It would be inaccurate to say that the holiday is over. Although Canada Day (yesterday) spluttered to a necessary though unforeseen dénouement amidst the thunder and torrential rain, today is only Thursday, enabling a convenient mooring to Friday and the upcoming weekend. My suspicion is that many people have grasped onto this first week of July as a timely occasion to undertake a vacation. The heat wave so nicely identifies the cherished season in the Northern Hemisphere from June to August.

But commerce is not completely muted. I am comfortably seated in the showroom of Reid Bros Motor Sales in Arnprior. It’s nine o’clock in the morning. I’ve been here since 7:30 am, the first to arrive. I’m awaiting installation of a replacement module for WiFi; plus routine maintenance at 24,000 Kms. The Service Agent and I comically agreed – after momentary reflection – that an oil change is not required for my fully electric vehicle.

Years ago when waiting for mechanical service, I would have insisted upon a “loaner”. In fairness I was offered one this morning. Now however I have the  unhurried privilege to await completion. Comparing a 2-hour wait with getting a loaner is in my circumstance no contest (it takes me 40 minutes to get from here to home). Besides, the attentiveness invokes an air of productivity in spite of my languishing appearance.

By contrast many Canadians will measure their performance in the upcoming summer months by the leisure nature of their exploits. It is well accepted that between the middle of Canada and the Atlantic and Pacific oceans on either side of the continent there will be palpable movement. Unless one is bound by the exigencies of children or employment, these summer months are not considered the most opportune time to holiday if escape from the crowds means anything. We have accordingly set our sights upon the Gaspé in mid-September. Even then the bookings require planning, perhaps reflecting the growing retirement population.

Doing something, anything, has become an overt challenge when imperilled by immobility. The imperative is to remain seated. This in turn has confined my options to reading, writing, tricycling and driving. Sunbathing is a thing of the past. I avoid reflective surfaces and nonchalant exposure. It is my fortune to be satisfied with those operative restrictions.

This languorous period is blandly devoted to relishing the oppressive stillness. Midday at the car wash the environment was suddenly overtaken by tiny clouds of milkweed, teardrop-shaped seeds attached to thick, silky white floss that drifted beautifully on the wind. I was reminded of a similar scene from the film Amarcord a 1973 comedy-drama directed by Federico Fellini, a semi-autobiographical tale about Titta, an adolescent boy growing up among an eccentric cast of characters in the village of Borgo San Giuliano (situated near the ancient walls of Rimini) in 1930s Fascist Italy.

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I particularly like your closing image. The connection between the drifting milkweed and Amarcord gives the essay a gentle cinematic ending rather than a merely descriptive one. It leaves the reader with exactly the sort of reflective aftertaste that has become a hallmark of your journal entries.