I don’t know about you, but most of us lead rather less than a dramatic existence. I mean to say, we’re not exactly television material or front page on People magazine. As a result, it may be measured a small compliment to denominate one’s life as routine, conveying as it does the flavour of monotony and ordinariness. There is naturally a reason for this aspersion. In its usual application routine is associated with the commonplace tasks, chores or duties as must be done regularly or at specified intervals. Such undertakings thus acquire the character of typical, everyday activity even though they may recount the accomplishment of indispensable necessities of life. But routine is not always linked to such unexciting though obligatory responsibilities. Routine can represent a formula for the perfection of many duties, pedestrian or no. Importantly, routine is associated by many to the performance of those duties which are for whatever reason especially dear to their heart. Consequently the adherents to routine value the enactment of those dedicated activities very highly and any unorthodoxy is thought intolerable, even – in cases of mindless celerity especially – a capitulation, an admission of mediocrity and lowliness for example. The tedious sometimes lumbering fulfillment of a traditional duty is mandatory and equally moral though perhaps colourless in the eyes of some thinkers.

It is a mistake to assume that those who are seemingly bound by humdrum and predictable behaviour are in some sense creepy. It was for example no less than the German philosopher Emmanuel Kant whose habits were so notoriously regular that the villagers set their clocks by his comings and goings (at least that is until he fell in love and subsequently whispered, “All I have written is false” but that must be an allowable distortion). On the balance one has be alert not to confound the unexciting outward appearance of a person with the inner depth and passion of his or her thoughts. There are instances where diversity of activity is sacrificed to the preferred intrigue of introspective discovery and steadfast avocation.

For dedicated athletes routine is second-nature and without it their skill and development would correspondingly suffer. The encouragement to follow such an unchanging sequence is captured in Nike’s trademark slogan “Just Do It!” which is hardly a catchphrase to be daring. It is instead a strategy to overcome idle contemplation, a manifesto of empowerment (and one which by the way vaulted Nike’s share of the domestic sport-shoe market from 18% to 43% from 1988 to 1998).

In the less glamorous everyday business environment, routine is paradoxically very often the code of conduct which heightens the quality of production and safeguards that the much desired particulars and specifications are not inadvertently or – even worse – negligently unheeded. Routine is after all that sound course of behaviour which flattens the blips and hiccups of life by securing the barque of adventure to the steadfast moorings of tried and proven reason. It is easy to be persuaded in a vacuum of experience to deviate from the safe harbours of intellectual and commercial regulation. That is what routine is in the end all about, regulation – rules, guidelines and directives.

Yet in spite of the tributes which attend the recital of routine activities, there persistently remains the underlying pollutant that routine is either for the pusillanimous or the ill-informed. Routine just never had a good name, being about as blunt an exhibition as an ox in yoke. Creativity, on the other hand, inevitably trumps the erstwhile dull and foreseeable plot that is routine and seems the perfect contradiction to habitual behaviour. This however involves a misunderstanding of the two carriages. Creativity is by definition unique and distinct from existing models of performance. Routine on the other hand is the distilled result of what has not infrequently been years in the making. The seemingly uninteresting routine does not come about without previous effort.

Routine is not a tool for discovery (as more imaginative and hot-blooded agencies may be) but rather a prescription for success.

Given the unforeseen turbulence of life generally, having a routine is most certainly a precaution. Granted, its sometimes tedious nature rather compels one to abhor the apparent lack of flavour and dynamism which we might ideally wish for ourselves, yet the precaution embedded in routine comportment contains recognizable efficiency.

Hoi polloi (Greek: οἱ πολλοί, hoi polloi, “the many”), a Greek expression meaning “the many” or, in the strictest sense, “the majority”, is used in English to refer to the working class, commoners, the masses or common people in a derogatory sense. Synonyms for hoi polloi which also express the same or similar contempt for such people include “the great unwashed”, “the plebeians” or “plebs”, “the rabble”, “riff-raff“, “the herd”, “the proles” and “peons” (“Wikipedia”). You’ll grant that the connotation of the term hoi polloi is common knowledge. What, however, I derive of particular reputation from this etymology is the admittedly narrow point that it is held by some redundant to say “the hoi polloi” for I understand that “hoi” is the definite article. Others however take the view that “…once established in English, expressions such as hoi polloi are treated as a fixed unit and are subject to the rules and conventions of English (Oxford)”. Amusingly hoi polloi is sometimes used incorrectly to mean “upper class”, likely a confusion that arose by association with the similar-sounding but otherwise unrelated expression “hoity-toity” (itself from the now obsolete “hoit” meaning to indulge in riotous mirth, perhaps later connected with “haughty”, pretentiously self-important, pompous).

Whichever term is applied, there is an element of scorn attached to either hoi polloi or hoity-toity. This polar similarity captures what is in the result called snobbery. Seen from either perspective, the hoi polloi and the hoity-toity are regarded with disdain, the masses for their apparent lack of culture, the bourgeoisie for their imitation of aristocracy. In either case snobbery stigmatises a class to which one does not belong.

