As a matter of record only I wish to note a few details about the unfolding story of mother’s move to the Colonel By retirement residence.  Tomorrow morning we are scheduled to meet with Homefree Organizational Services to review the proposed schedule for moving furnishings into the Colonel By Lodge and for disposing of junk which has accumulated in the basement and garage.  This meeting will be important because it sets in motion the mechanics to implement the move to the apartment.  The anticipation of this meeting has naturally concerned me as its success is critical to the plan.

I have already dilated at some length upon mother’s daily habit of reversing her posture on this proposal; that is, each time we discuss it, she resists the intent but later comes around to accepting it, only to reverse herself on the following day after she has “been thinking” (as she puts it).  Today began as no exception to that routine performance.  It must however have been a mark of my unwavering determination to make this happen that I resisted getting into an out-and-out argument with my mother on the topic.  Instead I spoke quietly and characterized the move to the retirement residence as the key to the preservation of her independence (independent of me, my sister and my niece to buy her groceries, to arrange her medical appointments, to deal with trades people, etc.).  Given that my mother would even have a chauffeur at her disposal, weekly cleaning of her apartment and laundry, white linen dining service and wine being poured for her at the evening meal, not to mention the company of others and the prospect of playing Bridge, the accommodation of this residence is not exactly a deprivation!

Several hours after we had discussed this matter at length and left my mother’s house, and after I had related the latest news on the subject to my sister, I telephoned my mother to ensure that she was fine.  To my delight, she began by addressing the issue of the security of her home during her absence! This naturally represents a marked detour from what I have customarily encountered on this once delicate proposition.  I have since abbreviated the proceedings to both my sister and my niece, both of whom appreciate the value of what is taking place incrementally.  I am now confident that I may discuss the arrangements openly without feeling the necessity to disguise what we are doing, which after all is perfectly normal for anyone approaching her 90th year and who is clearly suffering increasing disabilities.  We seem at last to have acknowledged what was once the unspoken truth or the elephant in the room.  It is noteworthy too that my niece (who is my mother’s confessed favourite) spoke to my mother in support of the move which I and my sister have been encouraging.  I understand from having heard my mother relate this information to me that she was unusually moved by her granddaughter’s influence.  Although my mother suggested that I had put my niece “up to it” there was nothing of the kind, not even a conversation between us touching this matter.  I also reminded my mother today that her physician (whom my mother subsequently dismissed as “an asshole”) had also recommended the move to Colonel By Lodge.  Notwithstanding these lapses into the vernacular and the previous rejection of the propriety of the proposal, it now seems that things are on track as we round the bend.

Post Scriptum – June 8, 2015

Rather than attempt anything resembling a literary narrative, permit me to add that this morning we met with the Judy the “moving lady”.  My mother happily bestowed upon Judy the approbation of being a “nice person” which is code for the approval of all she said.  We have now scheduled the removal of “junk” a week hence (pointedly following the celebration of my mother’s 89th birthday on June 12th); and then two days later we move the furnishings to the new apartment.  Theoretically mother should be prepared to move into the apartment that evening and commence what I hope will be here stay there.  I suspect I shall have to enlist the support of my sister to ensure my mother arranges to take the personal things, including whatever clothing would be appropriate for the time of year.

I have already spoken with the real estate agent to provide a progress report.  I anticipate listing the property for sale soon after June 18th so that we can get on with it.  We will likely have to itemize the household effects and hold an auction of sorts to get rid of what “the family” doesn’t want to keep.  All in all it is warming up to be a busy summer!

The deep blue sky was remarkable throughout the entire day.  We capitalized upon the June summer morning by bicycling along our customary route up Country Street to the Rae Road then along the Eighth Concession.  Afterwards in our snug apartment we lingered over coffee and an ample breakfast of fresh fruit, bacon, bangers, eggs, cheese, avocado pear and homemade tabouleh. This was the calculated preamble to our calendarized late afternoon luncheon with my sister and her family in Ottawa South.

