Today is June 30th.  We have already exhausted three of our seven months in Canada this year.  It has been an action-packed ride since our return from Hilton Head Island. Our time has been devoted almost exclusively to matters of business affairs in particular to those of my elderly mother.  As I have openly expressed, I am content to have done so.  In fact I am the first to acknowledge that submerging myself in the responsibilities harkens back to the latter and more agreeable days of my law practice when I could by force of my lengthy experience effortlessly direct traffic with assurance. Admittedly the commitment isn’t entirely altruistic; my anticipatory inheritance is not without import. But largely my satisfaction is as pure as the accomplishment of a game well-played. I have synthesized my cultivated and innate talents which naturally sustain my enthusiasm.  All the cards have yet to be played but the enterprise currently has the hallmark of inter vivos estate planning. My impatient obsession with the future is conveniently assuaged by the performance of these pragmatic undertakings.

To be brutally frank there is an incontrovertible complacency in having expiated my winter lassitude by directing my mind to these needs.  Were circumstances to have been otherwise I am not certain that I would harbour such smugness and conceit as I now do.  Indeed esteemed family friends have been kind to honour me with praise for what has been done.

I further flatter myself that I have eagerly addressed what for some people are the disturbing realities of getting old.  Never have I dodged the candour of the situation by camouflaging it with innuendo or other excuses for what demands immediate attention.  My fervour for forethought may have partially accelerated my agenda but on balance I feel the duties were addressed with opportune timing. We’ve the balance of the summer and the autumn to wind things up for my mother to accomplish the overall translation of her immovable estate to liquid assets and to effect a partial distribution of certain of her surplus possessions, things which were sinking into neglect in any event.  I wager that at almost 90 years of age my mother must derive some fulfillment in overseeing this transition.

Coincidentally we marked the mid-year point by dining at our tiny apartment with our erstwhile traveling companions. The meal was a repeat of my standard fare but the robust conversation uplifted the tedium of the gastronomy.  A hint was dropped by the country gentleman that a new pet may be on the horizon.  Seemingly he is missing the occasion to go for regular walks on the rural road and I suspect the improving companionship of a dog is in his blood.  We have only entertained these two in our apartment since we moved here about a year ago.  Frankly if I never career another dinner for the remainder of my life I shall be content.  When not drinking booze the accommodation of guests is strictly a duty.  And it is a mistake to suggest that dining in trumps the expense of dining out.  By the time one tallies the cost of extraordinary local ingredients, fine wines and liquors the margin is considerably reduced.  Not to mention the wide sphere of travel involved in collecting the stuff; and of course the cleaning up afterwards.

This is the closest I’ve been to concluding the outstanding family administration matters which could and should have been addressed for some time.  My mother resisted as long as possible ridding herself of her house. Imperceptibly I have accomplished the transfer of her portfolio to a professional advisor.  To punctuate the necessity of planning for unforeseen circumstances we have endured two deaths (family member and a friend) within as many days.  We’ll see what the next quarter brings!

It is a well known incongruity of evidence in a court of law that if five people watch the same video of a car accident there will be five different accounts of what happened – including who is to blame.  The details of the “scene of the crime” are seldom uniform.  The variation of reporting is even more diverse if the camera were located in different positions when the accident was filmed. While this perversion is of interest to defence counsel in particular, its lesson insinuates a broader sphere.  In a nutshell, we all see the world differently and from a unique viewpoint. Unlike the forensic plight to determine the unqualified truth of a matter, the philosophic admission of the diversity of perspective does more to enhance our differences than to dilute them.

Recognizing that each of us has a different frame of mind need not however distance us one from the other.  Indeed it should rather assist us to get closer. It is after all only when we assume that everyone thinks like us that we get into trouble.  First, we are inevitably disappointed.  Second, such stubbornness only contributes to narrow-mindedness.  We effectively remove ourselves from an expanding experience if we imagine there is only one way down the river.

When I was in Paris, France about fifty years ago I met another young student. He opened our conversation much as I suspect students would do today.  I anticipated that he would ask me what I was studying; instead he said, “Quelle est votre perspective?”  The question was of course more than a social nicety.  It captured the deeper exploration into the way one looks at the world.  What each of us sees and understands depends so much upon the medium through which we view it, whether scientific, medical, philosophical, artistic, economic and so on.  A perspective is both a beginning and an end. The result of our view of the world springs from the manner in which we look at it.  This further reminds us that seeing the world from another’s perspective is enlarging.  It affords us the opportunity to see beyond our inherent blinkers.

