When I awoke this limpid Sunday morning the only thing we had planned was a late afternoon movie at the cult Bytowne Cinema, formerly called the Nelson Theatre because it is located near the intersection of Rideau and Nelson Streets.  Nelson Street has long since been blocked at Besserer Street. There is now conveniently at this deadend roundabout a little-known parking lot upon which we stumbled  and where we ended parking for the movie.  But I am getting ahead of myself.  Before we got to the theatre there were other things happening.

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I am sitting here, stone cold sober, feeling quite smug, perched at my writing desk (well actually the dining room table where I now maintain my laptop computer), listening to Domenico Scarlatti’s Keyboard Sonata in G. What makes this experience so uniquely stimulating is that the music is broadcasted wirelessly from my iPhone 6 to my Bose mini-speaker.  The quality of sound is quite unbelievable (at least for my drawing room purposes) not to mention the state of the art facility of transmitting the music and controlling the volume.  The device is compact and can easily be moved about.  It most certainly fulfills my objective to do exactly what I am doing now when we travel to South Carolina for the winter.  We have there arranged a three-bedroom house and I expect to establish an office for myself in one of those rooms where I shall keep my new Bose mini-speaker to comfort and strengthen me during my pensive writing moments.

Apart from computers (I bought my first computer a full twenty-seven years ago in February, 1987) I was never much drawn to high-tech devices.  I managed for example to avoid the “smart phone” for a long while after it hit the market, dismissing it as a toy.  Once I made the jump however I was smitten (as I was by computers generally).  I have since made an almost annual gradation to the latest model of the iPhone and it never fails to impress.

Looking back upon the insinuation of technology into my life, I confess to having been influenced by one of my friends in particular. He always had the latest gadgets (technological “accessories” as I believe they are more properly called – things like tiny contraptions for storing millions of photos).  These trinkets did not however capture my attention for the very simple reason that I fathomed no purpose for them other than amusement.  To this day I have yet to play a “game” on a computer.  The device must fulfill a purpose other than its own employment; it has to get me from here to there; I must sense that I have accomplished something productive by using it.

Lately I have been struggling with music.  My native relationship with music is through the piano.  I made the decision about five years ago to sell my Steinway.  Frankly I have never regretted the decision. My piano playing had stagnated and was no longer inspiring.  The result nonetheless was that I felt cut off from a mode of expression which I had enjoyed all my life.  While ruminating upon my loss and casting about my thoughts to try electronic keyboards I attempted to supplant my piano playing with writing and reading.  When neither of these undertakings succeeded to placate my desire I returned with a close friend to the local keyboard merchant ostensibly to show her what these keyboards could do.  My friend was  moved by the sound of the keyboards.  What she didn’t know is that I had unwittingly turned myself off the (portable) electronic keyboards when I discovered that they lacked the weight and stability of a regular piano.  I was literally rocking the instrument as I played it for her!  This entirely ruined the exploit for me.  While I may some day acquire a more solid electronic keyboard I continue to sense that these instruments will never have the physical presence of a Steinway.  As a result the ambition is defeated.

With the removal of this aspiration from my sights it was naturally easier for me to satisfy myself with the pleasures of reading and writing (though there was yet some missing element to my creative urge).  Things began to change when I returned to the Apple store in a local mall to conduct some follow-up enquiries after my recent purchase of a new iPhone 6.  While awaiting the arrival of the “Genius” – I hate that presumptuous label! – I spotted the Bose mini-speaker (“SoundLink Mini”).  In fact I didn’t really know what it was but I knew at least that I liked the look of it and I guessed it was a speaker.  The artistry of modern design is not lost on me.  I discovered I also liked its weight.  I gingerly picked it up and set it down on its charging cradle.  I moved along the display table and found myself comparing the Bose to other similar devices. I really hadn’t a clue about how the speaker worked but I imagined it was a wireless Bluetooth connection and I had had some exposure to that technology through the synching of my iPhone with my car computer (but it still baffled me more than I would now care to admit).

I abandoned the idea of purchasing the device because I hadn’t yet formulated any specific purpose for it.  As luck would have it, at a meeting of the Board of Directors of the local power corporation this week we were treated to a video put together by our President and General Manager.  The General Manager used a Bose mini-speaker during his presentation.  Of course I subsequently made enquiries about the device and was assured that it was of the highest quality and a breeze to use. When I returned to the apartment I made reference to the device and we tossed the idea back and forth though without any commitment whatsoever.  Meanwhile I did some on-line research and further massaged my inclination.

