As the Americans approach the upcoming 2016 Presidential Election they begin their next round of intense self-examination.  Political conversation is never far below the surface of any American and the occasion to inspire it is usually a welcome indulgence. While the remarkable rift between the left and the right (Democrat and Republican) is impossible to ignore, most Canadians I suspect would fail to identify with such cataclysmic disparity.  Only in America is the scene so obviously black and white.  It perhaps speaks to our Canadian sense of accommodation that we have at least a third political party (New Democrats) to balance the gap which might otherwise exist between the traditional front leaders (Liberals and Conservatives).  In the American context the difference between the two Parties borders on dogmatic and is trumpeted to go to the very heart of the American psyche.

At least Canadians avoid the appearance of an entirely binary world, contributing to the most extreme characterizations. More to the point Canadians do not generally see our “homeland” as the next landing ground of foreign invaders.  Granted the threat of such activity is not completely lacking in Canada but it hasn’t yet translated into overwhelming and numbing fear. Americans admittedly have the basis for such worry and it would be both arrogant and impertinent of us Canadians in the shadow of their protection to deny that entitlement and legitimacy.  What disturbs me nonetheless is that galloping fear has the effect of drawing into its wake anxieties which are unrelated and phantasmagoric.  It is human nature to recoil completely from a perceived threat but where the intellectual equivalent is to insulate oneself from any difference howsoever inoffensive the process can become unnecessarily delimiting.

The recent cry of the Republicans is to “Take back America!” as though the Democrats have contaminated the true values of America or diluted its fundamental precepts. Considering the well advertised inability of Congress to enact legislation without the Republican controlled Senate approval I fail to see how the reigning Democrats can be blamed for the putrefaction of the American ideology.  Rather the dispute reduces to nothing more than a rhetorical argument between competing sides.

Nonetheless the fact remains that many Americans harbour the undeniable belief that their “way of life” is under threat.  And I suppose it is. Whether however this is a bad thing or not is the matter for consideration.  In my own lifetime I can recall a time when Spanish was not a language of choice on an airport notice board; when climate change was not an issue; when gay marriage would never have been an option; when a black man or a woman as president of the United States of America was inconceivable; when minimum wage was not part of a political platform.  These evolutions of thought are in my opinion not a step backwards; indeed they rather improve my view of American society.

We Canadians are instinctively less astonished by these developments and in fact more often than not we are amazed at the resistance which they have encountered in American society.  Why this is so I am not certain.  I won’t for a minute pretend that we are more enlightened that our American neighbours (I also recall when the Rideau Club was closed to women and Jews). My barometer of human propriety continues to be one based upon want and danger and I can therefore only assume that Canadians are not currently threatened by similar proceedings.  There might however be a case made against the American presumption which was epitomized for so many years in its “melting pot” mentality. This effectively watered down all differences in favour of the standard of American conduct at the risk of “not fitting in”. Even though all humans – whether American or Canadian – suffer from the fear of things new and different, we all mostly acknowledge that we have more in common than otherwise; and that the most modest acquaintance will reveal our underlying similarities.  And I don’t think most of us see others as terrorists or radicals.

Meanwhile there are people who have a great deal riding on power and often that goal trumps the niceties and superficial compromises of human relations. There are people whose entire lives are committed to putting a favourable spin on something for their own purposes, not the greater achievement of society.  There are likewise people who because of evident differences feel vulnerable to their roots.  The protective spirit of anyone is not to be diminished in either its purpose or its intensity; but it means that surmounting those often instinctive reactions requires incredible sophistication.

Today – a Saturday – was a miscellany of events, a jumble of unfolding episodes.  When we awoke this morning to cool, dull skies we hadn’t an agenda planned and would likely have been just as happy to have remained so.  This was not however to be.  In typical fashion, the incremental progress of time wasn’t long in dislodging our lassitude and replacing it with something approaching vigour, at least the proverbial necessity which characteristically prompts invention.  Specifically we were in need of some household provisions.  Our innate sense of responsibility moved us to contemplate action.