I have suggested in my previous anecdote that our vision of the world is the product of our education.  There is naturally much more that goes into the formulation of our perspective.  Aside from the obvious genetic influences there is that huge arena of personal experience which does much to colour and magnify what we see.  This again is a reminder to each of us that, if we pretend to understand the world and the people in it, we must learn more about what they have experienced.  Too often we content ourselves with the camouflage of social acceptability to permit us to strengthen our comprehension of life, a task which commands far greater analysis of detail than any defence counsel might ever undertake of the facts of a case.  As much as has been advanced concerning the merits of knowing oneself, I prefer to maintain that the greater adventure is to acquire a knowledge of another man’s perspective.  It is an enterprise which is calculated to astound and enlighten.  Without exception the exploits and inner views of another human being are assured both to entertain and to illuminate.

After having opened the house for Lorand of Quality Carpet Cleaners we wiled away the three hours he said it would take to clean the place by doing some piddling shopping at Walmart then insinuated ourselves into the cloistered urban garden of Lapointe’s Restaurant for a summer evening meal.  The weather was ideal for al fresco dining, a relieving breeze after a hot day, expressive cloud formations and a clear azure sky.  The crescent moon was remarkably silver even early in the evening.  As we waited for our martinis to arrive we indolently stared at a sparrow ripping leaves from the nearby trees presumably for a nest and marvelled at nature’s genetics.  A bold chipmunk scampered to and fro on the patio, darting between tables and back into the peripheral bushes.

Our leisure was well earned.  The day had been spent with the realtor staging the house for sale.  We had afterwards shopped for a few items for my mother’s new apartment. The carpet cleaning was the penultimate duty.  After that we went downtown to mother’s apartment to deliver the stores to her.  I am fully satisfied that all the effort put into relocating mother from her house to the apartment is not only justified but well executed.  I can’t think of any better arrangement for her on the heels of her 89th birthday.  The choreography of the move represents to me a signal accomplishment and one which I felt the necessity to celebrate.

I am smug about other things too.  Everything about the management of our personal affairs leaves me glowing as well.  As I have lately been wont to remind my mother over her constant objections to the move to an apartment, we have practiced what we preach.  It is a spin-off of my mother’s move that our own little apartment will be the beneficiary of prized possessions arising from my mother’s downsizing; viz., several original oil paintings, a small mahogany side table, an elegant Persian rug and a magnificent Sligh grandfather clock.  The clock is a tremendous gift for me as I adore time pieces.  Oddly it was my sister and her husband who bought the clock for my mother but neither of them wanted it.

It pleases me also that my sister and her husband will be getting some fine Canadiana from my mother’s collection.  I have no doubt that they are as delighted as we are to have the new acquisitions.  My sister is making some fairly drastic changes to accommodate the pieces.  She seems not only content but also enthusiastic to swap certain of her furnishings for the ones from my mother’s place.  Because we have inherited far fewer items our only adjustment is relocating some furnishings and paintings within the apartment though considering its small size the task was not without its challenges. Although I hated to disturb what we had originally done I am confident that when the grandfather clock arrives it will all fit together properly.

Lest my focus upon material things disguises my deeper sentiments I know we are lucky to enjoy good health.  All around us people are succumbing to illnesses, each of them coming entirely unexpectedly (a reminder of how quickly our tread upon the flowery paths of prosperity can change to the sear and yellow leaf of old age).  Likewise I recall the advantage of my father having lived to 95 years of age and that the remainder of my immediate family and those dearest to me are yet whinnying among us.  It is the conglomerate of these important features which lend a decided bounce to my step every day.  It is no small bonus that we anticipate our departure to Hilton Head Island, SC for the winter; and that we may be doing it on a new set of wheels.

It is oft repeated that the winding down of one’s clock gathers speed with its amortization.  It is an adage that reflects the urgency of our impending ruin and one which besides has the authority of science.

