother’s retirement residence I fussed momentarily with the controls but again the effort was for naught.  I shut the thing down and left it in a huff.  When I returned, after having spent a distracted hour with my mother answering her comparatively insipid questions about investments and general family matters, I was joyed to find that the system had restored itself to functionality. His Lordship later observed in reply to my account of the affair that the computer was probably doing some kind of background update.  I have no idea.  Naturally I racked my brain to recall what I may have done initially to precipitate the malfunction but that too proved fruitless.

It is I confess a personal embarrassment that I derive so much gratification from the proper operation of the vehicle and that I completely lack the philosophic depth to shoulder even the slightest blip.  In retrospect the troubles are always easily trivialized. But in the moment they are insupportable.

We rallied at the apartment around 3:30 p.m. then pushed off to the City for an early supper of Dim Sum at a place on Merivale Road that we have found to be superb.  Once again we were not disappointed.  The restaurant is clean and efficient; the food is beyond compare (and we can say this as we have tried quite a number of other local Asian food restaurants many of which are also excellent).  Afterwards we capitalized upon the late afternoon heat and the red ball of the setting sun to prompt us to get some ice cream for dessert. My not abnormal passion for sweets also kicked in and I bought a minuscule portion of Peanut Butter Explosion fudge.

When I recall the many other sins in which I have indulged over the years, this indiscretion must be palatable even to one such as Normal Rockwell.  Life is simply too short to miss the opportunity to punctuate these halcyon days.

Speaking of indulgences, lately I have been immersed in the tribulations of several others whose alcoholic habits are unquestionably getting the better of them.  It shouldn’t of course surprise me to encounter this demographic at my age.  It does after all take years for bad habits to take hold and to show their effect.  As wont as I am to contribute what I may to the possible solution of the problem, I keep coming up empty-handed, bound by the maxim that – especially when it comes to drinking – there is nobody but the culprit who can remedy the defect.  As glamorous as it may be to characterize the alcoholic struggle between spouses as a variation on “Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf?”; or the over-indulgence of an intellect as the warranted resort of a relentless thinker, neither portrays the decidedly addlepated result of the affliction.

It is a one-way downward journey.  Sometimes the afflicted soul has only himself to concern; other times, he pulls family and friends with him into the abyss.