I had in the meantime emailed an acquaintance and invited her to share a coffee and a natter later in the afternoon so the two tentative plans potentially collided unless we got ourselves into gear before too long.  This added incentive provoked moderate urgency to the morning duties and by 10:00 o’clock we were fed and cleansed and on the road to the City.  Along the way we complicated our erstwhile unobstructed day by determining to lunch at one of our favourite Vietnamese restaurants.  I suddenly had a yearning for steamed mussels in a spicy currie sauce and a spring roll.  This transition would naturally follow the completion of our provisional task and a subsequent visit with my elderly mother.

These seeming inconsequential obligations nonetheless exact time.  Naturally we punctuated the tour with a diversion to the local car wash, a chore which attracted more significance as the clouds began to break and the sun appeared amongst them against a background of blue.  While at my mother’s place, and before we stopped for lunch, it occurred to me that we might usefully collect my sister and her husband who were due to land at the airport around 3:30 p.m.  This of course obliged me to verify whether my acquaintance intended to accept my invitation for afternoon coffee.  A quick telephone call to her confirmed not so we hardened our airport plans accordingly.

Happily for all concerned the airport reunion went off without a hitch and we were on our way home by 4:30 p.m.  The remainder of the day has whizzed by with the usual Saturday evening exigencies, appetizers, drinks and dinner. The faint strains of jazz music is all that remains.  We’ll now do our best to catch a few moments of a film on Netflix, but then it’s to bed!  The day will soon close.

A lifetime of conditioning has left me with a lingering affection for Friday. Even though there are now regularly times when I am not certain what day of the week it is, I seem always to know when it’s Friday.  Friday still marks the end of the week for me. I am accustomed to noting that regular business traffic thins out by midday on Friday and there is always an air of agreeable anticipation about Friday. People frequently seem preoccupied with matters other than those of commerce on Friday as though they’re privately orchestrating plans for personal hedonism which obviously trumps the profit incentive. I similarly persist in making social arrangements for the weekend even when commitment during the week is otherwise more convenient.  This in turn fuels further excitement about Friday, the beginning of a holiday of sorts, a departure from the norm and an occasion for modest celebration. This afternoon for example we capitalized upon the tradition by persuading ourselves to buy a box of homemade donuts.  After all, it’s the weekend!

Though Saturday is clearly the weekend, nonetheless Friday has always epitomized the pinnacle of release from the chains of duty, the opportunity to put down the trowel and indulge oneself in the pleasures for which we’ve purportedly worked so hard. Friday of course has the further advantage of being on the cusp of the weekend celebration, uncontaminated by the prospect of a sober, religious Sunday which inevitably heralds the return to vassalage and the corresponding diminution of verve.

So revered is it that I would normally not contemplate arranging a business appointment on a Friday except if preceded by apology for its necessity. It’s a cherished custom, Friday! Instinctively I defer to Friday as a time of probable abandonment of the throttle by the working stiffs of whatever elevation within the corporate structure. One would not for example be alarmed to learn that a proprietor was absent on a Friday. By the same token Friday is a good time to address matters which are not of a pressing business nature, perhaps a friendly natter, an afternoon drive in the country for a cup of coffee or some silly shopping with a crony at one of the discount stores. If one proposes to play hooky from work, Friday is as good a day as any to do it so the opportunity for confabulation abounds!  Indeed it might be considered egregiously indiscreet to have made a business appointment on a Friday as it is universally certain to collide with a happier later arrangement frequently stimulated by eager and hitherto unforeseen spontaneity.  Friday invites a degree of frivolity!

Whatever one’s current situation the bald truth is that most of the world is in a state of temporary dormancy by late Friday afternoon.  Small wonder Friday succeeds to overwhelm society as a whole.  It is but an additional reminder that the bulk of the masses haven’t the privilege of ambiguity when it comes to Friday.  The adherence to this hallowed custom is a cultural observance not merely a condescension.

While it was fashion and its evident quality that prompted me to buy the hat, I especially like that “Canada” is written all over the product.  We Canadians haven’t often that kind of renown to proclaim.  Being a Canadian company does not of course guarantee that the product is in fact made in Canada, but in the case of the Raffia 11 hat which I purchased today it was apparently manufactured by an experienced and respected 3rd-generation hatter “right here in Canada”.

This medium brim fedora has a lower crown profile, and is trimmed with a brown leather hatband. Made from our Madagascar raffia, this hat has been ‘tea-stained’ to a rich tone that highlights the texture of the raffia.