The dwindling of time sparks a greed for the commodity or at least an earnestness to pack as much as possible into what remains.  The disposition compels me for example to address my more intimate (though admittedly frivolous) goals before the precious resource is exhausted.  It requires of me but a hurried glance backwards to reveal what have been my simmering though much neglected innermost aspirations. There are only a few dreams I hope yet to accomplish and none of them is especially exalted. There isn’t for example any insistence to travel the world, to write a book or climb a mountain.  Indeed apart from one remaining ambition (the detail of which is too impossibly trite to bear repetition) I am perfectly satisfied to indulge myself in the comparatively unimaginative liberties of getting out of bed after eight o’clock in the morning, lingering over breakfast while writing my endless codswallop, going for a bicycle ride along a country road on a balmy summer morn, getting the car washed, visiting family and friends for a cup of coffee, reading an improving book and going to bed with a unobstructed conscience.  Clearly those preoccupations are worthy of any man or woman and are ones which anyone should be happy to confess. The placated condition is further evidence of my conviction that life owes me nothing.  This stark admission does however only serve to heighten the significance of appeasing my remaining appetite.  I don’t want even the smallest grain of sand to slip through my fingers. In my haste to quell the particles of remnant temptation I have succeeded to swell what was once mere whimsical hope into manifest enterprise.

There remains in particular the fulfillment of one fanciful notion which I have nurtured over the years.  Its incubation was in my undergraduate days in Toronto when I regularly flew down Avenue Road from the Glendon Hall.  It was a time of my life when nothing but adventure and promise figured.  As with so many hopes its realization was at the time out of bounds but I never relinquished this one ideal.  It has lingered like the memory of a favourite line of poetry, haunting me to this day.  Paradoxically its mundaneness is the author of both its neglect and its attraction, no doubt more of that business about squeezing the last drop of liquor from the fruit of life.

While the anticipated accomplishment of this pesky purpose hardly qualifies as a journey’s end, it will nonetheless stand as one more thing off my bucket list.  Once again nature teaches us how to die.  Until then I rejoice in being able at last to translate the ambition into fruition.

The well-known adage, “Blood runs thicker than water” contains perhaps an unintended and unfamiliar paradox:

In modern society, the proverb “blood is thicker than water” is used to imply that family ties are always more important than the ties you make among friends. An alternative interpretation of the phrase is stated as “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb” which means bonds made between you and the friends you choose are stronger than the bonds of the family you were born into.

When I was young my friends were highly important to me.  Most of my time was spent with them.  The paramountcy of friends over family was undisputed. Lately however the frequently less glamorous sphere of family has overtaken the once captivating influence of friends. Almost as though I have only so much substance which to share with family and friends, the balance of both interest and preoccupation has shifted from friends to family. No doubt the experience of others may be different. Some seem forever absorbed in what their family is doing and friends are of almost collateral or strictly commercial significance.

Unquestionably my heightened involvement with family is the product of aging, both mine and my family’s.  Equally undeniable is the persuasive effect of awakening need. On the heels of my father’s death I have felt a near instinctive inclination to lead and direct my family.  This is odd, first because I haven’t a traditional family of my own; and second, because for most of my life I have distanced myself from the daily concerns of my family (probably a product of having been at boarding school since age 13 years and never having returned home). It is possible that my current focus upon my family’s affairs is the result of having been a lawyer who regularly advised people upon matters of succession, not that all family matters are intent upon testamentary wishes or the inheritance of property but the training cultivates a readiness to address inevitability in all its manifestations.

Whatever the reason for the alteration of my attention, I find that dwelling upon the well-being of my family is appeasing. It gives me both purpose and gratification.  An unexpected corollary is that the depth of my complicity has had the effect of estranging me from people whom I once considered friends. My delight in friends has waned as my attentiveness to family has bumped up. This could of course be dismissed as merely the result of pressing need, much as flavourless necessity is the mother of inspiring invention. I am however convinced that the posture is driven by more than distress; family has trumped all else.  The strength of family outweighs the vigour of friends.  The grittiness of family has also forced an analysis of friends.  I am resigned to thinking that apart from the occasional social diversion of most friends, and the exceptional intellectual attraction of certain friends, family carries the day.  From time to time I am disappointed to imagine that the bond with friends was largely symbiotic even sycophantic.  Admittedly this proposition was initially advanced to me as the spin-off of my legal experience though I confess I was never aware of anyone seeking from me particular advantage or gain in that regard.  Nonetheless with the amortization of my career there is remarkably a corresponding diminution of my so-called friends.  This at first disturbed me but I now accept the attrition as being in line with the predictable evaporation of clientele generally.

