The major of my undergraduate liberal arts degree was philosophy, the study of convictions and ideology but perhaps more importantly the study of thought and reasoning.  These latter two key elements have their historical origin:

The liberal arts (Latin: artes liberales) are those subjects or skills that in classical antiquity were considered essential for a free person (Latin: liberal, “worthy of a free person”) to know in order to take an active part in civic life, something that (for Ancient Greece) included participating in public debate, defending oneself in court, serving on juries. Grammar, logic, and rhetoric were the core liberal arts.

While it is easy to see the connection between rhetoric and language (particularly in the context of debate and public speaking) one mustn’t neglect the importance of logic.  This principle became especially apparent when I subsequently studied law; a mere entertaining presentation was doomed without the substance of argument and rationality.

What frequently detaches the mind from the desirable and sometimes clinical persuasion of a logical argument is emotion.  There are few concepts which are so characteristically opposed as instinct and rationality.  And heightening the difference is that both are important and often of equal significance.  The trick therefore is to bridge the gap with a combination of each.

Emotion being a visceral (and often sentimental) response is fraught with features which frequently defy logic and therefore are only open to attack upon an emotional scale, which in many instances means replacing one passion for another. Certain appetites are well known to trump others.  For example, the appetite for material possessions can normally be outranked by the instinctive yearning for family; health usually outdistances wealth; prestige and position frequently defeat mere convenience.  As a result the persuasive argument is by design targeted at the basic (and sometimes baser) fixations of humanity.  The going can however become thick when expenditure of money (even if for utterly pragmatic purposes) and austerity collide.  Here it is necessary to call upon the so-called “higher” appeal of entitlement as a rationalization, admittedly sometimes a cheap shot or dirty pool, appealing as it does to one’s vanity and sense of privilege.

Characterizing an argument as a battle between gut and brain does not of course tell the whole story.  A further sticky element in any persuasive argument is nothing more glamorous than inertia.  The tendency to remain unchanged is in turn strengthened by fear, a close relative of transformation. Even when the most cogent theses are advanced, couched in entirely palatable terms, the success of the persuasion is ultimately at the whim of the intellect that absorbs it.  Remember, there are two classes of people who won’t try new food: children and the uneducated. The struggle can quickly become the equivalent of blasting rock to make any headway with about as much expectation of mere fragments.  In the result the intransigence of some people’s minds can only be overcome by side-stepping the issue entirely and deliberately moving forward in spite of the resounding opposition.  The negotiation then reduces to a power struggle which, if the logic is not mere rhetoric, is not a bad thing.

I like to think that the success of even a well-reasoned power struggle will ultimately appeal to the most inflexible mind. This speaks to the predictable plausibility of good sense.  In the meantime however it may be necessary to dance around the idea being advanced, to cajole, to implore and perhaps even push a little.  And maybe like most things it will only be persistence that in the end wins the day.  So much for the power of persuasion!

Once the countdown has begun there is little that arrests the initial purpose. We have lift-off! Even more important however than the initiation of the proceeding is its irrevocable trajectory.  It is further not only the constancy of the path which is introduced but the very destination of the track.  In short the path is set in motion and the consequence is predictable.

There is something strangely alarming about setting the wheels in motion; one is never fully prepared for the change that ensues, the inertia of change no doubt. The resulting modification should however never come as a surprise because it is the sum of many coordinated factors. The sequel to the trigger is a solution and often a very pleasant ride.

Like the plunge of a roller coaster ride, there is no turning back when beyond the crest.  It is equally scientific that the rapid change will eventually flatten and come to rest though where one lands is exponentially related to the effort that went into getting there.  The thrust of those efforts is the combination of a great deal of planning, thought, cooperation and a degree of luck as always.  The speed at which events unfold after lift-off is quite incredible.  Hang onto your hat!  The thrill of the momentum contributes to the delight.  As fond as we are of the status quo we nonetheless derive exhilaration from seeing our future unfold.  We launch into a new world and awaken to exciting prospects we hadn’t predicted.