Snobbery figures prominently in more than one Hollywood film and British novel. It is the fodder of fashion and social codes. When one “class” (itself a derogatory term) is set against another, the fireworks begin. The difference of the classes is frequently the toxin for advancement of relationships, whether it is between male and female, same–sex couples, young and old, rich or poor (and very often a mixture of all the above). Dichotomy is the root of discovery when it comes to interactions (consider Wodehouse’s heroes trying to marry chorus girls). It is recurrently characterized as a “power struggle”. Less kindly it is said that snobbery is a defensive expression of social insecurity. For example William Hazlitt observed in a culture where deference to class was accepted as a positive and unifying principle, “Fashion is gentility running away from vulgarity and afraid of being overtaken by it”, adding subversively, “It is a sign the two things are not very far apart.” Snobbery is less about acknowledging the superiority of others than about aping them.

With the rise of the middle class (wherein a third of the most well-off, high status people consider themselves to be working class), the utility of distinguishing oneself by language, schooling and your shopping bag doesn’t go far to make anyone better than another. The ubiquity of “knock-off” clothing, watches and jewellery makes the dedication even less persuasive. It is even becoming more fashionable to avoid the very trademarks of superiority which once identified the snob – over-sized automobiles, monster houses, bling, etc. Hollywood has once again led the charge by the adoption of what is now considered environmentally friendly materialism.

Nonetheless history suggests that snobbery is not about to die, it is remarkably durable. It continues to insinuate itself into the body of our society. The gentlemen of cricket, a world of butlers and sherry is not lost on the professional sportsmen who now get paid to imitate them: “Ideas travel upwards, manners downwards (Bulwer-Lytton).” George Orwell: “I suppose there is no place in the world where snobbery is quite so ever-present or where it is cultivated in such refined and subtle forms as in an English public school. Here at least one cannot say that English ‘education’ fails to do its job. You forget your Latin and Greek within a few months of leaving school — I studied Greek for eight or ten years, and now, at thirty-three, I cannot even repeat the Greek alphabet — but your snobbishness, unless you persistently root it out like the bindweed it is, sticks by you till your grave.”

Yet as much as the British are wont to appropriate snobbery to themselves, the animated delineation between one class and another is not reserved to them alone. Snobbery is after all little more than a pretension with regard to one’s own tastes, whatever they may be, rather than a yearning to associate with those of higher social status. Our singular preferences inevitably drive us to condescend to those with different tastes.

Lately I have privately lamented that the typical education of our children does not include what I call “life’s lessons”, that is, those ordinary pronouncements which go beyond the drudgery of specific disciplines and which are directed instead to the general and perhaps less dazzling deportment of one’s daily affairs. When formal education is over, after high-school and university (after the endorsement of one’s thesis for a Master’s Degree or Doctorate), the unsuspecting young adult is thrown into the heartless forum of commerce and retail, perfidious “real life”. On the heels of what is commonly the deprivation of youth and the fiction of scholarship (during which reality is temporarily suspended), one is subsequently served up endless choices many of which are motivated by postponed craving. This enthusiasm needs to be curbed by informed intelligence. Recognizably we are a consumptive society and the unchecked submission to its urges is an inevitable malignancy.

Recently I read with interest that Justin Bieber (the Canadian pop musician, actor and singer-songwriter) is promoting a debit card for young people. At first blush this seems both maverick and unwise. Pointedly however he noted that whether you earn $100 per year or $100M per year, if you spend more than you make, you’re broke. This axiomatic intelligence is intoxicating. It is both blunt and obvious but that is what is needed. Mr. Bieber went on to confide to his faithful youthful audience that one has to save a little, spend a little. Again, this is the evident caution but nonetheless sage advice that was so lacking when I was growing up. I know that Mr. Bieber is undoubtedly paid handsomely by SmartCard for his endorsement but I think it is worth every dollar.

As much as I might prefer to think that any wisdom I have assimilated over the years is the product of my own inventiveness, the sad fact remains that I am the last person to appropriate such celebrity. Admittedly it is only by stark realisation that I have any claim whatsoever to the probity of life’s lessons. Now with the benefit of age, experience and repeated mistakes, the proven truths by which to conduct one’s life literally scream at me. For example, I am unceasingly impressed by those who adopt a candid approach to life. This may seem to trivialize the posture, but candidness is anything but inconsequential. The ability to see the pores and poisons of life is no small accolade; and the inclination and resolution to express them is an even greater tribute.

Recognizing the rigidity of life is very much a part of the adjustment to its exigencies, everlasting concepts such as supply and demand. Nonetheless such uninspiring notions, as important as they are to a theory of economics, have been dismissed as the painful elaboration of the obvious. Retailing such mundane truths especially to young people who believe their frontiers are endless is an up-hill battle. It is equally monotonous to market the counsel that indulgence in superfluity, while temporarily satisfying, is destined to the same garbage heap of irrelevance as any other vanity.

Blazing ostentation is not something peculiar only to the former Roman emperors. The difference is they frequently had the wherewithal to support such vulgarity. It is however a derivative lesson that behaving like an emperor is the surest way to procure your early demise. Children need to be taught that having the fastest, the biggest, the best and the most are not useful paradigms by which to live. Such instruction however goes entirely against the grain of society. Modesty is hardly a popular commodity and it is more often than not equated with deficiency.

The balancing of one’s resources includes of course one’s physical resources. Movements in the United States against obesity are long overdue. Children must be warned against plundering their personal capital of health without which naturally all else is lost.

I am aware that many of life’s lessons come off as negative and for that reason alone are less than appetizing. Yet all of us know that if we had been more studied in our approach to living we could have spared ourselves a great deal of trouble. This leaves me wondering why in the world we haven’t any courses in our schools which tackle life’s lessons. Granted it is not easy to formulate instruction on the mere topic of living but I can’t but think it would be worth the effort.