I have owned about three hats in my entire life.  Two of them were for Fall or Winter wear.  The third was a baseball hat which I bought more for the colour (canary yellow) and hardly ever sport. My Tilley hat is for summer wear; and considering the current rage to avoid direct sunlight, combined with the fact that we hope to winter on Hilton Head Island for the remainder of our days, I expect to get some use of it.

Hats, perhaps more than any other article of apparel, are decidedly geared to a particular age group and often a particular niche within that group.  The fedora is a traditional look best suited for the “mature” gentleman.  The fedora, successor to the similar-looking “homburg” style, was for example associated with gangsters in the Prohibition but it fell out of favour due to a shift towards more informal clothing styles. It was however later popularized by Harrison Ford as the film character Indiana Jones in the Steven Spielberg thrillers.  My personal association with the straw hat is that of someone like the French impressionist painter Claude Monet:

It would normally be too grand to wear a hat like that of Monet but the straw or raffia (a long-leaf plant from Madagascar) lends itself to more modest employment and almost certainly its utilitarian feature will trump any social context. It is undeniable that as I age  and ferment the attraction of once quaint accessories is on the rise. If nothing else, protuberant bellies and sagging muscles require accommodation if one’s appearance is to survive the transition of time.  I am determined to do what I can under the circumstances and not to be defeated in that goal!  Barring exercise and plastic surgery, sartorial dalliance seems the least disturbing of the alternatives.  It may have promoted my interest in this particular hat that we lunched at Gad’s Hill Pub in the Village of Merrickville today.  We enjoyed a very satisfactory lunch of tea, soup and sandwich. These small details matter!

No matter that one has quit his law practice for retirement, the scope of the initial retainer may continue to haunt the lawyer for years afterwards.  I know this from personal experience because more than once I have been “consulted” by a former client regarding work I performed many years ago. Fortunately for me the enquiries have to date been restricted to information gathering and general reminiscence as opposed to allegations of professional negligence.   Nonetheless it is common knowledge that no practitioner is above error and the perpetual possibility of discovery is one which lingers long after one has doffed one’s gown.

The Lawyers’ Professional Indemnity Company (which insures all Ontario lawyers for a mandatory minimum amount and also insures many others for “excess” errors and omissions insurance) provides a standard “run-off” amount of coverage for no charge after the lawyer has retired.  It is of course possible to enlarge the coverage amount for a price.  In spite of this safety net no lawyer likes to think that he or she has failed a client.  It is however imperative that the retired lawyer recall that he or she is no longer capable of practicing law (since there is no mandatory minimum insurance other than the run-off insurance which only applies to matters arising after retirement). As such the retired lawyer must be careful not to opine or to have the appearance of opining on a matter of consideration which may have recently arisen.  This is so even were the lawyer particularly anxious to assist the client (or should I say, the former client) in the resolution of their trouble.  The danger is two-fold:  1.) of primary importance, the advice given may be inadequate or incomplete; and, 2.) of secondary importance, the lawyer’s seeming desire to assist the client may be an indirect and even unconscious attempt to deflect liability which might lawfully exist.  While there is certainly shame in having short-changed a client initially, it is an even greater embarrassment and disgrace to thwart what might be the client’s lawful remedies to perfect the abuse.  In plain terms, car accidents are never a picnic but at least there might be insurance and damages which may be collected as compensation.

When it comes to pointing fingers no one can pretend to relish being on the receiving end.  It is clearly uncomfortable for any professional to make an admission of even the chance of error; but the failure to put the interests of the client first does nothing but compound the anxiety.  This is by any standard a tall order and not one to which most would leap.  Nonetheless it is on the balance the lesser of two evils.  Besides one must remind oneself that professionals have errors and omissions insurance for a reason.

As favourably disposed as any well-intentioned lawyer may be to assist his former client, one must further recall that in law there is not a right for every wrong.  It has long ago be established that a claim to be successful must be “actionable”; that is, it must have a foundation in law, generally either case law (precedent) or statutory (legislated law).  This I can assure you is a point upon which insurance defence Counsel are bound to adhere tenaciously notwithstanding any sympathies of their lawyer-client to the contrary. There may be special situations which admit to the implementation of what historically were called the Rules of Equity, namely the general principles of “justice” which are considered to trump even the letter of the law.  This latter vernacular is particularly prevalent in the arena of so-called “natural” law which sustains such principles as freedom of speech, the right to be heard, procedural fairness and so on but it normally constitutes an esoteric thesis upon which most claims are not upheld.