Leaving the familiar behind may be daunting yet we mustn’t diminish our appetite for novelty. The capacity we have for accommodation is virtually boundless.  Precedent to such ingenuity is the application of reasoning to what are inevitably the changing circumstances of life.  The allure of the past becomes as a sinking ship from which we must separate to survive.  But oh the indescribable enchantment of once distant horizons!

Today was Victoria Day, a distinctly Canadian observance going back to 1845 long before Confederation. It is now celebrated on the Monday prior to May 25th the “official” day of birth of Queen Victoria (1819-1901).  Queen Victoria’s actual day of birth was April 21st.

Following the death of Queen Victoria in 1901, May 24 was made by law to be known as Victoria Day, a date to remember the late queen, who was deemed the “Mother of Confederation”, and, in 1904, the same date was by imperial decree made Empire Day throughout the British Empire. Over the ensuing decades, the official date in Canada of the reigning sovereign’s birthday changed through various royal proclamations until the haphazard format was abandoned in 1952. That year, both Empire Day and Victoria Day were, by order-in-council and statutory amendment, respectively, moved to the Monday before May 25 and the monarch’s official birthday in Canada was by regular viceregal proclamations made to fall on this same date every year between 1953 and January 31, 1957, when the link was made permanent by royal proclamation. The following year, Empire Day was renamed Commonwealth Day and in 1977 it was moved to the second Monday in March, leaving the Monday before May 25 only as both Victoria Day and the Queen’s Birthday.

As with any federal statutory holiday, Victoria Day marks a day of greatly reduced commercial activity.  The grocery stores and liquor stores are closed (I have this on the authority of a friend in Vancouver to whom I spoke mid-afternoon – he was “fresh out” as he put it). I was however able to secure for my mother her favourite “mocha frappuccino”® and an iced espresso coffee for me from Starbucks.  This small gratification constituted the footing of our private celebration of Her Majesty’s memory.

We capitalized upon the festive air of the long weekend by going to the Golf Club for breakfast this morning.  As always we were not disappointed by the caterer’s succulent and generous serving of eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, toast and home fries. The only blight upon the outing was a gratuitous comment in the parking lot by a golfer who spiritedly said it was the first time she had seen me at the Club, a comment to which I retorted that it was indeed odd as I have been attending the Club for about the past forty years!  I didn’t add that it was only in recent years that I have noticed her appearance there. The gulf between the entitled golfers and the long-time social members such as myself has sadly ever existed!  My very existence in this region began at the Golf Club because it was over dinner in the original clubhouse (since destroyed by fire) that I was hired by the law firm partners.  In subsequent visits to the Club I entertained the late-night drinkers by tinkling the ivories of the old upright piano (now also gone) next to the fieldstone fireplace in the common room.  It was further my privilege to have acted as Counsel for the Club when the second nine-holes were purchased from the Lowry family.

Upon our return from the Golf Club in the eternally quaint Village of Appleton we hopped onto our bicycles and directed ourselves to our alternate route along Concession 11A, the long dead end country road from the roundabout at the Town’s entrance.  While I eventually made it there, “we” did not because my companion’s bicycle tires had deflated.  We attempted to fill the tires with air at a local gas station but the mechanism of the pump wasn’t working properly.  Our second try at a nearby station proved equally fruitless as there was a $1 charge and neither of us had any change.  I later thought I should have had the gumption to ask the attendant for a $1 loan but by that time the opportunity was lost as the entire project had been abandoned.  It turns out for other reasons not to have been without serendipity but I shall not go into further details.  I shall merely say that satisfaction ensued in spite of the initial disruption.

The flow of traffic into the City early afternoon was lighter than I had anticipated. If anything there was a proliferation of old fogeys on the road, people who were driving considerably below the speed limit and who were clearly in no hurry to get anywhere. One old doll was obviously lost in thought as she sat stranded at a green light for some fifteen seconds before whizzing off at an incredible rate to camouflage her idleness.  It was just one of those dreamy summer-like days, mounting warm winds and temperatures, which lent itself to absentmindedness and lack of premeditation.

If I were to give an accounting of what I have lately done for my 89 year old mother it would most certainly include having taken her for a Sunday drive today.  We both remarked as we sipped our respective iced drinks at Neat Café in Burnstown (Renfrew County) that there wasn’t a cloud in the deep blue sky! The temperature hovered around 25ºC and we therefore sat under a large umbrella on the deck overlooking the first sprouts of the English garden.