Anyone who weighs in upon the delicate subject of children must do so, while not with trepidation, at least with some badge of authority and certainly with discretion. The matter is a highly sensitive one, reflecting as it does so emphatically upon the authors of the cause. Being as I am an inveterate bachelor it may surprise you to learn that I adjudge myself an authority upon the subject of children particularly in the context of their relationship with their parents. While I say this tongue-in-cheek, there is nonetheless more than a particle of truth in it. Many of my friends do of course have children and as a result I have an inevitable acquaintance with what goes on between them. The parent-child relationship is made all the more poignant for me because I have not lived with my parents since the age of thirteen when I was sent to boarding school (my parents were 3,000 miles away and I visited them twice a year, Christmas and summer holidays); and thereafter it was University residence, followed by a fraternity at law school, then a Don at Devonshire House, University of Toronto. Having had this sizeable and uninterrupted detachment from my own parents undoubtedly prompted my keen interest and curiosity in the parent-child relationships which I regularly observe. I suspect too that the standard business of what I call “psychical distance” (that is, the characteristic of being removed from the centre of the action) enables me to see more clearly the reigning features of association between parent and child.

By way of introduction to this heady and highly complex topic, first let me say unequivocally that having children is to my mind an unimaginable and inescapable reality. I say this not by way of disparagement but rather as testimony to the decisive rank of the subject. There are many challenges in life which one can either safely or cleverly ignore, disguise, side-line or hide. Children are not one of them. Nothing so categorically assures the removal of any sheen of luxury or other deception from one’s life as the presence of children. Aside from the obvious physical connection (the fact that children can stay at home for a very long time), the spiritual and emotional ties which insinuate the relationship are not to be diminished. I suspect a parent never really surrenders his or her concern for one’s child even in later life. Children are as well in a perpetual state of want, food, clothing, shelter, money and naturally the latest technological devices. It isn’t long before the chirp for a tricycle becomes the howl for a car.

The standard of conduct between parent and child has unmistakably modified over the past four decades (when my friends began to marry and have families). Initially the British model of hands-off association was customary, the spin-off of the days when nannies tended to the needs of the little ones. Metaphorically the relationship between parent and child was essentially laissez-faire subject to the often unspoken rules of the house. As an illustration, it was rare at that earlier time to see fathers embrace their children, particularly their sons; and the lack of physical contact was reciprocated in kind by the children. Distance was the preferred and mandatory default. We have since progressed to a more touchy-feely era likely prompted by the public display of affection now so common on the sports field, that former bastion of jock-ness.

Where the going gets really hard-hitting for parents is when the child reaches the late teens. This is when the parent has all the disadvantages of child rearing and none of the advantages. No longer do the children wish to be with their parents, preferring instead to cavort with other youngsters whom the parents invariably consider to be a bad influence (and whom the child considers to be a more reliable source of acumen and solace). The child may as a result be suspected of dabbling in stimulating beverages or nefarious combustibles, and may even take the liberty of staying out all night or longer without explanation or apology. Communication is at a halt. It is at this juncture that the parent seriously considers cutting the kid off or throwing him out of the house altogether or both. Any hope the parent might once have had for the success of the child in life is finally dashed. It is however at a juncture such as this that it is expedient – nay indeed mandatory – to recall that most of us earned our wings by doing more than hanging about the nest. As well the distended view of the world reminds us that one way or another mankind evolves in spite of the superficial shortcomings of the very people who represent our future as a species.

At times spats surface which suggest that a father prefers his daughter to his son. This is not an uncommon occurrence, but there is a reason. Like it or not, the prejudice towards the dominance of the male prevails. This is a two-pronged fork particularly with the educated male. In what are considered “higher” classes of society, diligence and industry are greatly valued; whereas in so-called “lower” classes conformity and adjustment are the favoured posture. The late teens are a time when the son has little inclination towards industry or conformity, the lack of which predisposition triggers in the mind of the father an immediate confrontation. The daughter by comparison has not yet espoused the need for such independence (though it will naturally follow in time). As I have so often counseled my distressed parental friends on similar occasions, it is far too late to do anything but capitulate. Harkening back to my personal experience, I am convinced that by the time a child reaches the age of thirteen he or she is virtually beyond anything but instruction by example. To imagine the parent has power to mold the child is a fraud.

I want to emphasize by contrast that I do not sanction a parent’s complete disregard for the child’s well-being. The inability to govern a child’s behaviour does not mean that the parent hasn’t valuable wisdom to share with the child. The trick is to distinguish between obligatory sanctions and meaningful advice. Anything that begins with “When I was your age…” is quite incorrect. What I believe is required is an acceptance of the child’s behaviour and then an examination of the ramifications of it, whether the enquiry is directed to the choice of friends, the selection of a course of study or a proposed financial decision. Removing the parent’s involvement from being delimiting to the more expansive arena of dialogue should allow the child to enhance his or her own conclusions in addition to relieving the parent of any concerns about not helping his child.

It has been said that the most frightening realization of a child is that he or she may become just like his or her parents. Until that awakening occurs, the parent does well to concede the obverse that “what’s bred in the bone will out in the flesh” (Robertson Davies). The similarity between parent and child is far more than a possibility; rather it is to be expected. It is for this reason for example that grandparents are so fond of the quirks of their grandchildren; a generation has been skipped and there are others to blame.