Quite apart from the bona fides of the client’s claim, the duration of the professional retainer is itself subject to some limitation based on the doctrine of laches (delay); namely, the failure to prosecute a claim within a reasonable or stipulated time.  Fortunately for the claimant a body of jurisprudence and case law has grown up surrounding this particular issue and it is generally conceded that the limitation period (whatever it may be) only begins to run from the time the claim was either discovered or discoverable.  This for example affords adequate protection of the title to one’s property if it is not sold for a very long time after it is purchased (and presumably the offending error were not discovered until then).  Where however the error becomes apparent through some other means and nothing is done to prosecute the claim for compensation, the clock may work against the claimant if he dawdles.

For the past year following the sale of our house and my office building I have prided myself upon relief from the exigencies of property management.  That reprieve ended today.  Because of a leaking toilet at my elderly mother’s house, I met with a plumber there to oversee its repair.  I insisted that while the plumber was there he examine the other two bathrooms in the house and any other plumbing features throughout the house, including the kitchen sink and the laundry facilities in the basement.  His examination disclosed that the sinks in all three bathrooms are corroding underneath (pointedly invisible from casual superficial views).  He also discovered that there was a dripping joint in a pipe connecting to the hot water tank and that the cement laundry tub is cracked in several places.

Not only does this catapult my mother into an entirely unanticipated realm, it also forces me back into property management.  The harder sell however is convincing my mother that after fifty years the original fixtures of her then newly constructed house are becoming dilapidated.  If ever there were an example of being overtaken by the imperceptible progression of time, this is it!  Add to that stark recognition the further dimension of fashion – the tourquoise, pink and yellow sinks are now hopelessly dated – and the effort of persuading my mother becomes decidedly uphill. My mother, who is about eight weeks from turning 89 years of age, is adamant that her colour choices made a half-century ago are sustainable.  I have attempted to correct her view by pointing out that a perfect match between the sinks and the other fixtures will be highly unlikely but she rebuffed my initial protestations.

Happily my mother’s opening gambit appears to have altered as she reconsiders the matter on her own time.  She has begun to embrace the logic of not throwing money away on a colour scheme which, as a matter of resale alone, will probably be unattractive.  As a result I have been instructed to redirect the plumber to abandon the search for colour matches for the existing sinks and instead provide samples of replacement sink and toilet fixtures. This will naturally entail consideration of new taps (though we have agreed to abandon the thought of replacing the tubs at this point).  It may be that the replacement of the toilet tanks entails repainting of the anterior walls, but that is a demand which will simply have to be met if and when encountered.

Part of my disenchantment with my mother’s original reticence to consider these changes springs from what I know to be the characteristic intransigence of my parents to champion any need for maintenance at all.  Apart from very limited decorating my parents have never undertaken much in the way of maintenance of their house.  They were people who for most of their lives lived in accommodations provided by Her Majesty.  Even on foreign postings, my father confined his own capital improvements to gardening.  The matters relating to hardware and structures were entirely ignored in anything they have rented or have since owned.  Now however the admission is inescapable and its weight is falling hard upon my mother’s unsuspecting shoulders.  I am certainly doing nothing to cushion the blow as I have always secretly harboured a disdain for my father’s erstwhile “duct tape and binder twine” remedies which he succeeded to force upon my mother through nothing more than bloody mindedness.  I have also had some personal experiences in management of my own former properties which encourage the taking of fresh and significant steps rather than makeshift ones.  I am familiar with the resale process and can safely predict that market preferences do not currently include turquoise sinks and toilets.

Note:  The digestion of this overwhelming amount of information has not been easy for either me or my mother.  After tossing and turning in my sleep I rose from my lair and composed an email to the plumber asking him to outline the matters of pressing need or urgency, advising that I wished to review it in further detail with my mother before encouraging her to take any step in particular.  Notwithstanding that the fixtures were installed when the house was built in 1966 they may still be useable without maintenance or replacement.  In any event the speed at which this has all unfolded is making things uncomfortable so I am seeking ways to slow things down if for no other reason than to permit my mother to absorb it all and make a decisions with which she feels comfortable.  The additional background matter of concern is that we mustn’t avoid doing anything which will contaminate a possible subsequent insurance claim in the event of a loss.