The appointed time to collect my mother (who celebrates her 89th birthday six days hence) was 2:30 p.m. and we arrived at her home dutifully as instructed.  Our leisurely drive around Dow’s Lake to my sister’s home off The Driveway was cheered by blossoming flowers, boating enthusiasts and athletic runners and cyclists. All was verdant and abundant.

The household was fully in gear upon our arrival.  My niece Julia was there with her boyfriend Matt and her sylph-like girlfriend Michelle, a long-time high school colleague.  The younger set (who contrived to visit Ottawa this weekend from Toronto and Sarnia for a high school 10th year reunion) contributed a welcome vibrancy to what might otherwise have been a sedate enterprise.  No doubt the Bloody Caesars expertly prepared by Denis contributed as well.  Before long we withdrew from the sunroom where we had all been chatting furiously to the living room to watch photos of my niece’s and her boyfriend’s recent jaunt to Cuba.  While the photos did nothing to distinguish themselves as an artistic expression, they nonetheless delighted the proud and adoring parents and grandparent (my mother) who watched attentively.  I on the other hand privately reflected, “This is why one must never show home movies!” though naturally I too unequivocally confess the redeeming profit of the familial activity.

At table we were treated to delightful barbecued fresh salmon grâce à my brother-in-law Ed and a medley of summer salads (one of which was skilfully prepared by my niece Julia who has become an accomplished cook).  The spirited table talk alighted for a moment upon the upcoming plans of Julia and Matt to venture to Los Angeles in pursuit of their acting, entertainment and writing careers.  I can only imagine what titillation they must experience to fathom what is to become of their lives!  As I opined to Matt it is a modern-day Christopher Columbus adventure!

We rounded out the toothsome meal with a superb homemade Swedish cream topped with strawberries and goldenberries and strong, black coffee.  After retiring to the garden for a final moment of conversation in the declining afternoon sunshine we took our leave amidst hugs, kisses and best wishes!

Lately my mother’s effect upon me is reminiscent of how Clouseau (the inept and incompetent police detective in the French Sûreté) transformed his direct superior Chief Inspector Dreyfuse into a homicidal psychotic.

It is now virtually assured that every day I shall be treated by my mother to a repeat recital of the reasons for not moving from her house to the retirement residence.  It is immaterial to my mother that virtually everyone, including her beloved granddaughter, her physician and her children, have exhorted her to take this step as she approaches her 89th birthday and incrementally declines both mentally and physically.  She remains however in that blurry sphere which is partially demented and partially incapable so the powers of reasoning are of diminished persuasiveness.  Mother also holds fast to her most dear possession, her house, and all that is therein.  She is convinced that the encroachment of the hounds is at her very doorstep.  Once again logic and necessity entirely fail to address her complaints.

The mercurial disposition of my mother vis-à-vis the venture makes for plodding progress and exhausting repetition. Meanwhile I have orchestrated for my mother the reservation of a charming apartment at the retirement residence and the transfer of furnishings to it. Contemporaneously we’ve had meetings with real estate agents to appraise the house and plan its sale. Nonetheless as my mother’s inclination to the project shifts by the hour I have progressively deteriorated from a posture of cooperation to one of blunt determination. There appears to be no room whatever for compromise or initiative on the part of my mother.  This is a sadly trying predicament because it highlights the imperative to make decisions which are temporarily unpopular.