Whatever the outcome of a parent-child relationship it is certain to be singular. Both parties to the relationship have to learn to accept the limitations of the other. There is no perfect kid any more than there is a perfect parent. For someone like I on the outside of it all, there is a great deal of hand-wringing and apprehension associated with the parent-child relationship. The dichotomous nature of the relationship perpetuates the inherent qualities of the parties. If either party chooses to jump ship the ensuing voyage may be other than first class.

In spite of full-length hopes and earnest and conscientious exertion, historically it is assured you’ll not get through the day without one set-back or another. Just when you think you’ve succeeded aligning the factious elements of life, something comes along to scotch it. Such predictable calamity fuels mercurial elevations, guaranteeing not eternal happiness but persistent instability. It’s a rock-ribbed road, life.

Approaching perturbation philosophically is all very well, but my experience is that it is a persuasion reserved for hindsight only and does little to tranquillize current agitation. Nonetheless we continue to indulge ourselves in the perceived luxury of potency howsoever ephemeral, and however likely it is a deception. Some might argue that to do otherwise effectively marries us to the prospect of inevitable ruin, hardly the makings of a spring in one’s step. It seems though that the condition humaine is guided rather by general optimism than by pervasive gloom. And no matter the regular gutters of despair, we day by day prosecute an undying struggle towards irrepressible felicity.

Not so long ago it was reckoned the domain of eternal happiness was confined to spiritual life after death; to imagine that such euphoria was attainable whilst our corporeal existence yet prevailed was incongruous at best, not to mention the overriding submission to ultimate loss. But thinking has changed. Many are not about to abandon the possibility of elation before the end of the world as we now know it. As such we daily divert ourselves along the path of this one-way street with countless undertakings, relationships, purchases and general satisfaction of our desires. The melancholic truth is that even those diversions are unsustainable in the end, so it becomes a matter of delay only.

Having said that, there is some strength in acknowledging the futility of it all if for no other reason than that it encourages us to get the most out of it while we can. To the dedicated hedonist this is a licence to steal, with about the same consequences unless one’s zestfulness is diluted by the further concept that true pleasure rises above being completely bent upon personal demolition. There is after all a difference between going up to the trough and getting into it.

The real imbalance of life is that we are perpetually doomed to disappointment. Having a good day now and again is more the exception than the rule, and all that business about some rain having to fall into everyone’s life just doesn’t make it for me. So the unavoidable conclusion is that eternal happiness is either a myth or not something we mortals will ever achieve. As an arm-chair thinker I would be reluctant to retail the possibility of eternal happiness to anyone whom I considered a friend. Reluctantly I am instead bound to trot out the usual theses of expecting problems, seeing difficulties as opportunity to open new doors, to accept one’s fate and so on. Oh, and if you do by chance have an especially good day, relish it!

It is effortful not to tilt one’s head and smile when arresting one’s eyes upon the freshly scrubbed and beaming face of an innocent child. Likewise the fresh face of a young and especially attractive person can have the same magnetic affect. Nature loves a winner and when it comes to winning, good looks are no booby prize. For those of us past youthfulness and who as a result prefer to avoid reflective surfaces, it can be one of life’s unexpected rewards to discover the bounty of the cosmos expressed in the sanguine features of vitality characteristic of a young and winsome person. Beauty has such an inescapable authenticity. It is virtually impossible to divert one’s eyes from it. It is a priceless commodity for whose arena there is no charge of admission.

Thankfully for us all the quality of the treasure we adore is different. Not everyone’s view of beauty is considered ideal. What for one person is captivating is for another not so. Certainly there are those whose appearance is so universally artistic and profoundly meritorious that most would not deny it being a thing of beauty. More often than not the appeal is the balance and harmony with nature, though always subjective. Nonetheless there have been attempts throughout history to establish a classic look interestingly involving mathematical dimensions such as symmetry and proportion. It is also believed that the model of beauty oddly derives from the “averageness” of one’s features, the less likely one’s appearance is markedly different from the sum of the total.

The word beauty evolved from the Greek word meaning “hour”, the implication being that beauty is aligned with the ripeness of one’s age, which nicely captures the beauty that can be found in both a baby and an elegant octogenarian. Be that as it may, I find that elegance does not compete with the verve of a fresh face. To pollute the idea of outer beauty with the necessity of inner beauty is in my opinion equivalent to retailing the product in a new package.

A fresh face can come at a cost. When the bloom is gone, the flower is cast aside. For some who have been lucky enough to be endowed with visual appeal, the loss of it through misfortune or attrition can precipitate unwelcome consequences. The loss of beauty and its collateral advantages of personal attraction can unleash devastating results if the person has not acquired other skills of association and social interaction. Even when not dissolved, beauty presents a standard of comparison which can invite enmity and lead to discontentment.

Inevitably even the fresh face becomes common-place. The analysis of time always points to the defects of nature. Time, no matter how little of it may have expired, is an exhausting fuel, one which leaves its own less flattering patina instead. Much of the draw of a fresh face is its mere novelty. How quickly we become heedless of contemporary beauty! Yet no sooner does one fresh face fail to attract than another passes by. Nature is generous in its provision of moments of beauty.