Nobody likes computer problems though we’ve all had them.  What makes them so exasperating is that one hasn’t a clue what’s causing the problems.  It could be the computing device, the “server” (whatever that is), the “network” (another mystery), the WiFi modem or even the weather!  And don’t think of mentioning the “Settings” (which have about as much appeal as reading the manual before operating your new car).

If one is driven by circumstances to decipher the problem on one’s own (because for some reason you haven’t access to “tech support” or you’d prefer not to struggle with a foreigner for whom English is his or her third language), then the resolution lies in some characterless experimentation which is designed to eliminate possible sources of the problem.  This campaign of course only takes place after one has effectively got on one’s horse and ridden off in all directions, the standard unprincipled effort to “do this and that to see if it works” which usually it doesn’t.

Anyone with the slightest appreciation of computer problems knows that the starting point is a re-boot of the offending device; namely, turn off the entire system (not just re-start it) and wait for an ample length of time (the VooDoo magical duration customarily extends no less than three minutes), then turn it back on again to see if anything has changed.  Usually not.  From this strategic maneuver the next point of departure is to shut down one’s WiFi modem, again being certain to unplug the power source and wait a recommended 10 minutes (as though electricity from your house somehow drains at a donkey’s pace unlike normal electricity in the rest of the world).  At this level of quack doctoring, there may be improvement but it certainly isn’t guaranteed and one is reminded that this less than scientific process of analysis is nothing more glamorous than hit-and-miss.

Having exhausted the mindless guesses at what is wrong, now begins the real work of elimination.  If one is robust it entails a Reset of the computing device.  This scheme is an attempt to return the device to its uncontaminated original state.  If undertaken the Reset necessitates re-loading the personal account information which may be part of the problem.  Once again however there is no assurance that this prolonged eradication will resolve the issue.

At this stage of sleuthing it becomes necessary to adopt an entirely new game plan.  In what has now become desperation you reverse what you were doing, turn it on its head. Instead of looking for what doesn’t work, it’s time to verify what does work.  Oddly enough this too is part of the process of elimination. If for example the suspected problem is one which would be expected to affect all of one’s devices, then it is imperative to check whether it does.  If not, then you can isolate the one device to which it is appurtenant.  This still does not plainly focus on the problem but it may succeed to eliminate what were considered possible related problems. The next step is to particularize the issue on the offending device.  This means that the health of any similar functions must be investigated piece-meal, one at a time.  Hopefully this will expose the nucleus of the problem.  Even then however the certainty is lacking.

Only when one has painfully gone through each of these tiresome procedures does one finally resort to Google which I hasten to add is where one should have begun in the first place.  The ploy is no more complicated than this:  Ask Google if there is a problem with XYZ.  You will likely be astounded to discover that your problem is not unique; indeed you are probably in surprisingly good company and you will therefore ascertain that the problem you are having is pervasive for the device in general and yours in particular. Only then will you face the unhappy (though oddly alleviating) conclusion that a.) things don’t happen quickly; and, b.) you’ll just have to wait until the Universe corrects itself because all your fussing, complaining, jigging, stewing, vitriol and phillipics are but a waste of time and energy.  It is not just you who has the problem; everybody does!  As I say, the realization is nonetheless soothing as it distracts the anomaly from oneself to a system and there is always comfort in the faceless object of scorn.

In the end the answer to your problem – like the answer to so many others in life – is to wait it out.  All your manipulation and interference is but a dust storm of activity.

Within the past four weeks following our return from Hilton Head Island I have met with my hairdresser, lawyer, dentist, eye doctor and physician.  This morning I capped it all with a visit to the blood laboratory for some routine testing.  The overriding commitment at this time of year is however Canada Revenue Agency for the annual trek to the shrine with one’s tithe.  This latter obligation is a nagging annoyance and one filled with perpetual speculation until the impenetrable accountant makes the final determination.  Meanwhile we’re in limbo awaiting advice.  Considering that our affairs are planned upwards of a year in advance the intelligence upon current obligations is not without its import.  I won’t pretend that we have so carefully gauged our expenditures that we can cast fate to the wind.  A current milestone would distinctly assist in the calculation of our plans. Nonetheless it doesn’t help to become impatient.  The plight of accountants at this time of year to work seven days a week leaves little if any room for accommodation of zealous clients;  we must wait in line for pronouncement of our sentence.