This afternoon we dipped into Best Buy store #975 in Kanata and, after some delay in getting service, were led to the shelf where the mini-speaker was stocked. A young, overweight fellow with clear eyes and rosy cheeks told me everything I needed to know about the device.  He patiently led me through the connection process between my iPhone and the mini-speaker.  I was sold! Now having set up the device I have found a way to keep in touch with music without having to produce it myself.  It may appear to be a short-sell but it accomplishes what I needed, it rounds out the jagged corners of change.  I was so reluctant to attempt to turn back the pages, to attempt to recover the thrill I once felt for piano playing.  Having this highly technical device which produces such an elegant sound is just what I was looking for!  In its most reduced terms, I can now indulge myself effortlessly in the best of music (a far cry from what I was doing when playing the piano). There is the added benefit that there are so many “apps” which provide music for free, a feature which nicely coincides with my current disposition to reverse years of profligacy.

This device joins the ranks of our latest devices which most recently include a wireless scanner, again something which is geared to useful production.  The marketing hype surrounding the latest high-tech watches has as yet escaped my attention.  The same applies to Google Glass which I find particularly preposterous (much the same way as I view those telephones which people stick in their ear).

Today went swimmingly! It was the confluence of a succession of tiny streams of beneficence upon which we were borne away unheeded.  It was providence exemplified!  The sun shone brilliantly, there wasn’t a cloud to be seen, we expiated our guilt this morning by taking a healthful bike ride, this afternoon we dipped into the Art Bank of Canada and cheerfully cultivated ourselves, a chance and happy recognizance was effected by family members without design or obligation and we have now retired to our restful digs to delight in the setting sun and the privilege of a slowly unfolding Saturday evening soothed by hors d’oeuvres, cocktails and the prospect of a satisfying home-cooked meal.

Good fortune is more than a fluke.  Recall the etymology of “serendipity”:

ORIGIN 1754: coined by Horace Walpole, suggested by The Three Princes of Serendip, the title of a fairy tale in which the heroes “were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of.”

There are so many elements which combine to effect the perfect day that it is difficult to imagine that it is not entirely an accident.  It would however destroy the magic of the sensation to deliberate at length upon the evolution of the result. It is sufficient to observe that like so many other events in life, the conclusion is a diversification of earlier adaptations.  Call it happenstance if you will though I contend it is more than mere coincidence (a subject promoted by another well-known author, Thomas Hardy, and I believe best reserved as a literary device).  It is no doubt part of the wonder of a brilliant day that we haven’t to connive or assemble anything to achieve its uninhibited manifestation.

The line between luck and brilliant discovery is never less clear than in the systematic study of the physical world:

The notion of serendipity is a common occurrence throughout the history of scientific innovation such as Alexander Fleming’s accidental discovery of penicillin in 1928 and the invention of the microwave oven by Percy Spencer in 1945.

Various thinkers discuss the role that luck can play in science. One aspect of Walpole’s original definition of serendipity, often missed in modern discussions of the word, is the need for an individual to be “sagacious” enough to link together apparently innocuous facts in order to come to a valuable conclusion. Indeed, the scientific method, and the scientists themselves, can be prepared in many other ways to harness luck and make discoveries.

By whatever process it arises, the mirth of a pleasant surprise is nonetheless gratifying. What elevates me is the rapture of the experience and perhaps my tainted maturity that the days shall come when “thou hast no pleasure in them”.  For now it is the paradox of an unexpectedly agreeable day that promotes it so favourably.  I feel a duty to luxuriate in the strength of the moment.  I confess it is my failing to wonder almost aloud when it will all end, how long it can go on before some other less appreciated event transpires to readjust the picture.  It speaks to the needless preoccupations from which we suffer to proclaim our ecstasy upon the sudden and unanticipated release from a nagging annoyance (usually some meticulous and essentially trivial detail which hardly merits anything but intellectual obsession). Yet be that as it may, we instantly discover ourselves uplifted by the formerly inconsequential blessings of nature.  All is well once again in the universe! The very planets have aligned as they should and there is seemingly nothing that can surpass the present state of improvement!

