There is no question that the upcoming USA presidential election (the 60th quadrennial) on Tuesday, November 5, 2024 is of incomparable interest throughout the world. Keeping in mind however that the Universe is ultimately personal, my especial interest in the election surrounds not its political platforms rather my acquaintance with Americans whom I have met throughout my life. The upcoming election is guaranteed to be a reflection upon the American people, a signal of a global agenda and an unqualified estimate of the republic and democracy. Though the election, in its broadest terms, is a contest primarily between Democrats and Republicans, or what some prefer to characterize as a contest between socialism and capitalism, government interference or freedom from government, liberal and conservative, left and right, I on the other hand think of nothing but the nature of my relationships with the Americans whom I have met.  And broadly speaking the nature of those relationships has been positive and gratifying.

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When was the last time you left home?  I mean not just for dinner or a vacation; but for a prolonged time, over a long distance, with little expectation of immediate or frequent return? I’m here talking about separating yourself from family, friends and environment; not just going around the corner or moving to the countryside. I’m talking about settling somewhere entirely new and different? Maybe even a place you’ve never been before?

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When I awoke at 7 o’clock this morning – earlier than usual – I didn’t contemplate lingering any longer beneath the covers. There was business afoot today. For a start, yesterday we had formulated the decision to replace audio devices for each of us, one a set of headphones for me, the other a set of bone-conduction audio devices for my partner. This meant a drive into the city. Meanwhile we had received notification from Canada Post that I was to expect delivery today of a Camaret Cap Marin from Henri Henri in Montréal. The delivery would be the fourth I have had of the same hat from the same retailer, three of which hats had proven to be the wrong size so expectations for the final order were high. And if these collective retail diversions were not enough to preoccupy my otherwise sedentary state of mind, I was yet recovering from yesterday’s late afternoon intelligence that my new car (which I had ordered last May) was built and on its way.

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Cursing, at least in a formal manner, is to my knowledge now uncommon. As historic or consumed by fable as it may be, it is not however wholly unthinkable. It persists in the modern vernacular as a moderate expression of disfavour and hopefulness for recourse of one’s perceived violation. I acknowledge nonetheless that the strength of the vindication is limited by comparison to a full-on hex.

A curse (also called an imprecation, malediction, execration, malison, anathema, or commination) is any expressed wish that some form of adversity or misfortune will befall or attach to one or more persons, a place, or an object. In particular, “curse” may refer to such a wish or pronouncement made effective by a supernatural or spiritual power, such as a god or gods, a spirit, or a natural force, or else as a kind of spell by magic (usually black magic) or witchcraft; in the latter sense, a curse can also be called a hex or a jinx. In many belief systems, the curse itself (or accompanying ritual) is considered to have some causative force in the result. To reverse or eliminate a curse is sometimes called “removal” or “breaking”, as the spell has to be dispelled, and often requires elaborate rituals or prayers.

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We joined four longstanding comrades for breakfast this morning at the Centennial Restaurant in the Village of Pakenham. The venue was chosen as a mid-way point for us all. We two were first to arrive (having had the least far to drive) and conveniently parked immediately affront the restaurant. The two who organized the get together came from their cottage in Norway Bay. They were the second to materialize and parked further up the road. We greeted them affably as they approached on the sidewalk partially obscured in the early morning shade, one them limping and carrying a stick. The other two from Smiths Falls were the last to appear. They joined us others already seated inside at table. Once assembled we all quickly fell into animated conversation. This was catch up time. We hadn’t rallied for a while.

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Getting my cupboard in order has not been without its moments. At my advanced age clothing is nonetheless important though naturally the scope is far more limited than when younger and practicing law and doing things. The primary motive now is comfort which to me means slightly oversized, generous if you will, but certainly not tight fitting or anything resembling what an Italian would endure in the name of fashion.

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It’s a simple enough question, “Why do you get up in the morning?” Yet it is not simple to answer. The knottiness of the answer is naturally not any restraint or irresolvable impediment to do so. We all do it. Eventually. Rather it is the peculiarity and variety of answers, many of which are seemingly blunt and uninteresting or too vulgar and bawdy to bare repeating. It is nonetheless upon examination a complicated issue, one which merits at once both intellectual, poetic, philosophic and natural reply. Some reasons however tend more to the psychological vein and they can paint a very sharp or austere image of a reluctance to remove oneself from beneath the covers. One recalls for example the likes of Søren Kierkegaard, Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre, Friedrich Nietzsche, Albert Camus and the theatre of the absurd.

According to Albert Camus, the world or the human being is not in itself absurd. The concept only emerges through the juxtaposition of the two; life becomes absurd due to the incompatibility between human beings and the world they inhabit. This view constitutes one of the two interpretations of the absurd in existentialist literature. The second view, first elaborated by Søren Kierkegaard, holds that absurdity is limited to actions and choices of human beings. These are considered absurd since they issue from human freedom, undermining their foundation outside of themselves.

The absurd contrasts with the claim that “bad things don’t happen to good people”; to the world, metaphorically speaking, there is no such thing as a good person or a bad person; what happens happens, and it may just as well happen to a “good” person as to a “bad” person. Because of the world’s absurdity, anything can happen to anyone at any time and a tragic event could plummet someone into direct confrontation with the absurd.

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We were 12 at table last evening.  A dinner in the country. A dinner with old friends. Each of us had a longstanding relationship with one another. Some of the relationships literally spanned a lifetime. Certain of the relationships were romantic; others pragmatic; some professional. Others incidental. The distinguishing characteristic of blending young and old at the same table for the same meal at the same time is indeed singular in my dining experience. It is a feature characteristic to last evening’s host, one which he has oft repeated. And once again it worked! I attribute the levity of the evening and the social skills of the children to their historic involvement with adults from a young age. The contribution speaks to reciprocity (and certainly at times accommodation) but on balance it instills what is assured to be succinct, entertaining and memorable.

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We shall retire deeper into the country late this afternoon and direct ourselves along Upper Dwyer Hill Road onto McCaffrey Trail in the Village of Ashton for a festive family muster at my erstwhile physician’s country seat.  In reflective anticipation of the event during the early morning hours today there was thunder and lightening announcing the arrival of warmer air, humidity and sunny conditions to complement the foregathering. It shall no doubt include a ritual plunge and refreshment in the swimming pool in the meadow before dining.

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On a Friday before the start of a long weekend (Labour Day), it is our customary habit to remain in situ. We haven’t the urge to join the anticipated throngs on the highways or elsewhere as they traffic from one place to another. It does besides seem usefully compromising on our part to avoid adding to the circulation if we haven’t any present need to do so. Nonetheless I cannot deny the pleasure I derive from recollecting the exuberance once associated with September 1st. It always heralded an excitement as we launched into another Indian Summer and the innumerable pastimes attached to the upcoming autumnal season.

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