I have added to the mix a consultation with a retailer regarding the fabrication of a much-desired bauble, a project which has been brewing for months.  I won’t diminish the ambition as mere frippery as it carries particular weight with me.  The word “symbol” or “hallmark” is closer to the truth, more than a metaphor.  Because I am having it custom-made it perhaps substitutes for what historically qualified as an insignia or escutcheon, the inherited badge or emblem of a clan or family.  Any association with such membership would for me amount to pretence, an out-dated affectation more suited to people who insist upon wearing a kilt at least once a year.  Instead I have latched onto this tribute to my imagined position in society as a modest mark of my cultivation and achievement.  It is however ostentatious enough to qualify as singular and mildly amusing from any perspective.  And if the truth be known I draw especial satisfaction from material such as this, the precious metal gold.

My final concession to the importance of branding was to order new lenses for a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses I discovered by accident in a store on Hilton Head Island.  The model has been around for many years and I would have thought it had been abandoned, but apparently not so.

The so-called underbelly of humanity – that dark, seamy and often vulnerable side – is not exactly topical though for anyone who has lived with another for any length of time the realties hardly constitute confessions of the first order. Rather those unspoken truths are at best the camouflaged details of our genetic makeup.  The way some people characterize themselves you’d think they hadn’t any bodily functions at all and that the human strain is but a contamination of their ethereal nature!

The blunt inner contemplations which occasionally percolate to the surface are generally not matters we’re anxious to publicize.  Very often the admission is preceded by the declamation, “I couldn’t possibly say that!” which is to say, “I damn well wish I could!”  Nonetheless most of us rein it in and muzzle the garrulousness at least for the time being though later it may unwittingly seep into casual conversation.

While it excites the imagination to speculate that each of us harbours an undisclosed secret, that conjecture is best reserved to the script writers of a James Bond movie series.  Witnessing the antics of a baby or visiting a decrepit family member in the hospital pretty much insures we’ve glimpsed all there is to see of a personal nature.  As for more exotic disclosure – jewel heists or even petty crime – the most one can hope for is a published version written from a gaol cell.  Unless there is some commercial advantage to its unveiling it isn’t likely to be prompted by the gratification of public purification.

The more probable vernacular for hidden agenda and disguised sentiment is everyday communication and interaction.  Driven by both conventional social etiquette and expediency we avoid the complications and extenuations of truthfulness and revelation.  Customary repartee is an intricate web of petty lies.  One must be quick-witted to discern and interpret the many nuances which characterize these exchanges.  It frequently forces the point to insist upon an open admission of intent as though we’re unsatisfied with the strength of our logical conclusion.  It further begs the question, “Who do you think you’re kidding?” Deceit requires extraordinary skill and few if any of us are a match for its exigencies.  In the result we’re likely to succeed only to fool ourselves but no one else.

The value of discretion as a governor of hysterical outbursts is however not to be diminished. There are alternate avenues along which the truth will out.  It isn’t always the harshness of its delivery which supplements its content though there can certainly be rhetorical advantage.  But unless you’re intent upon making a scene there are other ways of telling it like it is.  Who hasn’t yearned to speak their mind from time to time?  The introduction of the candid material must include a confirmation of its personal importance. Mere rude and withering observations do not count.  So far as I am aware not even animals derive any pleasure from such gratuitous behaviour. But an honest rendition of one’s boundaries and intentions is a benefit to all parties. If we spent more time directing our attention to what we wanted to say than what we wanted to hide, we’d probably alleviate life’s perpetual struggles. Obfuscation is by definition bewildering.

Oddly the last person to whom we’d care to admit the secret details of ourselves is us!  The particulars may involve things we’ve done and things that have been done to us. Often we’re unprepared to admit to them because of a sense of regret or embarrassment.  To deal with those matters we may prefer instead to spend a lifetime of ignorance or dedicated to dilution of their import.  Equally strange about these private admissions is that their greatest alarm is to us not others.  We can however derive comfort from knowing that none of us is spared the rigour of this unvoiced knowledge.  In fact it would probably surprise us to discover that others have similar experiences under wraps.