I certainly won’t be the first to whine about confrontation with blood relations. The frequency and strength of family squabbles are widespread.  I was forcefully reminded yesterday that when it comes to getting under one’s skin, there are few who have the exacerbating skill of one’s relatives. It matters not what the contest is about. The kerfuffle can for example arise from an innocuous comment jokingly directed to an aging sister to the effect that she is “over the hill”. Such an inert tease!  Yet when friction arises between relatives, whether the result of a mere scrape or a smarting cut, things deteriorate with uncommon swiftness.

Assuming the parties end by flying apart from one another (accompanied normally by huffs and puffs, maybe even some tears, occasionally door slamming and easily some rich language) what invariably ensues in private is a combination of oaths about what we  intend never to do again and general misery and misgiving prompted by the unhappy event. As angry as we may be, we haven’t the privilege to abandon or ignore those to whom we are related.

This lugubrious after-the-fact reflection must of course bring with it a comparison of the family brawl to a dispute with a non-related person. And while it may oddly be easier and more convenient to condemn with unfettered reservation the conduct of the family member, the argument is doomed to splutter as we reconstruct the drama. Because we are so close to one another we are unwittingly armed with far more intelligence about what it is that drives another member of our clan to react so unfavourably, a fact which effectively acts as a buffer. For example we are subconsciously alerted to the background dilemmas in the upbringing of the other’s children; or the on-going battle between the relative and his or her spouse; or office stress or moving accommodations.  The mitigating context is as thick as the sarcasm we’re anxious to pile upon their heads; and the one cancels the other.  In the end we’re left with nothing but piteous remorse and our minds are redirected to an inauspicious scheme to extricate ourselves from the mess.  Suddenly all the blame and condemnation is without fire-power.  One can only hope that in the heat of the initial argument social propriety was maintained and that we haven’t conveyed sentiments which are irrevocable.

There is a lot of talk these days about anger management.  When I considered applying that terminology to myself in the context of a family disagreement I found the description off-putting.  I was appalled to think that what I considered to be legitimate objections were lumped into the undistinguished category of irritation.  Upon further examination I realized that the business of anger management is directed to the manner of dealing with objection not the quality of the objection.   This makes the undertaking more palatable.  I prefer however to counsel forbearance rather than anger management; that is, I think it more desirable to forego the anger in the first place and concentrate on being open to the larger picture of life; viz., that difference of opinion is inevitable.  To dismiss unpleasant observation as anger is a short-sell in my opinion. It suggests an inherent weakness.

This may amount to mere semantics. Whatever the gloss that is put upon family hostility, the result is the same.  It may be better to learn to bite one’s tongue.  Besides in a family there is a hierarchy which has been afforded deference, beginning with the infallibility of parents, followed by the dominance of the first born, descending usually in order of age.  This regime is legitimized even by Biblical references.  To fly in the face of such authority is risky!

A first-class concert by the Ottawa Summer String Ensemble conducted by Mr. Donnie Deacon was held at the Ron Caron Auditorium in the Almonte Old Town Hall, 14 Bridge Street, Almonte on the evening of Saturday, September 20, 2014.  If by chance you were not alerted to the affair through the Millstone News you might consider subscribing to News and Public Notices – Mississippi Mills:

http://www.mississippimills.ca/en/News/search.aspx

As often as it has been said it bears repeating that a visit to the Ron Caron Auditorium is an event of its own.  The moment you commence the ascent of the outside stairs of the Old Town Hall you are touched by the adventure.  The flurry of notices posted at the first landing speaks to the passion of the community for the venue and is a subtle welcome to what is clearly a bustling place.  One’s further absorption into the building immediately radiates charm, beginning with the old-world ticket window.  In addition to the ticket volunteer there are others positioned at the vestibule to direct traffic.  The massive wooden hand rail on the broad staircase which leads to the upper chamber firmly establishes the tone of tradition.

At the top of the stairs one begins the social experience of the auditorium.  Yet another volunteer is there to take your ticket.  It is likely you know the person and engage in a momentary chinwag; and a quick scan into the auditorium reveals others with whom you are already anxious to confabulate.  As you insinuate yourself into the crowd and locate your preferred seating, the texture of the auditorium impresses itself upon you – the wooden floors, the commanding stage, the heavy wine-coloured curtains, the sculpted wooden ceiling, the high windows, the ornate stage pillars and wall treatments, the old-fashioned lighting fixtures and the at times whimsical paint colours.  It is impossible not to be impressed and to feel in your heart that we are blessed in this Town to have such a delightful resource quite apart from the outstanding professional talent of the artists who grace us with their presentations.