It was a lost cause! There was no way in the world that Rebecca was going to fit into that dress, even if it were the only one she owned of any worth. The fact is, Rebecca Sample hadn’t worn a dress for so many years that it was no wonder it didn’t fit. The last time Rebecca had worn a dress (indeed the same one she was now trying to get into) was about ten years ago or more when she had been invited to Judge Newton’s retirement party, along with all his sophisticated and influential local friends and the other people who had ever worked for the Newtons. Rebecca had been their cleaning lady, that preposterous and obsequious expression used to describe someone who cleans toilet bowls. Anyway, she didn’t care what people called her (within reason), and she certainly never made the mistake of confusing herself with a lady in spite of the nomenclature. What was she to do! She had to have a dress for the luncheon at the Château Laurier Hotel in two weeks time. Rebecca had never been to the Château Laurier Hotel, though of course she had seen it on the occasional visit she had made to the City from the country to do some shopping (which expedition inevitably ended with an empty basket, she just couldn’t bring herself to pay those prices). Once, she had contemplated using the ladies’ room in the Château Laurier Hotel in an emergency situation, but her natural shyness prevailed, and she chose instead the more public (and more distastefully maintained) washroom in the By Ward Market. She could recall the stench even to this day!
Several weeks ago, Peggy Doyle had called to invite Rebecca to join her and two other former girl friends (Margie Blatchford and Heather Morris) for lunch at the Château Laurier Hotel on a Monday afternoon. Peggy was one of the few people among the tiny populace of Burnstown Village where all the girls had lived who had succeeded in distinguishing herself, other than by getting married before twenty-two years of age and having children within a year thereafter. Peggy, who had come from the same modest family background as the other girls, had the one thing the others didn’t have in abundance – brains. While Rebecca had her feet solidly enough on the ground to avoid confusing honest work with shallowness or inadequacy, she nonetheless also recognized that Peggy Doyle had done a lot to advance herself through University to become a qualified professional (she did something in the financial sector, that was all Rebecca knew or cared to know for that matter). Whatever it was that Peggy did, Rebecca knew it wasn’t cleaning other people’s toilets.

Peggy, it might usefully be observed, had the same respect for Rebecca and the other girls, though of course for other reasons. Peggy had an eye for what is commonly called the salt of the earth, and she wasn’t ashamed or hesitant to admit it, though she fully suspected that the girls would be surprised to learn of her high regard. Margie worked as a Clerk in the Becker’s store in the Village, and Heather worked as a Manager in a nearby Giant Tiger store. All of them, except Rebecca, were married. Marriage just never appealed to Rebecca, and she had yet to meet anyone who interested her enough to steal her away from her favourite pass-time of canoeing, which in the winter was replaced with snow shoeing. Rebecca was distinctly the out-of-doors element of the crew. This also explained why Rebecca had nothing to wear to the Château Laurier Hotel. Her private industry and solitary life merited little requirement for the more effeminate accouterments. She had got along quite well with only blue jeans and flannel and denim shirts.

As Rebecca contemplated her predicament, her mind wandered to a consideration of what had prompted Peggy, after all these years, to call the former girl friends together. True, they had been stuck to one another like glue in high-school, but that relationship had quickly dwindled upon graduation. Actually, Margie never graduated; she left two years earlier than the others, forced by necessity into the work force. Oddly, neither had any one of the girls been to the wedding of the others. By strange coincidence, each of them had decided to have a very small and intimate wedding, and Peggy’s was even in Barbados, which would have been out of the question for the others to attend in any event. Peggy had married “up” or “well” as some like to say. In spite of this, the girls were such close and true friends that they maintained equal affection for one another even after all the years had passed; and, more significantly, they retained their genuine curiosity to know what and how each of them was doing. Conversation was never lacking among these four, no matter what the interval of correspondence between them! Still, Rebecca couldn’t figure why Peggy had orchestrated this reunion. Was she going through a divorce and feeling the loss of companionship? Was she becoming sentimental for her rural roots? Did she just want to show off her urban and professional status? Was she just being a friend? Whatever it was, Peggy hadn’t betrayed her purpose. When Peggy had telephoned each of her girl friends, she almost jokingly teased them about the motivation behind the call, simply saying they “would see soon enough”.

As so often happens when ancient friends have not seen one another for a long time, there is an inclination to want to present a favourable impression of oneself when the acquaintance is renewed. Of course, for any who consider the point for but a moment know, the impression is quickly forgotten and replaced with the depth of knowledge which the other friends already have of you, so in that sense the effort is entirely wasted. But, still, there is that tendency. It did, however, perturb Rebecca that she should be obliged to spend some of that money which she was always so reluctant to part with upon an adventure which might, at the most, last no more than three hours. Rebecca was not the type to derive any particular thrill from making an entrance. First, she was too self-effacing for that, and besides her practical nature mitigated against anything as obviously superfluous as looking pretty for the sake of it. And yet, she didn’t want to disappoint Peggy, nor the others for that matter.