The sting of this experience has fostered a degree of chariness in my perception of friends.  I am alive to what can only be dignified as the baser instincts of humanity.  Even though upon examination there is likely no one who would deny the propensity of people to seek to improve their position in life, it is seldom that we are so ready to acknowledge that we are a stepping stone for others.  To be caught in the traffic of desire is seldom foreseen.  It is in this respect in particular that the bond of family distinguishes itself. Family is very much a spectator sport until one makes the move to participate; and usually the motivation has little to do with reciprocity.  The impulse is virtually genetic.  It is a happy accident of the proclivity that it incorporates the biblical admonishment regarding the honour of one’s parents.  There is also an oddly attractive clinical element to the congress with one’s family; namely, it furthers an altruistic improvement of one’s immediate clan while at the same time fostering the betterment of society as a whole.  In an era when the role of family is evolving to support a wider class of membership (specifically children and grandparents now remaining in the same home), the relevance of the family bond is inescapable.  And when all members of the class can no longer claim entitlement to dependence, the need and desire to contribute to the overall well-being is intensified.

As with so many things in life, the enlargement of one entails the declension of another.  My empathy with the progress of those beyond my family is limited to casual information only.  My energy is now directed to my family.  I acknowledge that this dilutes much of the enthusiasm I once had for friendship; but I also concede that many friendships have disappointed me.  I certainly do not blame any of my erstwhile friends.  Our mutual bonds have dissolved with time. My only point in emphasizing this disintegration is to turn my deliberation from what is proving to be a dead end.  Sometimes it is just better to go it alone.

Post Scriptum June 16th, 2015

I am afraid this latest expedition has strung me out.  My affection for family has acquired the same poison that I earlier attributed to friends.  After having spent the entire day with my mother in an attempt to dispose of the garbage and junk of which she has complained for years, there is little of a charitable nature I can muster for her in particular and for family in general.  I enlarge upon the contamination because, after today’s painful experience, I attempted to relate the affair to my sister and encountered a similar persistent contradiction.  In case it matters, the problem was that my mother attempted to retake most of the debris which we had arranged to have carted away. When I asked her for example why we should keep four large pieces of plywood, her response was that she might need them some day!  She’s almost 90 years old! She has harped about the rubbish in the garage for eons!  I won’t expand upon the further preposterous pronouncements she made continuously throughout the day, but I can assure you they each contained the same element of nonsense.  For me now, going it alone is both sans friends and sans family.

Post Scriptum June 17th, 2015

It is only fair to record that my sentiments today are once again entirely altered. The metamorphosis began shortly after eight o’clock this morning when my dear mother telephoned to make enquiries about the upcoming plans to relocate her to the retirement residence.  I confess I hadn’t in my wildest imagination contemplated such a pacific enquiry from her on the heels of yesterday’s tribulations.  In any event, her mollification of the previous distress obliged me to contact my sister to share some additional advice and as a result that bridge is patched as well.  What a mockery I have made of my own impetuosity and lack of patience!  I still cannot however report such favourable reconciliation with former friends.

Alexander Graham Bell, if he were to come back from the grave, would no doubt be quite astounded to learn that the once terribly modern device called the telephone is imperceptibly being replaced by the SmartPhone.  After dithering upon the subject for about a year or more, we have at last taken the critical step of ridding ourselves of a landline telephone.  The so-called “home phone” is set to be discontinued effective June 21st next.  This evening we resolved without any fuss whatsoever that we would instead each have cellular phones.  Within all of 90 minutes of our decision we had concluded the purchase of a second mobile phone and cancelled our subscription to our historic land line. The only remaining vestige of the home phone is its last four digits (which we expropriated for the new gizmo).  Apart from that the hardware is so much junk.

While I won’t pretend that the modern cordless telephone has anything attractive about it, I nonetheless sense the smallest degree of remorse at the loss of the dated communications apparatus.  One of the instruments we have is a replica of the vintage models peculiar to last century.

Years ago when I assumed the law practice of the late R. A. Jamieson, QC and arranged to have new telephones installed I mistakenly returned to Bell Canada the old telephone desk contraption which Mr. Jamieson had been using for the past 52 years of his practice.  It was a sentimental misgiving only as it could never have competed with the redial, hold and transfer features of the modern telephone sets.  But the nostalgia of its design would clearly have blended with my antique office furnishings.