It isn’t long before an animated conversation ensues with other patrons. The topics embrace current or upcoming political events, recent travels, stories of family and friends and just general gossip.  Even if you are unable to connect with everyone whom you recognize you nonetheless satisfy your enthusiasm for camaraderie by observing who is in attendance.  You may be prompted to render a nod of acknowledgement to someone in the distance or flip a casual wave of the hand or cast a beaming smile in their direction.  Not to diminish the genuineness of the undertaking, a night at the concert is still a society outing and therefore festooned with the usual harmless innuendo.  And I don’t hesitate to immerse myself in the smugness of it all especially at the expense of my urban compatriots.  The distinction of country mouse and city mouse is never more apparent to me than upon such an occasion.

You can bet the Ivy League crowd won’t tolerate more jewellery on a man than a watch and a signet ring. Men and jewellery are considered incongruous in the more traditional circles. Yet within prescribed limits men’s jewellery portrays powerful status symbols. The signet ring for example with its engraved escutcheon is the upper middle class translation of what was once the reserve of a feudal lord to authenticate legal documents. The feudal lord being primarily an agrarian had far too robust a character to admit to literacy (an effeminate trait peculiar to the clergy and lawyers). Even the deportment of the jewellery was significant. The signet ring was normally worn upon the left pinky on the theory that the right hand was dedicated to the manly business of unencumbered hand shaking. Pocket watches (often adorned with expensive gold fobs) enjoyed the same blazing pronouncement as the bejewelled sgian-dubh of Scottish Highland dress.

In the minds of some people jewellery on men says as much about them as tattoos which is often a small compliment. The more vulgar display of large and expensive jewellery is frequently associated with disadvantaged people who have nonetheless acquired the trappings of wealth through suspected nefarious means. Even if the cost of the items inspires secret admiration, its prominent exhibition is viewed as lower class. This distortion has undergone main-stream modification at the hands of celebrities who often sport exceedingly large and preposterous watches.

The diamond ring is normally associated with the engagement of women for marriage; however it has come to be an important feature of men’s jewellery symbolizing success and wealth. In such conventional but hedonistic venues as the Empress Hotel, Victoria it is nothing to see a parade of usually elderly men sporting a diamond pinky ring. The once refined and utilitarian signet ring has made its mercantile jump to static symbolism.

As office attire has relaxed so too has the jewellery standard for men. The most common articles of fashion for men are now necklaces and bracelets. When gold was still affordable most jewellery was made of it; however, it is not uncommon to see the same pieces made of silver and even leather or other base metals which are embellished with gaudy stones or synthetic crystals. Wearing more than one necklace or bracelet at the same time has become both routine and fashionable, a habit cultivated in particular by popular musicians.

For the serious man wrist watches remain the domain of important and exclusive jewellery. Here a man can indulge in virtually limitless expense while maintaining the deceit of modesty. Additionally the complicated watches satisfy the aficionado’s appetite for mechanical intrigue not to mention the consumption spin-offs of engraving, automatic watch winders and jewellery boxes.

There is a set of men who get an honest thrill from metallic substances. For those with trained sensibilities the feel of different metals can be very appealing. Items made of platinum for example provide the indisputable reward of weight and inherent durability. The luscious appearance of 24K gold is equally moving. The buttery feel of .925 silver is likewise appealing. And because jewellery is always an accent, one mustn’t discount the combined effect of the colour of different jewellery against the skin of the wearer. Platinum though generally less sparkly than silver imparts a very rich flavour when worn against the darker skin of a Latino. The import of a clear diamond against the milky skin of a Protestant octogenarian is an indisputable statement.

While most men’s jewellery is worn about the fingers, neck or wrist there is an evolving realm of jewellery worn about the waist. The incremental return of clothes resembling the zoot suit has brought with it the featured watch chain dangling from the belt to the knee or below, then back to a side pocket. Until the complete absorption of that fashion, some men are hanging from a belt loop an expensive and highly artistic key chain manufactured for example by Mont Blanc.