My sensitivity to the advantages of living in Mississippi Mills is fortunately not sparked by deprivation (“You don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone!“). Nor did I have a sudden revelation about what I had formerly taken for granted. I have always known that Mississippi Mills is a terrific place to live.  Sometimes however it doesn’t hurt to reiterate the reasons.  Here are a few of my own.  No doubt you will have others you wish to add to the list.  For brevity (and not to diminish their importance) I have listed a hodgepodge of services and facilities below without amplification.  The background to the particularity is our stunning river views, charming architecture, surrounding farmlands and bucolic winding roads.  And did I mention the people?  Everyone whom I know here is dedicated to our community and feels as enthusiastic as I do about the place.  We’re a singular lot and proud of it!

.  The Almonte General Hospital

I suspect I am in good company on this one.  This primary choice illustrates not only the logical tact of choosing the most critical example (protection of one’s health) but also the infinite desirability of having such an extraordinarily up-to-date facility and superlative management, staff and volunteers in our small community.

.  Restaurants

One is never at a loss to choose a restaurant in Town for casual or fine dining. For many of us the destination is within walking distance which makes for a delightful outing on a sunny day or temperate evening. We have the choice of waterfront dining, home-cooked meals, specialty foods, fast foods and renowned concoctions.

.  Trades and Professionals

There is no need to leave Town in search of trades or professional advice, those whose job requires special education, training or skill.  There is ample choice of qualified building contractors, carpenters, electricians, heating specialists, masons, painters, plumbers; accountants, architects, auctioneers, bankers, beauticians, chiropractors, computer technicians, consultants, dentists, doctors, farmers, financial advisors, firemen, first responders, funeral directors, graphic designers, hair stylists, health care professionals, horticulturalists, insurance agents, inventors, journalists, landscapers, lawyers, life coaches, massage therapists, mechanics, music teachers, nursing aids, paramedics, photographers, puppeteers, real estate agents, real estate developers, science writer, surveyors, veterinarians, among others.

.  The Fair Grounds & North Lanark Agricultural Hall

Whether the occasion is the Highland Games, Bus Fusion, Flea Market, swimming, boat races, Truck and Tractor Pull, Car Toot Bingo or end-of-summer fair, this riparian public venue attracts everyone at one time or another. In addition “the Agricultural Hall (built in 1869) is used for family parties, weddings/receptions, horticultural judging schools, exhibitions, card games, fund-raising events, pipe band practices etc., as well as housing all the exhibits at the annual agricultural fair. There is 6,000 sq.ft. of space, perfect for your event.”  It is our very own Village Green.

.  Banks & Financial Advisors

Two of Canada’s chartered banks provide top service to the community, including daily banking, chequing and savings accounts, investments, mortgages and loans, conversion to and from foreign funds and international banking and credit arrangements, even specialty wiring exigencies.  And if weighing your money is your favourite pass-time there are those to help you keep and augment it, people dedicated to improving your portfolio and managing your finances.

.  The Arts

Our local artistic community is exceptional, no other word for it!  We are blessed to have among our number highly accomplished local artisans, designers and artists who enjoy national and international renown, some of whose artifacts also adorn the fashionable galleries of Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver and further abroad.

 .  Recreation

Apart from school athletics there are opportunities for baseball, basketball, bicycling, curling, golf, hockey, hunting, lawn bowling, skiing, snowmobiling, snow shoeing, soccer and tennis.  Many facilities are specifically designated and others are of general utility.  Skate-boarding is in the works.

.  Retail

Once one has determined to buy locally, whether as a convenience or in deference to our business proprietors, there is seldom need to leave Town.  At our very doorstep are antiquarians, art gallery dealers, bakers, bicycle repairers, building suppliers, butchers, Christmas tree farmers, clothiers, coffee shopkeepers, coin sellers and traders, consigners, dry cleaners, feed and seed vendors, footwear sellers, flower merchants, framing specialists, furniture dealers, gift sellers, grocery stores, hardware stores, ice cream parlours, jewellers, maple products, musical instruments, pharmacies, printing, rentals, service stations, specialty goods, street vendors and upholsterers.

.  The Old Town Hall

 .  Bed & Breakfast & Inns

 .  Museums

.  Five-Span Bridge

 .  Charities and Support Groups

.  Religious Leaders & Institutions

.  Library

.  Teachers & Schools

.  Service & Fraternal Clubs

.  Golf Clubs

.  The Millstone News