Political election is all about competition.  It shouldn’t therefore surprise any one of us that what I call “debating tactics” are used on the floor of government to win the cause.  And make no mistake, the cause is winning.  Election represents not only a job but also a pension (if you’re there long enough for entitlement) and privilege (influential acquaintances, spectacular dining rooms on Parliament Hill or Capitol Hill, club membership and generally a cozy state of being). Election instantly puts the winner in a cage from which variation is lethal. This too is manifestly clear as it should be within the context of debate.  You cannot argue against your own side’s interpretation of the resolution, whether government or opposition.

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Talk about exercise!  Whew!  Early this morning as I clinically sliced and chomped my way through the first half of an English muffin greedily laden with butter and peanut butter, I hadn’t any idea of the physical trial that was to follow. Indeed afterwards, having rinsed my hands and brushed my teeth, I opted instead of tricycling to get the car washed. It was a reckoning of minutes under cover of the Spanish Moss along familiar winding pathways past the handsome horses in pasture and back home.  When at last I mounted my squeaky trike I hadn’t intended to accomplish anything more beneficial than a round about Lands End. But mischief and profit overtook me.  Soon I was sailing by Tower Beach Club.

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Among the ancients (of whom I am one) the stock market is today of exceptional gravity. Today marks the first business day following America’s imposition of extraordinary tariffs upon its primary international business partners.  Though the anticipated war of negotiations and like-minded reciprocity has yet to unfold, speaking for myself I am already resolved in my determination.

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Several years ago when wintering on Longboat Key, in the apartment we had rented there hung on the wall a painting I admired very much.  It was typical of those one sees in coastal resorts; that is, a beach chair over which swayed a large colourful umbrella. I was tempted to telephone the landlord to enquire whether I might purchase it.  But then the Covid scare arose and we were advised by the Canadian government to return home immediately.  The travel urgency trumped the artistic purpose.

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It is perhaps a corollary of the Type A personality that he or she is never fully satisfied with what is.

The Type A and Type B personality concept describes two contrasting personality types. In this hypothesis, personalities that are more competitive, highly organized, ambitious, impatient, highly aware of time management, or aggressive are labeled Type A, while more relaxed, “receptive”, less “neurotic” and “frantic” personalities are labeled Type B.

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When we’re young we haven’t longstanding designs; rather they are general in nature, guided by topical perspective rather than futuristic value. Old age rapidly dilutes that ambivalence and reduces ambition to what is colloquially called a bucket list; that is, a collection of endeavours or possessions which rightly or wrongly we have translated to be either nutritious or imperative before signing off forever. The slogan bucket list was popularized by the 2007 film of the same name directed and produced by the incomparable Rob Reiner.

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Mid-morning found me seated upon a suspended swinging armchair at Tower Beach staring directly into the sun hanging high in the sky above the glistening ocean. The soft but determined wind blew onto me from across the choppy white and blue. The ocean sparkled in a wedge to the shore from a point on the horizon. The giant sea pines and Palmetto ferns sighed. The air was rich with moisture from the wispy clouds. On the boardwalk I overheard the patter of feet of other worshippers of the sea, or the click of a bicycle being walked, as they followed the piper’s charm to the beach amidst the billows of sea air and radiant sunshine.

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Excerpt From
Michel de Montaigne
“The Essays of Montaigne — Complete.”

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Sitting on the deck in the exceptionally well made cane chairs (ample enough to accommodate quite comfortably my less than sylphlike figure), staring blankly into the warm sunlight through wispy clouds, I noticed that Braddock Cove was at low tide.  From the oyster-clad sand mounds emanated what to the uninitiated might be a moderately unpleasant odor of marsh gas; but which to me at least more resembles a divine mixture of vegetation and salt sea air. Its purity of scent proclaims its rightfulness and ancient allegiance with the sea.

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Living in a subtropical climate such as that of Hilton Head Island it is de rigueur to address pest control on a routine basis.  Today, the fourth Thursday of the month (indoors one month, outdoors the other), we were visited by Island Pest Control (which is now formally known as Massey Services with Corporate Headquarters in Orlando, Florida). Aside from completing this necessary maintenance of common household pests (termites, mosquitoes, rodents), we had the unanticipated pleasure today to meet Mark Christopher, the pest control agent who attended the property and handled the professional service commendably.

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