It will undoubtedly prove to be a casualty of the new purchase that it will succeed at least temporarily to monopolize a good deal of time, not merely the expected repercussion of having to notify numerous parties of the change of telephone number but also the popular malaise of becoming riveted to the instrument.  As a diversion the SmartPhone is incomparable.  There is of course no need to itemize the many elements of the gadget which provide endless hours of amusement and utility.  But even apart from its synthetic capacity I cannot but marvel that it heralds a monumental shift from what was at one time an unprecedented discovery.  And I’m sorry but I fail to see anything but the remotest similarity between the old telephone and the SmartPhone; that would be like comparing a typewriter to a computer.

On the other hand I congratulate us for keeping up with the times.  It now seems almost preposterous to be without a cellular phone, about as backward as insisting on mailing a cheque to pay one’s bills.  Certainly there is a token financial hit upon graduating from a land line to a SmartPhone but again the substantive comparison is hardly fair or realistic.  I confess that I am one of those people who has never been disappointed by technology (though I admit as well that I initially resisted it – but that was before I could even have imagined what it could do).  I have by contrast subsequently adopted the philosophy that, no matter how frequently the manufacturers change the product, on the balance it is most likely to be an improvement.  I have yet to be caught out on this bet.  While authors have written at length about the industrial revolution, I consider it my current pleasure to be in the swirl of the technological revolution.  If nothing else, I can report with astonishing import that I have witnessed the beginning of the internet.  Of course the SmartPhone is just part of the revolution and evolution.  Considering the speed at which these advances have been made (attested by the multitude of computers which I have owned and which I have successively replaced one for the other), it boggles me to think how archaic I might have been had I not tried to maintain the pace.  And to anyone who attempts to resile from the effort on the theory that it is far too complicated, I need only point to the facility of mere children to handle it. Or, as I like to say, if you can drive a car you can operate a computer.  And speaking of cars, the automobile has become one of the biggest computers on wheels.  The modern vehicle reflects the technological advances of society in general.  Tape decks and CD players for example are thing of the past, like old telephones.  Now SmartPhones are synced to the car or USBs are plugged into it.  And who in their right mind would consult a map to get anywhere! Technology rules!

I suspect many of us have from time to time done our best to impress our parents. For me anyway, it seemed that they more than most deserved the effort. As a child it is not uncommon to see children performing for their parents, seeking their approbation. Even adult children are known to dedicate considerable labour to proving themselves in the eyes of their parents though the medium changes from an acrobatic trick to a professional choice.

Lately I have been doing my best to impress my mother.  This time however the object of attention is not so much me as the apartment to which I am trying to motivate her to move.  Essentially this is a downsizing enterprise, a transition from a 2-storey 4-bedroom home to a retirement residence. The objective has not been without its ups and downs.  Yesterday for example we were openly discussing the move to the apartment and the sale of my mother’s house.  Today on the other hand I was backed into the corner defending my actions as though I had supplanted my mother’s wishes with a hidden agenda calculated to ruin her life.  This unfavourable twist came late in the day after I had spent a good deal of time in communication with the various people needed to make the shift happen successfully.  My mother summarily dismissed my industry as a waste of money and something which I could easily reverse.

Naturally my mother’s fickle nature on this subject is understandable but it also reinforces the need for the evolution. I perceive that her memory and general health are daily declining and it would amount to egregious neglect to ignore the present need for planning for her future.  Neither is it insignificant that she turns 89 years of age on June 12th next.  Thus in spite of the accumulative number of things which have been orchestrated to arrange for this retirement residence for my mother, it is impossible to characterize its propriety as a mere matter of discretion.  We are beyond choice.  The decision has to be made or both the opportunity and the desirability of the move will be lost.

In spite of the clinical logic of the move I nonetheless continue to be plagued by the need to impress my mother even if her capacity to comprehend my dedication is diminished.  Whatever else may affect the deduction to make the move at this time, the continuing thread is that I am determined to make the place look great.  The Executive Director of the residence has even fanned the fires of my enthusiasm by noting her personal interest in seeing the result.  I have perhaps spoken too glowingly of what I anticipate doing with the place!  I may have to eat my words!

The basic apartment appeals to me.  It is on the third floor so it captures a sense of reserve and security for that reason alone.  Upon the suggestion of the Lifestyle Consultant I had a closet removed which separated the dining area from the living area.  Now the light from the two windows in the living area will filter unimpeded throughout.  The adjoining bedroom is effectively one large parallel room which also has two windows.  I feel the place will be bright.  The paint is a standard off-yellow or light brown colour which matches most other colours.  The views out the windows are pleasant, a mixture of mature deciduous and coniferous trees, with partial views of the exterior stone siding on the building.  The bathroom is spacious and the shower is easily accessible with an area for seating.  The living area has hardwood floors; the bedroom area has broadloom.