Men’s jewellery formerly associated with evening dress (shirt studs and cuff links) has taken a hit because of the downgrading of formal wear generally. Meanwhile there is a culture of jewellery for men of every class and station. Inevitably there are gross distortions of what were once subtle adornments. Sometimes the evolution is clever such as the large battery-powered watches which synthesize the sweep hand of a manual automatic watch. It is hard to argue with the ingenuity of such jewellery which has a stand-alone attraction apart from its affordable price.

As with almost everything else the purchase of men’s jewellery has undergone significant change as the result of internet on-line retailing. The whimsical appeal of jewellery is quickly satisfied with a mere click. The web-based merchants have tapped into the resources of off-shore manufacturers who drastically lower the price of even once prohibitively expensive items. Niche marketing to men is common (for example the appeal of skull and bones jewellery for bikers).

Whatever the choice or cost of jewellery the fact remains that men and jewellery are all about appearances. And I think the imputation of an underlying psychological function is also warranted. The symbol portrayed by individual choices is as unique as the person who wears the jewellery.

I have dominion over my affairs.  I wear whatever I want, my shirt-tails dangling, my hair disheveled, the spectacles of my choice. I am beholden to no one. I have disengaged from the bonds of servitude, the yoke of drudgery. The promises, representations and covenants of my indenture are now those of my own doing and of my own concern.  I walk unbent by the burden of obligation.

My realm stretches before me across the hardwood floors, the six rooms of my castle in the sky, my paintings and my books, the corridor along which I tread to collect the morning mail, the underground vault where I store my black and shiny coach.  We are recluse. The view from the turret beyond is unobstructed and bucolic.  If I were so disposed I could stand upon the balcony and gaze into the distance for as long as I might wish, immersing myself in unrestrained absorption of fleeting sensibilities.  The sheers billow in the zephyr.

My industry is the management of our resources. The estate agent is our financial advisor.  When not planning the society of friends for a sail upon the River we content ourselves to lunch or dine.  I can sleep whenever I wish.  Or I might twirl my ring upon my finger and read Thomas Babington Macauley.

Occasionally a situation takes us to the City to visit the dowager mother or my sister.  On a whim we might institute an aimless ramble on the Ivy Lea Parkway or to Cedar Cove or White Lake or Burnstown for coffee and a sweet. We plot our hibernation from salt and snow and slush to free ourselves from the anticipated chalky residue and howling cold winds.  We needn’t live in dread of the coming darkness, enforced remission.  There isn’t a particle of apprehension upon the horizon.  I can bicycle everyday, any day.

Such a contented lot have I as laird of the manor!  I wonder if I mustn’t awaken from a dream.

I am ready to explode. My pent-up ambition is going nowhere. It heightens my anxiety  that I have exhausted all devices by which to put off the reckoning.

My needs are ostensibly few. Indeed my needs have never been fewer. While this is fortunate it oddly depletes my resolve. All my life I have responded to need, sometimes admittedly of my own creation. The possibility of being animated by other than need is therefore foreign to me.  I am a workhorse by nature, happiest in my yoke.

Perhaps I must redefine need.  It occurs to me for example that I should read more.  That at least has the air of civilized industry. Maybe my problem is that I only respond to need rather than behave proactively (though I haven’t a plan to save the world).  Certainly a change of tact is evocative if for no other reason than novelty.

Or has the time come to relish indolent seclusion? The allure of passivity persists.  I am rationalizing it as a challenge, fortified for example by the adage that “There is nothing harder to do than nothing” and supplemented by the fiction that I am training myself to observe.  For the time being however these philosophical renditions afford little if any modification.  In the result I am  immobilized.

How happy I would have been to retire to my book and my bottle!  But such is not to be.  Instead I must confront my sober dilemma.  I have never been diverted by television or theatre.  Mere travel for the sake of it is not within my scope.  Meanwhile I have nothing better to do than my morning bicycle ride (I can’t even sit on a beach without going for a swim) and to prepare for lunch.

The weight of my concern nonetheless commands me to reflect further. Through practice of implementation I have learned to trust my instincts.  I must allow myself at least a year before jumping ship.  I shall wait.