Our shiftless gaze wandered to a cursory study of the gaggle of cyclists at a nearby table, wondering to ourselves what they did for a living and where they came from. They were an undistinguished group of men and women, middle-aged, clad in the extraordinarily busy synthetics peculiar to racing cyclists and not especially attractive as one might expect of athletes so far removed from an urban centre. They were however all incontrovertibly thin.

After draining our cups (which were really pickle jars – the latest absurdity of these trendy places) and patting our lips dry my mother and I contrived to depart.  Our return route took us along back roads which would normally be unfamiliar to persons not from the area as am I (a forty-year veteran).  My mother tritely observed that people living in cities forget there is so much open space. We traveled quietly, effectively insulated from road noise, listening to classical piano music which complemented the scenic greenery of the fields and trees. From Burnstown on the Madawaska River to White Lake; then onto Pakenham, Blakeney (formerly called Rosebank, a particular favourite of mine), Almonte (once appropriately named Shipman Mills), Carleton Place (originally named Morphy’s Falls) and home to my mother’s place.

On a less social level my contribution to my mother’s well-being has been the institution of what had become for me in the latter years of my law practice stock estate and succession planning.

The introduction to these esoteric legal manoeuvres began in 2008.  While the contortions were never fully assimilated by my late father, he nonetheless yielded (no doubt as a measure of respect for my professional acumen) and my mother followed suit.  She has since lost any recollection of the niceties of the family trust but that is of no consequence as there is no change of beneficial ownership (a detail whose significance is now utterly meaningless to her).  I nonetheless congratulate myself for having done what I did, including the referral of her money management to a professional fee-based financial advisor.  As I am wont to tell both my mother and my sister, “You don’t need me!  The mechanics of management are now in place whatever may happen to any one of us!”  The thrust of this proclamation is that the ultimate goal of each of our personal successions will be realized come Hell or high water. Admittedly not all of the devices are self-serving; there has been in part a capitulation to the perpetual existence of a corporate trustee but the uncertainty of the future is thereby removed.

Naturally these private reflections of mine percolated unknown to my dear mother.  Our project was ostensibly none other than a Sunday drive.

In what is turning out to be another instance of self-imposed governance we have decided to limit our sphere of travel this summer to our environs. This latest asceticism is primarily an austerity measure though pointedly neither of us is despondent about circumscribing our plans.  In fact after spending a comparatively indulgent winter on Hilton Head Island we are quite prepared to restrain ourselves and to wile away the Dog Days (diēs caniculārēs) of summer in our own back yard.  We cannot unabashedly urge upon ourselves an oceanic visit when we have had the privilege to relish spectacular maritime views for four months in the past year.

We also wish to implement our own protestation; namely, that when landing somewhere one mustn’t straightaway abandon it under the guise of adventure.  Aside from neglecting what is under one’s nose, there is the more grievous hazard of having lots going on and nothing happening.  Besides one has to wonder what there is to run from? Speaking of which I have lately been tormented by recurring apprehension about certain of my relationships. Whether I am imaging it or not I cannot be certain, but to my thinking the ties I have to some people are dissolving. I am encouraged in this conjecture by remarks from one close to me that there is indeed foundation for the sentiment; and further the assurance that the loss is one I am able to bear without deprivation.  Admittedly I am frequently the last person to see the proverbial writing on the wall.  My instinctive first reaction – apart from resiling from the offending situation – is to lay blame at my own door for what has seemingly transpired.  With fermentation and the benefit of fresh air on an afternoon cycle, I am willing to concede that a.) What’s the big deal?; and, b.) Since when am I expected to behave according to an unwritten and unspoken code purportedly set by others?  Certainly there are boundaries upon acceptable human conduct but whatever I may have done or failed to do it hardly qualifies as a transgression of minimum standards.  More likely than not, the friction (if any) is the result of something grating the Party of the Second Part and I am for some reason caught in the middle. As I say there is the very real possibility that I am manufacturing differences between us which do not exist. Either way temperance is in order.  One can’t be forever in party mode.  What however lingers is the question why I should be doubting the relationships in the first place?  It is not as though the dilemma is an isolated instance; rather it is almost pervasive.  Surely I can’t be the only soldier in step while all the others are not?