Not to be ruined by the dilemma, Rebecca intently canvassed her options for getting a new dress (even though it burned her up that she might never use it again). Among her immediate thoughts were, not surprisingly, the discount clothing stores, but Rebecca felt that anything she might get at those emporia was likely to be identifiably discounted goods. As much as Rebecca did not spend her money on clothes, her proximity to women with money (whose homes she cleaned) had educated her eye to what was good and what was bad in the women’s fashion industry. Rebecca never failed to open the closet doors in the bedroom on the pretext of cleaning the tops of the doors, to examine surreptitiously and often wistfully the contents. Besides, Rebecca found she enjoyed the wafts of perfume which frequently flowed from the racks of clothing, a smell quite different from the antiseptic cleaners she employed to fulfill her duties. Rebecca knew of several stores in the City where she could search to find something within her budget, but she knew that a good deal of her reluctance to do so was not just the expected high price of the goods, but also the whole process of doing what she considered to be foreign to her. Rebecca was not a shopper by any stretch of the imagination, and she certainly didn’t appreciate the prospect of being mollycoddled by some matronly shopkeeper who would invariably seek to impress upon her what she considered to be her superior views of fashion, as though Rebecca were, by her folksy appearance and mannerisms, obviously in need of guidance. Rebecca’s instincts told her that in matters such as these one had to be able to stand one’s ground to avoid complete capitulation. As a result, the regular commercial options did not appeal to Rebecca. There was, however, one further option which only came to her mind as an after-thought, and that was her recollection of a store in the Village which had recently opened. The store sold vintage clothing (which Rebecca thought was a significant departure from used clothing). While Rebecca had never been compelled for any reason to examine the items which had been displayed in the window, even her cursory sight of them as she passed on the street informed her that the articles were of good quality, some in truth being virtually brand new and never used but once or twice.

The time before the reunion passed quickly. Unbeknownst to the other girls, each of them was doing her very best to make the event memorable, which is to say that each of them was working hard to prepare herself for what promised to be a remarkable and unprecedented outing at the Château Laurier Hotel, putting her best foot forward. Without disclosing to one another what they planned to wear, or even hinting that the subject was of a pressing nature, the three girls in Burnstown Village arranged to travel together to the City on the appointed day. There was no need to take separate cars, and besides they could catch up with one another along the way.

On the other side of the proverbial coin, Peggy Doyle was busy making her own arrangements, the least of which was booking a table for the four ladies at Wilfrid’s dining room. Peggy could hardly contain herself in anticipation of the event! Never before had she done anything like this (nor decidedly would she ever do so again), and it was all she could do to restrain herself in the weeks and days leading up to the affair. Peggy’s husband, Jamie, who imagined that he knew all about the arrangements, saw his petite wife positively elevated off the floor for the entire time.

The Doyle household had been in an unusually excitable state for the past eight weeks, when Peggy had first learned that she had won the lottery. But having once decided that she wanted to share part of the winnings with her erstwhile girl friends, the level of excitement was raised to a feverish pitch. For most husbands, the prospect of parting with even a tenth of such a windfall would have precipitated more than a little consternation in the family. But Jamie Doyle was hardly in need of the money, he had enough of his own. Fortunately for the integrity of Peggy’s plans, her girl friends were unaware that Peggy had had such luck. Though the win had been dutifully reported in the media, everything which appeared was under Peggy’s married name, which of course appeared as Margaret Doyle, thus putting even further distance between herself and her small-town roots. Neither Rebecca nor the others would ever have thought to check the newspapers or the internet (which they never used anyway) for such intelligence. Such good fortune was thought to be unimaginable. And Peggy had been out of the vicinity of Burnstown Village far too long to have remained important to any others.One would think that the business of writing a cheque to someone would not present much of a problem. However, considering the amount of the cheque which Peggy proposed to give to each of her three girl friends, her financial and legal advisors had told her to be cautious. Quite apart from the simple act of depositing money to someone’s account, the more important corollary was what was to become of the money once deposited. The legal issues were somewhat less thorny for Rebecca, who was not married and therefore had no exposure to a traditional spousal claim (and seemingly there were no “partner” claims in the wings); however, for the other two girls, the possibility of the money being traced to a matrimonial home distinctly contaminated and compromised the independence of the fund. Peggy did not want her girl friends to suffer the indignity of having kept their own windfall for a mere short time only. Peggy, as a financier herself, well knew the statistics on windfall gains and the many sticky fingers which often attached to it, much less the very real possibility of having the money dribble through one’s fingers like water for a myriad of other reasons. In her debate with her advisors on the many issues surrounding the gifts, Peggy had canvassed such esoteric considerations as the establishment of a trust for each of the girls, the imposition of restrictive divestment provisions, and the possible inclusion of the bequests in her own last Will & Testament. As so often happens in matters such as these, the ultimate resolution took more time than expected, but within two days of the scheduled luncheon, Peggy had brought the matter to conclusion and the desirable legal mechanisms were in place. Now it only remained to bide her time until Monday next at 12:30 p.m. when she anticipated meeting her girl friends at the Château Laurier Hotel for luncheon.
When the day of the luncheon finally came, it was a brilliantly sunny day, highlighting the glistening new copper roof additions to the Hotel. The doormen appeared in long, dark coats and blazing brass buttons. The nearby sight of the grand structures on Parliament Hill added to the formality of the experience and the fairy-like nature of the buildings. When the girls from Burnstown Village arrived beaming at the front of the Hotel, they were so overwhelmed by the day and the attentiveness of the staff that they permitted themselves the indulgence of valet parking (though it must be owned that Rebecca, who sat in the back seat, considered it an unnecessary extravagance, and she had some trouble accepting that the door was held open for her). What followed – the glide through the Grand Lobby, the ecstatic greeting by Peggy at the podium outside Wilfrid’s, the luncheon, the gossip and the desserts – all that pales in comparison to the moment when Peggy slipped each of her girl friends an envelope, which she invited them to open. Words cannot begin to describe the heart palpitations and cold sweats on the brow which immediately followed thereafter. The other guests in the dining room all looked up in unison from their gilt-edged plates as the crescendo of excitement rose at the table where the four girls sat. It took the longest time, and rapid interjections from Peggy, to explain what had transpired. To the credit of the girls, it never once was asked by the beneficiaries why they were entitled to such largesse from Peggy; somehow they each knew they would have done the same for the others, given the opportunity. What, however, they didn’t ask, and didn’t know (nor did Peggy’s husband, Jamie), was that nine weeks ago to the day, Peggy had been told she had an inoperable cancer and that she had three months to live.

