This morning – not atypical of almost any Sunday morning as of late – I received from my erstwhile physician an email in which he included an article preceded by the stock introduction,”I thought you would be interested in this story from The Sunday Times“. The story was entitled, “Stephen Fry: What Jeeves and PG Wodehouse taught me about life.”
The indisputable advantage of old age is the readiness to speak one’s mind. Though it is not a benefit upon which I daily linger, there are nonetheless occasions (such as that which arose today) when I lapse into the vernacular without hesitation. I am naturally grateful for the inspiration to do so arising from my acquaintance with those who stimulate such alacrity.
It’s already 10:20 pm. The day has vanished. And my head is spinning. I can hardly recollect what I have done and where I have been. Our “drop by for a quick visit” guest – who has recently moved into the apartment building and who said she’d pop around before 6:00 o’clock for a hurried chat – left approaching nine o’clock. And I can assure you it was a non-stop confab! We touched upon endless details surrounding our mutual experiences in the local legal community over the past fifty years. Her arrival here with Bruun & Bennett, Barrs. &c. in Carleton Place predates by several years my own with Galligan & Sheffield, Barrs. &c. in 1976. We are both of an age, separated by less than a month.
After a lifetime pursuit of unfulfilled (or, should I say, unrequited) yearning, I have come to realize that my problem is either greed or addiction. I do however relieve myself of the peril of rapacity because often my failure was not gluttony but appreciation. I appreciated the quality of the things I so relentlessly pursued. But that distinction, I have discovered, is a small compliment because there are many, many things in life of enviable quality, the recognition of which is possible without having to add the acquisitive feature to it – anymore than a thief must have the Crown Jewels. Some things can be admired from afar and without the possessory element.
Although he likes to talk with bravado – and frequently threatens retaliatory action if things don’t go his way – Trump, for all his faults and appearance as a schoolyard bully, has never embraced the mantle of a warmonger. I suppose the same could be said of just about any of the American presidents in the past century. What makes Trump stand out is that he not only resists the need or temptation to align himself with one side or the other of a conflict, he encourages the two sides to lay down their arms and get on with the business of improving life.
In a recent article (May 12, 2025) in The Times of London by James Marriott, the writer attacked the absorption of youth in social media and modern technology as though they were a blight upon intellectual improvement and the capacity to read and write.
Increasingly I am narrowing my focus. This is not however demonstrative of an enviable concentration. Most certainly it doesn’t represent a frolicking adventurous spirit. It is a product of aging. Whether by virtue of having already attempted all that I dare to encounter; or whether it merely reflects an acknowledgement of my growing incapacity, either way I haven’t a persuasive fervour to remove myself from my current environment. Today for example I have tripped across the North Atlantic Ocean to the Island of Madagascar, then further afield – with more evidence of French imperialism – to Mauritius in the Indian Ocean. It was all terribly exhausting.
On a spectacular day such as this – an absolutely clear blue sky with a faint breeze and 25°C, I cannot resist the need to record my buoyancy. Nor is the sprightliness the product of anything other than life’s natural ebullience. Granted, nothing has gone wrong; and I did score well on my Vita Mahjong game with Level 10 success.
For as long as I can remember I have sat at a desk – whether in prep school, undergraduate studies, law school, law office and into retirement. The nature of the desks has evolved simultaneously – from unimpressive synthetics to weathered pine to mahogany hardwood laterally adorned with brass handles and corners. Commensurately the history of desk lamps has also gradually changed – from goosenecks to candlestick lamps to Grecian urns. My drawing room leisure has always been focused on the desk which constitutes my current perspective to the world.
When we lived on Laura Crescent we had a handsome leafy tree in the front yard (I think it was a traditional maple tree, though it may have been called a Red maple). The leaves began as deep rich green with blood red tint. It had afforded progressive years of enjoyment in addition to the usual pile of autumnal leaves which greatly amused our French bulldog Munroe. During a freezing rain storm, the tree split down the middle. Our neighbour across the street kindly agreed to complete the ruin and then harboured the remnants as firewood.