Having said that, the fact remains that all relationships are at times tenuous. The disintegration of bonds is seldom precipitous. Normally distance between people develops incrementally until at last the thread is broken or at least stretched so infinitely as to disappear.  There is the further possibility that given the opportunity every particle of one’s being eventually comes under scrutiny and a host of quandaries may arise from the intense examination. The hours can be long when not occupied upon the business of other people’s affairs. Perhaps the introversion is producing unmerited results.  If nothing else it is worthwhile to remove oneself from the fracas and to avoid unnecessary demarcation which may later prove regrettable.  The many adages concerning the value of friends and friendship spring to mind in this regard and to rebut them wholesale may be irresponsible and ultimately regrettable.

Meanwhile the focus mustn’t continue to be upon such dreary matters. Suffering as I do from an uncommon appetite for approbation it requires some effort for me to disengage without the prospect of its reward.  It quite astounds me how driven I have been historically to please others, whether by casual behaviour, formal acquaintance or professional service.  As I reflect upon the logic of human interaction my absorption in the pleasure and endorsement of others is correspondingly diminished.  It is therefore only natural that the quality of relationships is thus altered.  No longer do the same things matter; and a fortiori new things now matter.  It is emancipating to liberate oneself from habitual conditioning to give way to novel and sometimes unanticipated allures.  I’m not talking about anything kinky, just different, usually less contrived and more naturally connected, springing from genuine motivations, heartfelt as it were.  It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve discovered that my uninhibited personality involves me in discoveries which far surpass the scope of measured and strictly pragmatic behaviour (a conclusion which may be strikingly obvious but nonetheless illuminating).  It speaks to my recent taciturn bearing that I have been consumed by the resolution of this latest mishmash of apprehensions.  There have been some understandable contributors to this state of affairs, minor things relating to what are no more than everyday troubles, but the overriding angst relates to human relationships which as usual are seldom resolved by little more than the effluxion of time.  Apart from that, it is mere guesswork, yet another reason to stand fast upon one’s own sentiments.

The way most people casually toss about the expression “Counsel of Perfection” you’d think they were talking about something unattainable or making reasoned excuses for what they have failed to accomplish.  Either way it is seldom meant to chronicle anything realistic or realizable, rather an ideal only and a remote one at that.  The further castigation is the underlying theme that the urging, though noble, is impracticable.

The three evangelical counsels or counsels of perfection in Christianity are chastity, poverty (or perfect charity), and obedience. As Jesus of Nazareth stated in the Canonical gospels, they are counsels for those who desire to become “perfect” (τελειος, cf. Matthew 19:21, see also Strong’s G5046 and Imitatio dei). The Catholic Church interprets this to mean that they are not binding upon all and hence not necessary conditions to attain eternal life (heaven). Rather they are “acts of supererogation” that exceed the minimum stipulated in the Commandments in the Bible. Christians that have made a public profession to order their life by the evangelical counsels, and confirmed this by a public religious vow before their competent church authority (the act of religious commitment called “profession”), are recognised as members of the consecrated life.

Anything approaching these traditional but archaic monastic vows is seldom considered either enviable or capable of implementation. Furthermore even the gloss upon the expression “Counsel of Perfection” is almost dismissive:

In ethics, an act is supererogatory if it is good but not morally required to be done. It refers to an act that is more than necessary, when another course of action—involving less—would still be an acceptable action. It differs from a duty (which is an act that would be wrong not to do), and from acts that are morally neutral. Supererogation may be considered as performing above and beyond a normative course of duty to further benefits and functionality.

The motivation, at least in the Roman Catholic Church, was that acts of supererogation were “actions believed to form a reserve fund of merit that can be drawn on by prayer in favor of sinners”.  As laughable as it may seem to have been able to purchase redemption, it came at a price, one which was beyond the sphere of most. Counsel of Perfection  included for example celibacy:

St. Paul presses home the duty incumbent on all Christians of keeping free from all sins of the flesh, and of fulfilling the obligations of the married state, if they have taken those obligations upon themselves, but also gives his “counsel” in favour of the unmarried state and of perfect chastity (Celibacy), on the ground that it is thus more possible to serve God with an undivided allegiance.