The legal device of a Power of Attorney was originally conceived largely as a commercial tool to free busy corporate directors from the mundane duties of bureaucracy.  Pointedly it was not the purpose of empowering an attorney to appoint someone to act for you when you hadn’t the capacity to act for yourself.  Indeed it was a logical extension of the standard Power of Attorney that the attorney (that is the person empowered by you to act on your behalf) was only capable of doing that which you could do.  Thus the theory was that if you were incapable so too was your attorney. While this seeming paradox may fly in the face of what is commonly considered to be the whole point of a Power of Attorney (that is, to help people who cannot help themselves), it is nonetheless a fact even though it was honoured more in the breach than its observance (particularly by banking institutions who were clearly anxious to facilitate daily commercial transactions).  It is only relatively recently upon the enactment of the Substitute Decisions Act (Ontario) in 1992 that the concept of “Continuing Power of Attorney” (that is, continuing after one becomes incompetent) was codified:

Continuing power of attorney for property
7. (1) A power of attorney for property is a continuing power of attorney if,

(a) it states that it is a continuing power of attorney; or

(b) it expresses the intention that the authority given may be exercised during the grantor’s incapacity to manage property. 1996, c. 2, s. 4 (1).

Note: Subsection 7 (1), as re-enacted by the Statutes of Ontario, 1996, chapter 2, subsection 4 (1), applies to powers of attorney given before or after March 29, 1996. See: 1996, c. 2, s. 4 (5).

Same
(2) The continuing power of attorney may authorize the person named as attorney to do on the grantor’s behalf anything in respect of property that the grantor could do if capable, except make a will. 1992, c. 30, s. 7 (2).

Most properly drawn Powers of Attorney are not conditional upon a finding or adjudication of incapacity of the grantor of the authority. This may be considered a moot point when the competency of the grantor is undisputed. Where however the grantor continues to have even the partial appearance of competency, or worse objects to the tactics of the attorney, the implementation of the authority risks running afoul of the authority not to mention the creation of a transactional hiatus and family strife.  At this contentious juncture it is incumbent upon the attorney to recall the reason for which he or she was appointed and to exercise that care and skill which are in the best interests of the grantor.  The accommodation of the expressed wishes of the grantor is irrelevant if it collides with what is in the best interests of the grantor.

Assuming that my theses are correct, it is predictable that the outcome will prove satisfactory.  In the meantime however the annoyance of unnecessary conflict and anxiety continues to haunt the process of change.  As understandable as the fear of change may be, as sympathetic as one may be to the perceived sense of loss upon moving from one’s longtime home, as enthusiastic as one may be to protract the inevitable, the greater burden is to acknowledge the demands of time, inevitable declension and to plan accordingly.  The magnitude of the change means that the modification is equally substantial and addressing these features requires more than a moment’s attention.

I can barely recall what I did today.  Things were in a muddle this morning. After having awoken during the night several times, once at midnight (which is becoming a habit) then later at three o’clock and five-thirty, it wasn’t until 8:30 a.m. that I finally had the urge to get out of bed, and this after having retired only minutes after 9:00 p.m. last evening. Even after almost twelve hours of lying in bed, it was all I could do to muster the inclination to get up. All this rubbish I have had to endure the past several weeks, slipshod work from tradesmen, a mendacious merchant and a tardy car dealer, has evidently worn me to the ground.  Normally when I oversleep my back is stiff in the morning.  Not today however.   When I arose I discovered that my haircut appointment was for ten o’clock not ten-thirty as I had imagined.  Not that it put an incredible strain on things but it certainly kept me moving.

My haircut appointment went well as it usually does.  Simone – my hair architect – is a talented professional.  She knows what she is doing and I like what she does.  As is so often the case, when leaving the hair salon, I dislike the windswept look I’ve been given, but the cut is good and I can soon water down the hair sufficiently to restore my accustomed mediocrity.  Simone told me more than usual today about her trans-gender child, Maya, whose picture I saw and whose latest CD I heard (at least as much as one can possibly hear anything through the speakers of an iPhone in a hair salon).  Maya’s photo was quite extraordinary, very much along the lines of what one expects to see of models in magazines but otherwise bordering on hyperbolic.  I focused instead on Maya’s conviction and determination.  Considering my own silly preoccupation with hair at my age I shouldn’t criticize Maya for her concerns about appearance.