Having practiced law in the Province of Ontario for thirty-eight years (all but two of which have been in Almonte), I am afforded by my antiquity the privilege to provide an abstract view of the subject. I would like to share with you what upon reflection I consider to be the principles of law, those over-riding and distilled theses from which our more particular laws derive. It is a thorny question because so much of our legal system is the synthesis of many resources, religion, colonial history (including the American revolutionary experience), case law and even less identifiable sources such as our sense of fair play, our openness to change and even our view of the differences (if any) between the sexes. These fundamental principles guide not only the judiciary but also the members of society in legal interaction.

The so-called natural laws or products of the collective conscience must be accepted as peculiar to our Province because it is a gross mistake to assume that such principles are the same for every community, though obviously the Canadian vernacular is similar as a whole, but most likely quite dissimilar to the African or Asian model for example. Indeed any comparative analysis, whether of law or religion, is guaranteed to illustrate differences which at times are so startling as to erode the very foundation upon which our own beliefs are purportedly based. The reason for this is that we suddenly come face to face with the realization that our laws are not, as much as we might have wished to think, a priori (independent of experience) or universal; rather they are a posteriori, products of our culture which is why our legal principles are of limited geographic application. Howsoever these principles arise, they nonetheless exist, and for our purposes they arise from what in this Province at least is called the “Common Law” (itself a healthy republican starting point, one of which no doubt the ancient Romans would have approved). Let me add that these principles should not be confused with the constitutional division of powers and what the Americans in particular are of fond of viewing as entrenched rights.

Proportionality

The burdens imposed on the individual must not exceed what is necessary to achieve their objective. This principle nicely covers for example things like taxation, a subject which is especially dear to our hearts at this time of year.

Legal Certainty

One must define the legal entity with whom or which one is dealing, whether a natural person (including a partnership or other commercial construct such as a joint venture) or a corporation. There are no other recognized legal entities. The practical upshot of this principle is that if you are dealing with a corporation your remedies for default may be limited to what is in the account of the corporation, not that that of its principals however well-heeled.

Equal Treatment or Non-discrimination

This speaks for itself. We have long surpassed the once revolutionary legislation of the Family Law Reform Act which adopted the then entirely new concept of “equalization of assets”. It is a hot topic these days, having particular application to school bullying, variations of the meaning of marriage and even grass-roots considerations of whether girls can play on boys’ hockey teams or physically disabled athletes can compete in the able-bodied Olympics.

You Cannot Do Indirectly What You Cannot Do Directly

This principle is one which trumps a lot of otherwise clever manipulations in law. The attempt to defeat restrictions on the severance of land by granting the buyer a lease rather than a deed would be an example.

You Cannot Give What You Do Not Have

This seemingly empty assertion (much like “a bachelor is an unmarried man”) does however convey more than a mere axiom or self-evident truth. Particularly in the context of contracts, this principle has especial application if one party promises something which for one reason or another is out of his control (for example, guaranteeing the consent of a lender or landlord who are not parties to the contract). This principle has achieved such universal recognition that it is captured in the legal maxim “Nemo dat quod non habet“.

The Law Does Not Concern Itself With Trivialities

This is another of those maxims which is as well captured in a Latin phrase “De minimis nor curat lex“. While it might be thought that the law concerns itself with hair-splitting only, this principle prevents the parties from being consumed by relatively unimportant matters, whether spelling mistakes, obvious errors of identification, etc. This however does not relieve parties from strict compliance with statutory formalities (for example that a Will must be in writing).

Fundamental Breach

If performance is utterly substandard, the injured party is relieved from his obligations.

Substantial Performance

This is the flip-side of Fundamental Breach in that it prevents the injured party from taking unfair advantage of another whose breach occurs after a large percentage of the agreement has been performed.

Doctrine of Laches

Where there is unnecessary delay in prosecution of one’s rights or obligations the Court may decline to entertain them.

There is something to be said for having no choice in the matter. The easy targets (pardon the pun) are uniforms and the military. Rows and rows of unvarying and consistent soldiers paraded with clock-work precision having only to listen to orders and take commands, and certainly never having to worry about what to wear. Rejection of such uniformity and militaristic deportment would weaken the system. You’re either in or out; for or against. The choices are mutually exclusive. There is no room for Namby-Pamby conduct.

Beyond uniforms and the military the less persuasive arena of such blunt performance is dichotomous thinking, framing issues in terms of opposites such as yes/no, on/off, reason/passion. By way of example, if one extrapolates (another unintended pun) the discourse to bipolar behaviour the unattractiveness of opposition is instantly revealed.

