With an abrupt call to attention, Monday morning began an immediate descent upon ritual hardware; that is, early rising, cold water ablutions, elemental breakfast, statutory cycle, mandatory car wash and – finally – securing a Smart Advantage checking account from BMO Harris in the United States of America. And even more substantially we successfully transferred funds from our Canadian checking account to our Canadian US$ account to our Smart Advantage checking account. The process – as preposterous as it appears – is in fact de rigueur on the global financial platform. It is no doubt a reflection of the constitutional mandate to confine the transfer of money to the legislative body of the territory to which it is transferred. This means the requirement for a direct local connection.

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One cannot ignore a vagueness, nostalgia and dreaminess – even melancholy – on a balmy sunny Sunday afternoon in the middle of July when one’s corrupted gusto is so egregiously tranquilized by lethargy and reverie. It is a singular moment, no pressing imperatives, no prerequisites, no interruptions of one’s placidity. The arguments and indeterminants of the week have gracefully faded from view or departed by design to await further enhancement in the upcoming week. I began immediately after breakfast by reclining in the blistering warmth on the balcony looking upriver. My vocation was clear: indolence and avoidance.

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How to tell you’re an adult:
• You gain 30lbs overnight
• You’d rather sleep than go out
•  Everything hurts
• Comfort comes before style
•You have a favorite spatula
• Everything feels like a chore
• College students look like 12yr olds
• You’re always annoyed

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Having lately been encumbered – unexpectedly and remorsefully  – by the notional necessities of a credit card, a PIN number, Face-ID and its associated Cloud-based imperatives, we’ve commensurately endured the unwelcome interference of time limits, geographical distinctions, passwords and current balance. The once proximate fencing of primary limitation has translated to an expression of universal abhorrence. Suddenly the breadth of the storm is incalculable! The disabling conformity screams, “You can’t get there from here!”

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If you have ever tried paying an American credit card from Canada through a Canadian bank, you know the turmoil surrounding conversion of the money from Canadian to US$; or, the greater obstacle to locate a bank in America to which you might first transfer the money from Canada before directing the payment of the credit card from that new account. Perhaps I have complicated the process; but I believe the general rule is that you need a separate US account (let’s call it an “American” account) through which to cycle US$ to pay an American credit card.

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Had my intention been to seek the world’s favour, I should surely have adorned myself with borrowed beauties: I desire therein to be viewed as I appear in mine own genuine, simple, and ordinary manner, without study and artifice: for it is myself I paint.

Excerpt From
Michel de Montaigne (1532 – 1592),
“The Essays of Montaigne — Complete”

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Like the rising sun, the new day incrementally and uninhibitedly springs into motion upon its daily elliptical journey. I awoke at six o’clock this morning and religiously recorded my blood pressure – though for reasons which now frankly escape me because the stronger medicine lately prescribed by my family physician has apparently stabilized the numbers. In spite of the stoic start to my day I nonetheless retired once again to bed and didn’t reawaken until 9:55 am. Shameful, yes; but clearly the sleep was needed. Instantly though I felt the pressure to accommodate, to clarify the tardiness for starting the day. My mind was frantic with relieving plans and ambitions.

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Today is one of those days! Everything is boomps-a-daisy! From the moment of my awakening at 8:10 am (altogether a civilized hour in my opinion) I reckoned I had flourishingly approached the day with vigour and gusto. Following the customary morning ablutions and the statutory repast of fried eggs and steel cut oats with judicious (and gratifyingly oily) spoonfuls of nutty organic peanut butter, I launched onto my tricycle to complete the usual circuit of 4 Kms about the neighbourhood. My partner joined me on his bicycle.

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McDonald’s Corners is a blip on the map in Lanark Highlands.

Locally known as “The Hill”, this Scottish-settled community of just under a hundred residents serves as a scenic gateway to Dalhousie Lake. While it used to be a self-sufficient hub with its own blacksmith and general store, the village has pivoted to focus heavily on the arts and local agriculture.

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Geography is not my forte. I’ve been told that our Mississippi River (the one I ponder every morning) doesn’t connect with the American famous (Huckleberry Finn) Mississippi River.

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a picaresque novel by American author Mark Twain that was first published in the United Kingdom in December 1884 and in the United States in February 1885. It is commonly named among the Great American Novels, and it is among the first in major American literature to be written throughout in vernacular English, characterized by local colour regionalism.

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