We drove to Ottawa to see my mother and to inspect the newly installed oil tank (which my mother decided last night when she telephoned me is an abomination and a detraction to the value of her house, convinced that it is misplaced even though I tried in vain to explain to her that the problem is not the size of the tank but the necessity to connect the feeder lines above ground).  We all descended into the basement this morning and I demonstrated as best I could to my mother that the location of the new tank was suitable for a utility room and that there was ample room remaining for a rumpus room in the basement if a subsequent owner felt the necessity to construct one.  Mother was clearly in a foul mood.  She suggested she was in the middle of some household chores.  Apart from telling her how to take the new over-the-counter medicine we brought her, we didn’t linger.  I relished being able to tell her that, for the first time in what seems like weeks, we haven’t anything on the agenda for tomorrow.  The only commitment is a late luncheon with my sister on Saturday.

Our cleaning lady attended today so we had to ensure our absence from the apartment during the afternoon.  We decided against Gananoque and headed instead to Cedar Cove.  Once through White Lake we discovered the road to Cedar Cove was under construction so we detoured to the Centennial Restaurant in Pakenham.  There we ordered a Lebanese salad and a Mexican pizza (which was laced with cinnamon, something I found off-putting).  We both succumbed to homemade rice pudding topped with whipped cream.

We meandered along the back roads from Pakenham through Blakeney to Almonte then onto Stittsville where we shopped for groceries at Sobeys.  We were back home after five o’clock.  We had a minor disagreement involving a reference to my constant repetition of things I have already voiced before.  I construed the attack as an unfavourable comment on my needless statement of frivolous information whereas I was later told that the concern rather was that I am developing something resembling the early stages of dementia in that I forget what I have told people already.  Either way it wasn’t assuaging and as a result our subsequent communications have been muffled. We sought to afford a digression by going for an evening bicycle ride along Country Street and back.  Admittedly it was healthful and welcome but did little to improve our toleration of one another.  Oh well, just one of those things which close acquaintances must learn to endure.

I transferred my disturbance to Facebook by deleting the names of several so-called friends, people who have lately proven themselves to be anything but friends and who upon even the most cursory analysis I find I can live without.  As a result I have whittled my roster of friends to nine in number.  These are at least people whom I admire for one reason or another even if we are not in constant communication.  The Facebook thing is merely a metaphor for my on-going internal debate about people with whom I once associated.  It shouldn’t alarm me to discover myself reacting unfavourably to almost everyone, including my own mother.  Lately I seemingly have no generosity for others.  I excuse my overt anxiety by fashioning it as delayed remonstrance, thinking that I have withstood the annoyances of others for far too long.  As usual this type of thinking  gets me nowhere; I always live to regret it.  Thankfully the only person to whom I have spoken directly about my feelings is my mother and I have every reason to suspect that she hasn’t any recollection of what I said in any event.  As for the rest I content myself with mere disguised comments or quietness.  And then of course there’s the lethal action of “unfriending” someone on Facebook.

I am at least grateful that we are slowly rounding out the transition of my mother from her two-storey four-bedroom house to an apartment in a retirement home. I am convinced I will be able to make the place look very comfortable and I am equally positive that doing this now is none too soon.  My mother’s condition, physical and mental, declines incrementally every day.  It will be a huge relief to know that this coming winter she will be properly cared for and that the house will be sold (the next step to happen in the next four months before our departure).

Those who live on acreage in the townships may look down their noses at those who live in the town and village enclaves of Almonte, Appleton or Pakenham. Admittedly those who live in Blakeney or Clayton boast ambivalence upon this particular point. I think it is nonetheless fair to say that we all fashion ourselves “rural” as compared to city dwellers.  And I would even go so far as to suggest that we as a corporate lot practice a collective condescension respecting the city inhabitants (the rivalry between the Country Mouse and the City Mouse has ever been so).