Although there is a difference in the meaning of councillor (from Latin “concilium” meaning “convocation, assembly”  from “con” – ‘together’ + “calare” -‘summon’) and counsellor (from Latin “consilium”  meaning “consultation or advice”), the two are nonetheless similar in that those elected to govern are called upon to give guidance and direction.  What however is singular about a councillor is that he or she is inextricably involved in the administration of laws; that is, the councillor is constrained to act upon legal authority in the conduct of his or her office.   If the issue about which a councillor is consulted is beyond the scope of governing legislation, the councillor is without jurisdiction and inevitably any assertion is without weight and therefore either irrelevant or misleading.

Setting aside the debate about how this country was wrested from the native inhabitants in the first place – whether by force or treaty – the government of Canada is founded upon The British North America Act, 1867 from which all subsequent legal authority flows.  Sections 91 and 92 outline the rights of the federal and provincial governments respectively to make laws for our country. Section 92 gives to the provincial governments power to legislate with respect to “property and civil rights”.  There have been a myriad of laws enacted by the Province of Ontario.  Many of these laws – for example, the Municipal Act and the Planning Act –  come within the purview of council for administration.  The scope of  provincial legislation is as broad as the subject of property and civil rights admits; but in every case the legislation is the governing document, the primary source of authority pursuant to which councillors act.  These laws can now be readily viewed on the internet through elaws Ontario:

http://www.e-laws.gov.on.ca/navigation?file=home

The primary legislation often includes the Regulations which are detailed refinement upon the general legislation. Other laws flow from the enactment of provincial legislation, including for example municipal zoning by-laws which in turn can be viewed at:

http://www.mississippimills.ca/en/townhall/buildingplanning.asp

The interpretation of laws is governed by rules of construction which have at times been enunciated by the Courts where a challenge was mounted to one interpretation or another.  This is generally called “judge made law” or the “common law”.  There may in limited circumstances be reference to the Interpretation Act for further advice of general application to other legislation.

An acknowledgment of the authority by which a councillor acts affects not only what constituents are entitled to do but also what councillors are expected to do. Reference to the primary source of authority (that is, the particular Act, Regulation or Zoning By-law) will direct the councillor to the determination of what the Question is before attempting to state what the Answer is.  Narrowing the focus will facilitate hitting the target.

I have difficulty reconciling myself to discount stores. Primarily the reason is that I have long harboured the view that you get what you pay for.  Even if the assertion in support of discount stores is that there is so much there which is the same quality but at a higher price somewhere else, I nonetheless cling to the further belief that people are persuaded to spend money on stuff they don’t need only because it is cheap.  I am well aware that my scruples will hardly be of any interest to or effect upon those who are dedicated regulars at discount stores.  But I’d nonetheless prefer to continue my rant.

The other objection I have to discount stores – an objection which is really just a refinement of the objection to lack of quality – is that the items being flogged are “seconds” which occasionally matters in only the smallest details but regularly means there are indeed serious imperfections which in the result make the product quite useless or so far from the intended purchase as to be much mistaken.

Many discount stores are undeniably a collection of junk.  This is not only a variation on the earlier theme of being cheap; it is a stand-alone criticism. The material is not only inexpensive but poorly made and destined to be rubbish within a short time.  We are contributing to a culture of hoarders.

Recently as a result of fires in Asian factories it has come to the attention of the North American consumer that the low priced clothing now appearing in grocery store aisles is made at considerable risk to the poorly paid workers. Additionally we are made aware that these same factories are putting our own people out of work and out of business.  Again the question is, “At what price cheap?”  Where once we may have assuaged our conscience by complimenting ourselves on satisfying our needs with humble textiles, we now see in the plainest of terms that large commercial interests are profiting on the backs of the most vulnerable members of humanity – and we’re helping them do it.  It is no accident that the names of stores on the lips of many are those belonging to the barons of today’s commerce – Walmart, Costco, Giant Tiger, Target, etc.

I acknowledge that I have the privilege to scoff at cheap goods and that there are those who of necessity cannot.  This is a hard one to contradict.  But I think it is part of a more serious erosion of our general expectations.  First, by virtue of the so-called affordable prices, we are led to expect we can have almost anything we want at a price we want.  Second, we are lulled into a state of dullness by the inherent mediocrity of what we buy.  Growing up I recall the reputation of entire countries such as Switzerland and Germany for quality goods.  To a lesser extent the Americans have encroached upon this distinction.  But for the most part it is an advantage of which few people speak these days.  The notable exception is the Japanese automobile, a peculiarity which couldn’t have been imagined fifty years ago.