As a practicing lawyer I was accustomed to reiterating to my clients that I merely provided advice which they were at liberty to take or not.  The original intent of Counsel of Perfection was however far less lax:

Indeed, the danger in the Early Church, even in Apostolic times, was not that the “counsels” would be neglected or denied, but that they should be exalted into commands of universal obligation, “forbidding to marry” (1 Timothy 4:3), and imposing poverty as a duty on all.

Through time this “exaltation” of Counsel of Perfection has been diluted sufficiently to become little more than an apology for anything which is frequently far short of the mark.  While I agree that the strict original sense of the expression is possibly without foundation, I do not however accept that in the modern vernacular settling for anything less than perfection is worthwhile. Indeed I view compromise as virtually valueless even if contemporary.

I want to be clear that my objection is never pitted against concession as a negotiation tool or as a reasonable substitute for what is otherwise unattainable.  Where trade-off is imperative by the very nature of the proceedings, it is of course acceptable.  What irks me is the willingness to reduce one’s target for reasons such as impatient expediency or petty economy.  In those circumstances the deal is nothing other than selling oneself short. And I am convinced that it is inevitable that such conduct is destined to prove unsatisfactory sooner than later.  It is useful to remind oneself that Counsel of Perfection exacts standards which at first blush appear onerous or more extensive than desired but this should not be off-putting.  This preliminary view is but a glimpse of the whole which if seen in its entirety would disclose the utility of the fuller application.

At the risk of extrapolating to the ridiculous, I cannot help but think that the apologetic use of Counsel of Perfection is akin to what is being sold in the many popular department stores – products euphemistically described as “outlet” (whatever that means).  There is a growing trend to favour price over quality and to prefer imitations (“knock-offs”) to the real thing.  In the result we end by surrounding ourselves with trash and products with a built-in early amortization.  We have become willing to accept the price and quality of three synthetic products for the price of one authentic product, all the while shrugging off the subterfuge and bargain as imperative or otherwise necessary or acceptable.  What ever happened to the real wool sweater?  Since when does a toaster have an expected lifetime of two years only? Why do we tolerate fake wooden sculpture?  Were the real things only Counsel of Perfection?

The greatest loss is the diminution of standards generally.  By surrendering to less than perfection we imperceptibly erode the highest benchmarks of our human existence.  Mind and matter have forever been inseparable.  It isn’t purely an accession to the dwindling quality of materialism; it is a contamination of the purity of our world’s physical metaphor.  And this inevitably leads to the tainting of our characteristic criteria, an infection which bleeds into our psychological, spiritual and moral codes of behaviour. If we are not prepared to live by Counsel of Perfection, then by what yardstick or principle are we to measure our conduct and undertakings?  How far below the mark do we allow ourselves to decend? Is aiming high no longer axiomatic?  Have we altered the very principles of science when it comes to hitting the target?

Mother’s Day today began uneventfully.  In preparation for a luncheon rally at my sister’s house in the City at noon we first collected a family friend (an octogenarian widow).  That arrangement has been conducted several times before for other outings and once again it went off with the usual enquiries about one’s health and the weather.  We exchanged some additional intelligence about my mother (an even more elderly widow) before making our way leisurely to my mother’s house to collect her.  There the trend changed from the outset.  It started with my mother relating in no uncertain terms that we were late for the appointed pick-up time of 11:30 a.m.  This she described with some measure of fault as a source of worry for her.  I let is slide. One mustn’t I suppose expect exceptional civility from a mother even on Mother’s Day.