Apart from that facetiousness, rather than promote any disparity among us, I am more anxious to advance the theory that we who live in what is currently called the Town of Mississippi Mills (unless and until Council expropriates that traditional terminology and replaces it with what I personally consider the saccharin idiom “Municipality”) are blessed both to endure the labours and to relish the pleasures of rural life.  Following are some examples.

The country fair positively effuses the rich tradition of all that is rustic –  crates of exotic birds and fowl, the exhibition of handsome and endearing farm animals by proud owners, mouth-watering homemade jams and goodies, superb examples of harvested crops, glorious flowers, aromatic honey and endless stands of local artistic commodities from soaps to pottery to jewellery.  A generous luncheon or dinner table can always be relied upon for succulent comfort food and homemade pies for dessert.  Equally reliable is the likelihood of a chinwag with friends and acquaintances.  If one is favoured with a warm autumn day of sunshine there is nothing that surpasses an outing at the fair and its innocent pleasures!

Breakfast at the Mississippi Golf Club is a much anticipated weekend routine for us. In the charming Club House on the grassy banks of the meandering Mississippi River Chef Wendy MacDonald serves up what I can report with considerable authority is one of the most satisfying breakfasts around!  No need to be shy on the weekend!  We treat ourselves to a varying combination of eggs, bacon, ham, sausage, home fries, sliced tomatoes, whole wheat toast and beans. There is no heartier repast! Here too you can be assured of camaraderie with many familiar faces not to mention the blissful panorama.

Before I raise the worrisome hackles of my health-conscious physician (at whose stone home I can visit for a cup of tea and cake) let me assure both him and you that we expiate the guilt of our protein breakfast by cycling upon the countryside roads.  It is an unqualified rapture to wander aimlessly upon the byways of our County. The Arcadian scenery lends itself to even the most amateur photographer, whether an expansive view of a pasture, a cool clear stream of water or sheep and cattle lying about.

My most recent affection is for the Sunday matinée sponsored by the HUB at the Old Town Hall. These tireless volunteers have reinvented the lost delight of the former O’Brien Theatre (which coincidentally is the very building now owned by the HUB at the corner of Mill and Bridge Streets in Almonte).  These world class films provided in association with the Toronto International Film Festival afford a splendid way to wile away a Sunday afternoon.  We make a point of going for a drink or a bite to eat afterwards in one of the nearby eateries, perhaps toddling along the Riverwalk adjacent the roaring waterfalls.

If one feels compelled to travel further abroad from time to time there are endless opportunities in the country.  To protract a friendly reunion at almost no expense other than the time it takes to get there, I regularly go to Burnstown in neighbouring Renfrew County for a tasty coffee and sweet at Neat Café located near the Madawaska River which can be seen to incredible advantage from the bridge in the centre of the village. As always the back roads to this destination through Pakenham, Waba and White Lake provide a picturesque and relieving adventure for anyone whose soul requires some ventilation. White Lake (which itself offers tasty homemade meals) is the hub to Arnprior and Cedar Cove Resort. I mention these places not to diminish the many attractions at our own front door but rather to illustrate that the knee-jerk target for discovery need not be the City.

Though I won’t risk the embarrassment of others by referring to them by name, allow me merely to say that we are the home to many people who are celebrated for their accomplishments. What however is the most singular element of their notoriety is that they happily mix with local people from every walk of life.  Quite frankly it was this feature of society I appreciated in the Atlantic provinces where members of parliament, professionals, judges, famous artists and well-to-do denizens were your neighbours and they related one-on-one without pretence or reservation.  We can be proud of our esteemed citizens and of their mutual admiration and appreciation of the people with whom they associate.  It is an idiosyncrasy of rural society that we have the privilege of meeting one another on the level.

I began this rumination by referring to both the labours and pleasures of rural life.  I believe you will grant me that I have but touched upon the many pleasures of rural life and that there are so many more upon which one could liberally dilate.  Oddly I am not so readily inclined to delineate the labours of rural life.  Certainly one acknowledges the assiduity of the farming community; the challenges of the sole proprietor in a small town; the exigencies of the private medical practitioner as a country doctor; the high expectations we have of our clergy, teachers and funeral directors who at one time or another care for those dearest to us; the sometimes treacherous distances to be travelled.  Yet one would be unfair to attribute these burdens only to rural as opposed to urban people even if the stressful demands upon one group is different for another.