There is, however, an appeal to binary thinking. It is its purity and order though lurking in the shadows is the element of hierarchy. Not so readily apparent is the component of dominance which is built-in to binary thinking, an obvious example being male/female, though it is less punishing when framed as yin/yang. Beyond the sexist environment there is also right/sinister which has its inherent ingredient of superiority, the value-laden difference between good and evil. Remember though that there can be no good without evil any more than there can be night without day. In that respect binary thinking is a device to develop language and provide a structure. We did not inherit language, we have created it.

On a clinical level the preference for binary thinking (that is, the allure of opposites) is that it facilitates resolution. From the thesis and antithesis comes the synthesis. This is the venerable tradition of dialectical thinking, though if one clings steadfastly to either/or there are no intermediate possibilities. Returning to the military vernacular for a moment, even competing battles (though designed to produce a single answer or winner) can result in a draw, a recognition that things may have to be left unreconciled and unresolved.

In the everyday world, the employment of binary thinking can allow one to withdraw from complicated personal tangles and debates. By abstracting opposite views (that is, distilling them to precise terms) the conflicts become more manageable and less obfuscated. By contrast it might be argued that the creation of such dichotomies is an attempt to avoid nuance and refinement, not to mention balance and cooperation. It is undeniable that the charm of binary thinking lies in its simplicity. On its face, at least, it eliminates a lot of discussion. Here again, however, the classification of complex information, as for example like/hate, tends to create positive and negative poles. Nonetheless, we humans are generally uncomfortable when events or ideas are unreconciled and it is expedient to harmonize our souls by discovering what is black or white. Nonetheless, the characterization of someone as evil is perhaps too unconditional because it excludes the possibility that there is some good in the person. The theoretical boundaries of words begin to collapse upon examination.

At times the use of binary opposites appears rather silly. In the Income Tax Act for example, there are references to residents and non-residents, the attempt of the draftsman of the legislation to capture the opposites. The word, however, becomes cumbersome when used in the expression “I am not a non-resident”. Such codswallop betrays the unambitious use of language. Such language is also found in expressions by which lawyers seek to avoid proscribed offence. For example, it has been said that the Courts cannot generally force someone to work; so, when a strike ensues, the application is made for a cease and desist order (which is shortened for “cease and desist from not working”). More tarradiddle!

In the end, apart from the philosophical manipulations of the subject, the frozen truth is that it is easier to handle things when they’re reduced to mutually exclusive opposites. Its avoidance of compromise compels especially motivated people to conduct their affairs with rigid accuracy where no shortfall is abided. This, of course, isn’t to say that it is easy adopting binary thinking, but it is designed to cultivate a critical division between possibilities, often resulting in the creation of a superior product. Binary thinking is the elemental machinery of thought.

In a society such as ours which places extraordinary value on measurable belongings and undertakings, it is not surprising to discover the overflowing effects of materiality and accountability upon our emotional and spiritual well-being. It is common practice for example for an automobile manufacturer to define itself by the persona of those who drive its products. The character of the driver may, however, become a mere façade rather than capturing the true personality of the driver. There are endless incongruities between the “appearance” of a car and the person who drives it though it is equally apparent that the driver is intensely in earnest to project the image that matches the car.

The alignment of value with the things we own and the things we do does not stop at cars; it goes on to include the homes in which we live, the fashions we wear, the places we dine, the resorts to which we travel, the sports in which we participate, the booze we drink, even the friends we have. If one allows oneself to be swept up in this mosaic of associations it isn’t long before one has entirely lost sight of whom one is except by such associations. So weighty is the apparent nexus between our soul and our stuff that any severance of the connection is either unimaginable or downright irrelevant. In the result we get headed in a certain direction from which there is ostensibly no deviation. Before long the hours turn into days which turn into weeks which turn into months, which then turn into years. We are effectively hooked by eternal predilections from which we imagine there is no possible extrication, rather like being addicted to some despicable drug. Regrettably these penchants which once so enchanted us and which now define our character can turn from mere tendencies or preferences to weaknesses. Thus begins the decline.

To cut one’s self loose from these established moorings is no mean task. Setting one’s self adrift without knowing where one may travel is hardly the gear of design and management. But if one has not been separated from these tangible connotations, the adventure can be less than hospitable. It is uncharted territory to head into the unknown mist motivated only by one’s own strength and imagination, without the benefit of the advertising dynasts to tell you where you’re going. It may even occur to you that you hadn’t until now ever contemplated your own naked and uncomplicated meaning in this world.

Where the commitment to self-discovery loses some of its strength is when the application is confounded by such echoes of materialism as “the good life”. Combine that convincing observation with other adages as “life is short” and you have a cocktail (perhaps literally) designed to entrench you forever in your old habits. Additionally if pressed one may have difficulty formulating an argument which trumps the value of all that you have spent a lifetime accumulating and developing. Let’s face it, the number of people who turn their back on it all and snap their fingers at it are few and far between. This is made all the more perplexing if one has effectively been living a lie. Yet while it may be easier to avoid rocking the boat, the fact remains that until you know who you are you run the very serious risk of losing your mind. I realize that may seem to overstate the case but one need only examine the frequency of stress, strain, tight muscles and indulgences of food, booze and drugs to accept that there may indeed be something wrong with this picture.

It is one of the welcome accidents of despair that when one is driven that far, the alternatives become fewer and fewer and recovery – at whatever the price – becomes the sole object. It is then that we disengage and set off on the barque of our own doing, perhaps with a wistful eye to the past but a determined view to the future. In short it is a liberating moment in time.