As for furnishings we are taking exclusively mahogany and other hardwood furniture.  The dining area will have a table, four chairs, small sideboard and a corner display cabinet (stocked with expensive china). A new Oriental-style rug will be on the floor under the dining table. A crystal fruit bowl and kettle will figure on the small counter space above the bar fridge (next to the tiny sink). We’ll stock enough cups and saucers, etc. for a tea party. On the walls will be a my mother’s portrait and other works of original art.  The living area will have three smallish chairs, no couch, a walnut TV stand (with the CD player set on a shelf), a small games table and an oval display table.  More original works of art.  The lamps will all be brass or antique.  There will be a Chinese rug in the centre of the living area. The bedroom will have the bed, side table, dresser, hi-boy, desk, chair and paintings. More lamps and paintings.  We’ll deposit whatever knick-knacks seem appropriate.

Assuming the apartment decoration is suitable, it is likely the most compelling feature will be that it is all on one floor (that is, no stairs).  While my mother purported to object to the move on the basis that she couldn’t prepare her own meals and that she would be obliged to go to the dining room to eat, the truth is that we’re uncertain how regularly she eats in any event.  In all the time that I have visited my mother (which is virtually every day) the only time I have ever seen her eat anything was a muffin.  She would still be able to put a muffin in her fridge.  We have arranged to have the staff administer her medication daily.  Laundry is located on the same floor as the apartment (unless mother prefers to have us arrange to have the staff take care of it).

The scope of my world has never been especially wide; however, recently the spectrum of my activity has been uncommonly narrow even for me.  Since our return from Hilton Head Island mid-March I have been dedicated almost exclusively to two things:  1) getting my mother and her affairs in order; and, 2) planning for our return to Hilton Head Island.  While the first may sound altruistic and the second far less so, in fact the two are for me commingled and neither stands happily without the other.

I am pleased to record that as of today my mother has seemingly embraced the prospect of both moving to an apartment and selling her home.  This is not a statement I would have advanced so cheerfully no less than a week ago when her disposition was decidedly mercurial.  While I have my theory about what has pushed her at last to approach this undoubtedly trying decision with determination, the important thing is that she appears to be there.  This morning she spoke of two significant details – selling the house and the disposition of her belongings.  Admittedly her resolution is partly tainted with resignation in that she has ostensibly abandoned the element of her personal satisfaction in this transition.  For example she no longer voices her sense of loss of independence and possession; instead she is addressing issues which reflect upon preparation for her departure (however that may be interpreted, whether physically or metaphysically).

My view of the same set of facts is quite different.  I see the change as a success not a mere accommodation.  As I have related to my mother, her level of independence will in my opinion enlarge upon moving to the retirement home.  She will no longer be dependent upon the goodness of others for groceries, for travel to medical appointments, for medical appointments period, for cooking or service of food, for household cleaning or laundry, for beauty treatments or for social interaction.  There are also practical advantages, like not having stairs to climb; like having a spacious bathroom with a shower built for being seated while showering; like not having to worry about property maintenance or the amount of fuel in the tank or the payment of a myriad of routine management bills.  I suspect mother hasn’t yet any appreciation of the prospect of not having to be alone at night; not having to eat alone; not having to be estranged from society.  I fashion this move as a step in the direction of dignity.  She will live in a highly desirable stone building in an equally desirable residential area along the renowned Rideau Canal on the fashionable Driveway.  She will literally have a chauffeur at her disposal.  I am making every effort to ensure that her new apartment is choc-a-bloc with her most desirable furnishings and personal effects, mahogany everywhere, precious Persians, silver and original works of art.

Like any properly crafted decision, this venture is also characterized not only by emotional and visceral appeal but also forward-thinking pragmatism.  It is inescapable that the amortization of our mortal existence exposes us to heightened medical and physical needs.  Getting a foot into this retirement environment includes the possibility of transitioning to higher levels of care without having to do so precipitously and without having to leave the immediate space.  Just as entrusting one’s financial affairs to a corporate trustee includes the element of perpetual existence so too the capitulation to a retirement residence offers the remedy of on-demand care and attention without having to rely upon what might turn out to be the declining buoyancy or availability of family.