With tongue-in-cheek there are I confess certain labours which are peculiar to rural life.  It is for example axiomatic that if you hear a rumour it’s likely true (a variation upon the observation, “No one suspects. They know!).  Some object to the perception that “everybody knows your business” (which I have always characterized as a familial trait having no greater import than knowing the balance of your chequing account).  It isn’t long before any newcomer of quality is conscripted for membership in one charity or another. You may actually feel obliged to get to know your neighbours. You care to know your local history. Your voice matters on a political level and you have at least the inclination to participate with a sense of purpose. Your conduct may reflect upon more than yourself; it may insinuate an entire clan which has resided here for hundreds of years.  There is a good chance you are related to the person you just maligned.

All that said, in a complicated way the labours and pleasures of rural life define our robust community!  I wouldn’t trade it for the world!

I know of no sagacious soul who is ambivalent when pronouncing upon the subject of debt though most condemn it.  Even if one acknowledges the temporary utility of debt as a device for capital enlargement, it is normally something from which we are encouraged to distance ourselves. Debt is regularly maligned in everything from Biblical references to parental words of advice.  It is even asserted that the etymology of the word “debt” is connected to sin: A duty neglected or violated; a fault; a sin; a trespass. “Forgive us our debts .”

As someone who has the rare privilege of having maintained a Line of Credit with every chartered bank in Canada – contemporaneously – I can tell you that I have many favourable things to say about debt.  While I certainly wouldn’t be hand-picked as a textbook example of fiscal restraint and planning, it would be deceitful of me to suggest that debt hasn’t afforded many pleasures I would not otherwise have savoured. Admittedly everything I possessed was encumbered. I mockingly quipped that I owned only the front wheels of my car! I am however bound to observe that at this advanced stage of life I no longer suffer the burden of any debt whatsoever but this doesn’t diminish its bygone appeal and instrumentality.

For people like I who are accustomed to debt the world is a different place than it is for those who abhor it.  I find for example that it is the very people who can most easily sustain the pinch of debt who most revolt against it and who are inclined to adopt thoroughly dampening and miserly habits.  This of course explains why they have so much money.  I on the other hand viewed debt not as a handicap (though a temporary drawback) to my larger scheme but rather as a tool to its casual implementation. It is safe to say that the magnanimity of the banks contributed in no small part to my own comparative liberality in the expenditure of money.  Easy come, easy go I suppose!

When I graduated from law school I had virtually nothing in my chequing account (and I certainly cannot recall having had a savings account).  The only bargaining chip was a law degree.  My first loan application was to the Royal Bank of Canada on Spring Garden Road in Halifax, NS across from Robbie Burns’ statue in Victoria Park.  I had received an enthusiastic promotional letter in the mail from the President of the Royal Bank of Canada inviting me to speak to the Bank about all my loan requirements.  This I did one sunny Friday afternoon.  When I met with the banker I asked for $250.  He replied that it would be no problem at all. “Just ask your father to sign here”, he said.

Having declined the banker’s familial invitation, I trod up the street to the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce.  There I asked the banker for $500 to which he responded, “Cash or cheque?” As you might imagine this petty episode nonetheless established an important precedent.  Indeed when I subsequently decided to open my own business in Almonte and needed $10,000 I was astounded when the banker at Bank of Montreal asked, “Are you certain that is enough?  Wouldn’t you like to borrow more?”  Well!  I mean to say!  Who can resist such forceful insight!  It wasn’t long before I was hardened in my ways.

