After a spluttering start on April 2nd – and the subsequent cancellation of the opening ceremony and rebooking – the Mississippi Golf Club officially unbuckled today April 12th, a blustery Friday. In anticipation of the event we had invited my erstwhile physician to join us for breakfast in the club house but he reluctantly advised he was scheduled to be in surgery. Undeterred we pursued our springtime provocation though admittedly this morning with a fraction of hesitancy given the intemperate conditions.  We were nonetheless elated upon driving over the hill on Wilson Street in the Village of Appleton along the Mississippi River towards the golf club to see that the parking lot was agreeably congested.

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There is within me a long-standing urban bias which irresistibly and oft times voraciously compels me to honour traffic, not so much the vehicular kind as the figurative urbanity of life, the busyness of the streets, the flourishes to and from the theatre, the concert, the art galleries, the market, the offices and the retail stores. The suavity and worldliness of the urban citizens sometimes collide with the breeding and mannerliness of their rustic cousins but there is undeniably an atmosphere of exhilaration on the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue and the commotion surrounding Bergdorf Goodman and the Plaza Hotel.

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Through the screened balcony door wafts the carnivorous aroma of a barbecue. Likely it is from the corner unit below. Overnight their seasonal patio furniture has materialized. It has taken but one day of climbing temps and azure skies reflected in the river to invoke the broadband summer tradition. Coincidentally this morning we spoke with Chef Wendy MacDonald at the Mississippi Golf Club. The latest intelligence is that the clubhouse opens for business on Friday. We have accordingly booked our inaugural outing though regrettably sans Mr. Bones who is bound for duty in the Operating Room.

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Several weeks ago I ordered a mariner’s cap, similar to the traditional Greek fishmonger’s woollen cap with a small shiny black brim, dark blue navy colour, iconic gold anchor front and centre, black woven braid about the bottom edge and some knotted gold cord for decoration. It arrived (after clearing Customs and paying a small fee) in good order. It would have been fine if it had fit properly; but it didn’t. It was too big. My fault.  At least at first I thought it was. Instead of measuring with a string or tape as suggested by the retailer (who by the way is in Sweden), I opted to use the same broad measurement encrypted on the other hats I already own (in this case XL). Turns out in retrospect, after having (out of curiosity) today measured the circumference of my head with a tape measurer, the belated conclusion is the same as I drew initially from examination of my other hats (XL).  So even if I had measured as instructed I would have chosen the same broad measurement, the wrong one. And while you might be excused for imagining that that is today’s lesson – namely, don’t bother to read the instructions – it actually isn’t. The real lesson is that on-line shopping continues to have its insurmountable perils in spite of its efforts at efficiency. By the way I also should add that the measurement table was identical on another hat site in New York City.  So the error wasn’t just a blip.

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For the most part I would say I can tolerate alleged social indiscretions especially those deriving from or directed to what I consider either superfluous or pretentious conduct. For example, referring to a new adult acquaintance by first name; or, sitting down before the guests are seated at table; or, sampling a plate of community hors d’oeuvres before inviting others to do so. That sort of thing, basically nothing that is damaging if at all except as exotically recognized by some quaint book of etiquette. At most the penalty for such misbehaviour is the collective remorse of others, perhaps an ingredient of sorrowful pouting; or at worse an unexpressed regret for lack of breeding.

People who ridicule etiquette as a mass of trivial and arbitrary conventions, “extremely troublesome to those who practise them and insupportable to everybody else,” seem to forget the long, slow progress of social intercourse in the upward climb of man from the primeval state.

Etiquette in Society (1922) by Emily Post

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The first time I went grocery shopping I was 21 years old.  I recall it distinctly because it was not something I had done before. Until then, apart from investigating Belgium chocoates at Holt Renfrew, I had escaped the peril of larder provision by having lived either at home, in a boarding school during prep school or in a men’s residence while persuing undergraduate studies. After that however things changed. When I got to law school in Halifax, Nova Scotia I lived on Seymour Street in Domus Legis while attending my first year of studies.  I shared a room with George Horan. There was a common kitchen located at the end of the hallway for use by us and the other two residents (who had individual rooms). Significantly there was no Great Hall nearby for meals.  Instead a grocery store on Spring Garden Road was close by the basement pub we frequented in the Lord Nelson Hotel.

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Though I am pressed to recount in any detail what I may have done today, it is a credit to the achievement that I am left feeling overall so wholesome. Perhaps it was that I succumbed – initially at least – to some improving restraint.  Stoicism is, as I am certain you know, a favourable activity, so inspiring, so motivating.

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As unfathomable as it sounds it is possible to miss seeing something even when it’s right before your eyes.  Unwittingly – and shamefully – we can allow the most extraordinary event pass before us, seemingly sight unseen. The devil in the mix is not lack of intellect or educational ignorance; the sadder and greater truth is prompted by far less pitiful credentials. By a preponderance of images which we have created for ourselves (and often for those around us) we have succeeded to eclipse much of the brightness and allure of what we should have otherwise been instantly aware. We have to a degree inadvertently blinded ourselves.

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Today is the 4th of April, 2024. It is a period to which I would normally attribute flowery thoughts of springtime and the wistful advent of summer. However we’re presently having to abide a minor snow storm. I doubt the snow or the storm will last much longer because the Weather App on my iPhone 15 indicates that within the next two hours the temperature will climb above freezing and the sky will begin to clear. An abstract view of North America indicates that we’re on the edge of a vast storm throughout the northeast surrounding Boston, Toronto, Montréal, Québec City and New Brunswick. From three o’clock today the weather forecast is temperate. I venture to say that today marks the last we’ll see of winter this season. I specifically mention three o’clock today because I have a long-awaited appointment with my trusted optometrist in Carleton Place at 3:15 pm. In addition to having my eyes tested I’m planning to get my Shuron Ronwinne with Cable Temples (“granny” glasses) fitted with an updated prescription. This will constitute a throw-back to my past in undergraduate studies at Glendon Hall, Toronto where I was introduced to the seamless efficiency of rimless glasses and cable temples. Or it may have been at Osgoode Hall.  I don’t recall. It was a long time ago.

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Strangely the gloomy weather is not unwelcome. The caliginous atmosphere instantly popularizes woeful rainy day music and provokes the limitations which on a sunny day have already evaporated. For example there was no hesitation this morning to undertake my tricycling in the garage instead of labouring to project myself up the concrete ramp from the subterranean depth to ground level alongside the Mississippi River. In the process of expiating my athletic guilt (in a round about way, shall I say) I stopped to chat with two fellows, one of whom is only now moving into his new apartment. He is a former resident of a nearby home (which of course he adored).  Interestingly he mentioned it was only recently that he became aware of the apartment building.  I echoed his observation because this place tends to be inconspicuous. Reportedly he undertook the rental contract of the apartment sight unseen whilst wintering in Florida.

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