As my mother careered her way to the customary front passenger seat of the car, I redirected her to the rear driver’s side so that she might join our guest in the back seat of the car.  She undertook this modification with palpable reluctance but succumbed when I alerted her that our guest was already in the back seat.  Upon mother twisting herself sufficiently to gain entry to the rear seat of the car, I assisted her with her seat belt.  Mother took the metal bolt from me but ended struggling to insert it in its clip.  At this point our guest wrestled the bolt from my mother and she too then struggled to insert it but again without success.  I quietly observed that the bolt needed to be rotated 180º in order to fit into the clip.  This particular tactic was lost upon my audience.  When I attempted to interfere with the digital gymnastics I was treated to a round rebuff from our guest who insisted that she could do it herself.  This further assurance proved a failure and I therefore turned the bolt and inserted it.  At last we were on our way!

Following this minor power skirmish the conversation was at first constrained but soon the collective tension eased. Aside from detouring around the thousands of people who sought to view the tulips surrounding Dow’s Lake there were no further anomalies in our otherwise pacific Sunday journey.

The first order of business upon our arrival at my sister’s house (apart from suggesting to my mother that she exit from the car through the same door that she had entered it rather than crawling over the centre hump and arm-rest to the other side of the vehicle) was of course drinks.  His Lordship being renowned as he is for the concoction of the finest Bloody Caesar in the land went at it without delay and within moments everyone was sipping pleasurably upon the day’s first eye-opener.  My mother also made a bit of a vocation of the cheese and crackers for as much as she protests never to be hungry she invariably gobbles up whatever is passably tasty.  Our general view is that she doesn’t feed herself adequately when alone but she appears – quite understandably – to make up for lost time when in a social environment.

As always my sister and her husband prepared a superb luncheon. Our feast today was fresh salmon cooked on a cedar plank on the barbecue.  There were two delicious salads and boiled baby potatoes to complement the fish.  And a desirable supply of red and white wine.  Dessert was a fresh fruit salad with only a squeeze of lime juice followed by assorted chocolates, sweet biscuits and coffee.  The table conversation included an unusual reference to my brother-in-law’s business affairs, a salty reminder to the majority of us at table that retirement is a blessing.  This led us onto a tangent about bargaining in the market place generally, a topic from which derived more cherished details of shopping for antiques and a general reinforcement of why my sister and her husband have money in addition to things.  At this juncture of the luncheon the combination of the animated subject of antiques and various glasses of wine contributed to a lively drama about the larger principles of life which invariably emanate from matters of personal intimacy.

Although our departure from the festive board seemed somewhat abrupt, the time was already approaching 4:00 p.m.  Besides our guest is committed to her Bichon Frisée so we bent to that faithful concern and guided ourselves accordingly.  After depositing my mother at her home, we again revisited the gritty details of my mother’s current situation.  This included some frank discussion of familial relationships and the undercurrent of plans for her future care.  While some of the subjects may have been delicate they at least had the advantage of being substantive, no doubt part of my current thrust to avoid ambiguity in whatever I undertake.

We decided to forgo our routine Saturday morning excursion to the Golf Club for breakfast today even though last evening over dinner we had talked of the possibility.  But I knew when I rose from my lair at ten past eight this morning, the opportunity was unrecoverable.  It was just too late to capture the moment.

No doubt Wendy at the Club kitchen would still have been frying her crisp bacon but getting to the Club at a reasonable time presented a hurdle. What with the skies threatening rain, and the weather forecast predicting rain, we had to capitalize immediately upon the current dryness for our daily bicycle ride, a mandatory commitment which we dutifully fulfilled.  So we contented ourselves instead with a healthful bowl of fresh fruit and a cup of black coffee before commencing our matutinal exercise.

Sleeping until after 8:00 o’clock this morning would normally have disturbed me.  I have however done it so often recently that I have adjusted to the once perverse anomaly.  I regret however that the length of the day is considerably shortened by such a tardy beginning.  There was a time when I arose with equal regularity at 3:30 a.m. and set off to wash my car and listen to BBC Word News Service.  But as I can now wash the car at any time of the day I apparently no longer have the early morning inclination.  Yet those somnolent hours between 4:oo and 8:00 a.m. seem extravagantly squandered. I used to enjoy getting a cup of coffee at the gas station, sometimes chatting with the overnight attendant (upon whose mysterious provenance and fate I privately speculated) and still being home in time for a six o’clock breakfast and more coffee before going to work.  Sometimes now when I sleep late my conscience is bothered by whether I am avoiding life by remaining in bed (though I can’t imagine that getting my car washed and having a gas attendant’s coffee is a great accomplishment).