People who juggle a lot of debt seldom have a compensating reserve of liquid assets (or what is lyrically called “cash”).  It would be misleading to dismiss this concern as frivolous and I certainly haven’t any intention of challenging its prudence. The only thing that motivated me to perpetuate my indebtedness was the hope that the capital upon which I had expended it would one day amount to something. Furthermore as I awoke to the concept of amortization it appeared to have the persuasive strength of wisdom and my entire life became geared to a corresponding 25-year plan.

The object of my indebtedness was real estate.  The first venture was a surprisingly modest home purchase on St. George Street for $24,500. Granted the place was so small I had to back into it, but not insignificantly I could still afford the luxuries of passable Scotch whiskey and cigarettes!  I subsequently traded up to a larger house for $76,900.  This was a fortunate move because in those days – believe it or not – banks were reluctant to lend money other than upon the security of an owner-occupied residence.  So when an office building later caught my eye I was only able to leverage the purchase by using my new house as additional collateral.  Parenthetically the $80,500 purchase price for the office building was entirely floated by debt.

As you can see, even though I still had no money, I had succeeded to enlarge upon my possessions, most of which had the appearance at least of being rational and useful.  This however was a trend destined to change.  Through committed expenditure upon capital improvement of my real estate (which by then included an urban condominium and a rural 25-acre parcel of land) I learned to employ it in turn for further loans.  This time though the dalliances took a turn for more personal indulgences, things like cars, a grand piano, furniture and complicated watches.  It was at this stage of economic evolution that banks gratuitously began tossing in unsecured lines of credit with regular secured loans.  This of course was the bank’s answer to the decline of interest rates; namely, increase the capital owed so the resulting product of return on funds was the same.  As an unsuspecting and eager consumer I cheerfully misinterpreted this extension of credit as an acknowledgement of my growing capacity and business acumen.

Eventually my appetite for things was exhausted.  I had succeeded not only to go up to the trough but to get into it.  I was saturated. I then resolved to reverse years of profligacy. Without going into the dreary details of my financial catharsis, permit me simply to rejoin that one cannot have money and things.  I have subsequently adopted an entirely different mantra regarding the meaning and pleasures of life.  Let me assure you that this abrupt modification was not in the least dissatisfying. I have ever been a visceral person. Yet having sated my appetite, there was no feeling of deprivation.  In retrospect I prefer to dignify this spotty financial career as a philosophical choice along the lines of carpe diem but I recognize there may have been more luck than design in what I did.  Besides how impossible it is to erase the stain of one’s past conduct!  In the end it may only be the prayer for forgiveness of one’s debts that counts.

While I have regularly remarked upon the peculiar customs and habits of people who lived before me, I never considered my own conventions particularly unusual.  This of course is an absurdity promoted by the arrogant conviction that I am both modern and enlightened.  We mock our ancestors for burning poor souls as witches but we seldom imagine our current philosophies to be so utterly distorted and cruel.

Continue reading →

When I look at a calendar showing an entire year at a glance I am reminded of two things: 1) how succinct our time is; and, 2) how condensed are the days, weeks and months. One would have to be especially creative to infuse even a year with anything resembling expanse. The moment one restates the minutes of the days in packages of weeks or months it becomes an Alice in Wonderland world of bizarre diminishing sizes.

Continue reading →

Whenever things go wrong in my inconsiderable universe at the hands of others I remind myself that my trifling misadventures are hardly devastating. However neither this nor the admission that “We all make mistakes” is sufficient to dissolve what are otherwise unforgivable miscalculations.  Allow me to illustrate.

Continue reading →

I quite surprised myself this morning. I vented about five decades of aggregate seething frustration. This unusually prolonged bottleneck of dissatisfaction was quirky for another reason – it was directed at my mother. This may at least explain my prior disinclination.  There are after all not many who take particular delight in what is normally considered egregious conduct toward one’s mother (and I imagine less so when she is too old and frail to make it really count).  I can however tell you that for me the deferred experience was nonetheless relieving and inspirational.

Continue reading →