Propriety is an evolving manifestation. Foremost I believe it exhibits at the outset what thrives upon the tips of personality and sentimentality. In that respect it is a distillation, a fermentation of base elements. Like most social graces, propriety is never intended or expected to capture what lies beneath the surface, within one’s soul. It isn’t an investigation of one’s private affairs. It is after all a purely mechanical device, a tactical assurance of decency; it is not a reflection of depth or insight. It is however more than a theory; it is an expression not only an exemplification. Propriety establishes borders and insinuations which do as much to advance as limit behaviour.

Continue reading →

Among the many things I have enjoyed in particular throughout the preceding summer (as we adjust to our new digs in Riverfront Estate along the Mississippi River) is the ineluctable formulation of patterns of conversion and clarity. The expressions are at times as patent as the arithmetic precision of a farmer’s field; and, at other times as whimsical as the beauty of a child. The collation however is always assured to create an identity which is at once both undeniable and fanciful.

Continue reading →

For as long as I can recall, the spectacle of a misty day has forever contented me.  It is admittedly a curious – or at least unusual – recognition of favour to announce so emphatically that one enjoys a misty day. Nonetheless I do.  The first time I recall looking out a window upon a rainy, foggy day was appropriately enough in Halifax, Nova Scotia, an ocean coastal territory known for its North Atlantic gales, driving rains and floating mists which come and go in an instant propelled by the strong winds. A brilliantly sunny day afterwards was always assured following the sweep of the clouds. Significantly too in the context of this discussion is that my absent and somewhat mournful regard of the foggy atmosphere that day long ago through the water-dripped blurry window was from the kitchen on the third floor of Domus Legis where I resided in my first year of law school at Dalhousie University.

Continue reading →

Yesterday by coincidence – or perhaps it was grâce à Siri delivering music through its always perspicuous algorithms – I listened to melancholic themes by Rodgers and Hart or Ivor Novello such as “There’s a small hotel”, “I can give you the starlight!” and “We’ll gather lilacs”. I don’t know about you, but for me these a crushing numbers. They are the perfect accessory to a wistful afternoon reflection.

Continue reading →

There are those for whom the gulf between convention and corruption is one between right and wrong; for others it is merely the gap between convenience and opinion. Corruption is in many instances of society solely in the eyes of the beholder. Otherwise than its absolute degeneracy, corruption so-called may amount to no more than dissimilarity or divergence, a modification rather than an impurity of the other. Nonetheless the question whether one stands against something or comes together is in the result frequently considered the paradigm of orthodox social conduct. The issue accordingly is not one of propriety per se so much as a scheme of utility; that is, there can be no question that if we were all to behave in the identical manner we would ostensibly and perhaps axiomatically overcome any conflict or confusion of thought and performance.  Consequently same is good; difference is bad.

Continue reading →

It is now past mid-August. The heated summer days are waning. The buzz of flies has been replaced by the wistful drone of the cicada. The once burgeoning field of soy beans is a shimmering mat of child-high proportions, uniformly managed adjacent the river not unlike a seigneurial acreage. The entire aspect across the fields to the distant horizon is similarly allotted and besotted by wavering divisions of green or tawny and drifting banks of leaves atop the bulbous interceding trees. The anatomy of autumn is no doubt soon to unfold; but for today its introduction is pushed aside.

Continue reading →

It isn’t often I am quite so exuberant following a morning chow at the golf club. Today was one of those exceptions. Clinically it was my further introduction to Sir Francis Drake who it turns out was a bit of a scoundrel.  A young seaman with ambition. Not to mention an inviolate participate in the African slave trade which is historically and shockingly dismissed as somehow appropriate for Bourgeoise English and European merchant conduct (in which naturally the aristocracy willingly participated for lucrative financial reasons).

Continue reading →

Like many old people I have (sadly by some estimates) a developing history with hospitals. I prefer to view the chronology as periodization (“the science of arranging events in their order of occurrence”). Last night (rather early this morning) I added another occasion to my log of events.  This time it was a midnight visit to the Almonte General Hospital Emergency Department. Because I had lately been told by someone (perhaps my erstwhile physician) that the Emergency Department in Almonte may on occasion be closed due to unavailability of nursing staff (seemingly distinct from the availability of physicians) I telephoned ahead to ensure someone would be there. Notwithstanding that the hospital is at most only ten blocks from where I live, there was little point troubling myself to dress adequately for a midnight appearance at the Emergency Department if I were to be met by nobody.

Continue reading →

Lately I’ve been having a Death in Venice moment. To my delight I have thus learned that the derivatives now include a portrayal by the Finnish National Ballet. Interestingly too the author of the novella was reportedly intrigued by reading medical results as indicative of metaphorical alterations and enterprises of the human mind (from which observation he further concluded that without disease there is no chance of inherent relatable psychosis).

Thomas Mann’s (1875 – 1955) famous short story about the author Aschenbach and his fascination with the young Tadzio, set in Venice plagued by cholera, garnered much attention as it was published in 1912. John Neumeier’s work portrays the author as a choreographer dedicated to his art. In Venice, he unravels both a hidden side of himself as well as pure love within. The ballet, which had its world premiere in Hamburg Ballet in 2003, features music by Bach and Wagner, played both live on piano on stage and from recordings.

John Neumeier, who has headed the Hamburg Ballet for more than 50 years, is one of the world’s best known choreographers. Neumeier’s visually intriguing choreographies seen at the Finnish National Ballet in the 21st century have included Sylvia and The Seagull. When Death in Venice was last in the repertoire at the Hamburg Ballet in 2021, Finnish dancer Atte Kilpinen debuted in the role of Tadzio.

Continue reading →

With the arrival yesterday of uncommonly cool air to chill the summer’s hitherto torrid temperatures, and with the advent of predictable seasonal change accelerated (as we dolefully discovered last evening while sitting on the balcony after dinner) by the already diminishing daylight hours, dreamy Canadian thoughts of winter travel have begun to overtake the calendar.  This morning at the hospital I spoke with a nurse who gleefully informed me of a southern expedition freshly planned for January. For the moment at least it appears that predominantly important family considerations with grandchildren and grandparents persevere on the diary; viz., the customary rituals of Santa Claus and Christmas though I have to wonder just how long these fables and myths will survive upon their own potency among an increasingly learned population.  If they do at all, it speaks either to the incontrovertible value of fiction or to the digestible nature of pretence and deceit if sufficiently imbued with the threat of dread or ambivalent necessity.

Continue reading →