As a result of this morning’s torpidity by the time we visited my elderly mother (and brought her a Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino® that she relishes) and afterwards toured the aisles of the grocery store, it was approaching 3:30 p.m.  The topic of the preprandial cocktail was astonishingly by then already on our lips!  Even more boggling to me was that my subsequent late afternoon congress with Charles Dickens in my soft green leather chair soon ended in my head drooping upon my chest and my hands collapsed with my book on my outstretched legs.  It wasn’t as though I had gone to bed late last night!  And yet here I was, asleep once again!  Anaesthetized by a comfortable chair!  It was only the sharpness of the air-conditioned breeze from the ceiling vent that finally awoke me.  And by then it was time for hors d’oeuvres and dinner!

Once again the paradox is that while advancement in life is almost imperceptible, time goes whizzing by.

Lately I have muddled my affairs by trying to impose some stricture, what I consider to be some much needed restraint. It it paradoxical that I should call upon censorious instruction when in fact what I’m after is a release from constraint. Not surprising therefore that even the best intentions can cause temporary disturbance. Primarily the censure is directed to my free-wheeling behaviour. I’m accordingly reining things in. By the same token, my motive is liberality, almost abandon, maybe a care-free posture approaching snapping my fingers at life! Unquestionably this contradictory bent for late-life modification is the result of having nothing much else to do; however, to continue unaltered is proving to be less than provident. Fact is, these suppressed thoughts have been leaching for some time.  I have decided to confront them!

It is quite remarkable how tied I am to repetitive though fruitless comportment. I’d prefer not to think of it as lack of imagination but considering the Pavlovian nature of the conduct I’m not so sure.  What is more likely the root of the predicament is not intellectual incapacity but rather want of personal conviction.  It requires enormous effort for me to trounce someone in my mind.  My alternative instead has been to walk away. While this puts distance between the parties it obviously avoids addressing the issue.  One’s objective should of course not be to trounce anyone. I use the expression not as a condemnation so much as a purgation. It is a process of removing oneself from unpleasant associations with the added feature of a mental embargo.  This is important because it is purposeful not negligible.

Whether one shares these private sentiments is another matter. No doubt there are those who promote the theory that each of us is obliged to communicate our thoughts about others to them.  I am not so sure.  Even if the proposal rings of fairness and openness I am not convinced I am bound by such codes of natural justice. Besides the frozen truth may not be what others care to hear.  And I can at least rationalize my reluctance by advancing it is better to stay mum in the event that my opinion is incorrect (though I know this is really just a gimmick).

Lining things up admittedly smacks of uninspired regimentation, not what many would consider to be a good thing.  I suppose whatever one does in this regard is more imaginary than real.  Most likely the imposition is purely fictional, maybe even a disguise. But the token order may nonetheless afford the prospect of discernment in an otherwise baffling array of emotions.  The order is a mere tool to facilitate comprehension, perhaps similar to dissection of constituent parts to fathom the whole.  The inner alignment is reflected in external arrangements as well. Today for example we met with our banker to set up vehicles for the management of our affairs in the United States during our winter sojourn.  These thoughts too had percolated in the past year. The organization of mind and matter so often go hand-in-hand.  I flatter myself to think the material manifestation is a reflection of the government of my mind, taking care of business as it were.

No doubt this all sounds like so much gobbledegook and indeed it may be so. But I can tell you in the clearest of terms that I am quite bored withstanding the bilge I get from certain people. First and foremost I can contrive no reason whatsoever to tolerate such bunk.  Any commercial nexus which may have once existed is gone.  Second, I see no utility in pandering to the foibles or whims of others; if the relationship is work, to Hell with it!  I am equally tired of convincing myself that all friendships require work.  They don’t!  And as long as they do, they’re better ignored.

Sometimes abrupt right turns can prove more deliberate than required.  I accept the change like everything else in life must be incremental not precipitous.  Nonetheless the underlying perspectives must be clear and unambiguous even if the implementation is not.  So for starters I’m lining up my ducks and we’ll see where we’re headed!