The golden crowned cornstalks in the field tumbling down to the river are now high enough to run through and get lost. There is another field just like it in the distance. And one further beyond that. Then more still. There is nothing else between us here in the Town of Almonte and there in the Village of Appleton. Just endless cornfields and trees shimmering in the balmy summer breeze.
Over the past 77 years I have had casual though memorable encounters with what I might usefully describe as the “veneer” of the United States of America. It began around 1958 when living with my family in Washington DC. We lived mere blocks from Vice President Richard Nixon; and, coincidentally his daughter Julie and I were in Mrs. McGee’s class at Horace Mann School. Our immediate next door neighbours (we lived at 4412 Edmonds St NW) were Dr. and Mrs. Cox whose son-in-law was a lawyer for Mr. Nixon and who was subsequently implicated in the Watergate scandal. Everybody whom we knew in the area (including our family) had live-in staff, whether cook, driver or maid, mostly people of black origin but one (our neighbours on the other side) Asian.
In 1963 when I began attending St. Andrew’s College I learned of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. The American boys at our school stood out on that day by virtue of our collective sorrow for them.
In my subsequent educational studies I learned of the extraordinary conflict arising from the perceived spread of communism in America. It was never a project which I considered to be of any value other than harmful hyperbole.
McCarthyism refers to a period in American history (roughly 1950-1956) characterized by intense anti-communist suspicion and a campaign to root out alleged communist influence in the United States. It is named after Senator Joseph McCarthy who led investigations into supposed communist infiltration of the government and other institutions.
From prep school through undergraduate studies at Glendon Hall and graduate studies at Dalhousie University, I had little if anything to do with the United States of America. In 1976 or thereabouts I made the first of what was to become annual jaunts to Cape Cod in September each year surrounding Labour Day, first for weekends, then a week then longer periods into the approaching autumn. I distinctly recall on one occasion hearing from the proprietor of the guest house where I often stayed that he had an especial dislike or mistrust of Republicans. At that time, I was so ignorant of American politics that I had trouble identifying Republicans or Democrats as anything other than Conservative or Liberal (as we have in Canada).
After I retired in 2014 we spent the next decade wintering on Hilton Head Island, Longboat Key and Key Largo for 6 months each year. Throughout that period we associated exclusively with Americans who were of similar characteristics and appearance to our own. We were often in “gated” communities.
Then President Donald J. Trump (the current Republican candidate) began his disturbing tirades about overtaking Canada as another state. The effect upon Canadianism has been astronomic. Trump’s fitful conduct now describes what is universally felt to be the character of the United States of America. Considering Trump’s obvious struggle with language, literature and education generally – and in view of his repeated public performance of social inadequacy – he has come to represent the distasteful common denominator of the United States of America.
Here I am compelled to interject (for the sake of preserving balance) that the people whom we met in the United States of America during the past decade – the people with whom we daily associated and interacted – were (and are) exceptionally kind and magnanimous. We continue to associate with many of those same people through email, telephone, etc. We fully suspect that some of them are Republicans. In my mind there is little significance attached to either Republican or Democrat (any more than there is in Canada to Conservative or Liberal) because among those whom I know, it is purely a matter of choice. For the most part the people whom I know – though they may have different political choices – are good people who cultivate sound standards of human conduct.
What however is seemingly evolving in America is a possible dramatic shift to a singular culture, one which avoids all contamination of difference of any class. Of course the Americans are entitled to do so. The project does nonetheless disappoint me as a collective goal (which I am hoping it is not). I am perturbed by the affiliation of liberalism with communism. In fact the term communism is itself so capable of liberal interpretation that I see it as nothing but a design to inflict adversity for any cause. The mere fact that the strength of American psyche is focussed so avidly upon the sole desire to put people and ideas underfoot, to crush adversity, to alienate some people, to dominate others, leads me to conclude that America is on a downhill path of negativity.
Now approaching the end of my life, I am daily uplifted by all that there is about which to be excited and thankful. As an old country lawyer with a privileged background I naturally have my own persuasions. At the same time I derive great advantage from the attempt to understand people who do not necessarily “fit” into my particular mould. The value of my life is not to be assessed by a catalogue of my possessions or positions; rather, by my capacity to relate to others and possibly to contribute. And while I may not do much to raise the bar, nor am I routinely accused of lowering it. Meanwhile Canadians – and reportedly many others in the Western world – have decided to stay clear of the United States of America. Until we “outsiders” are convinced of the transfusion of the more healthful American blood, my prediction is that the elimination will survive. Entire social and economic networks are undergoing transition to skirt the global infection. The critical nature of choice is now paramount.
Leonard Anthony Leo (born November 1965) is an American lawyer, businessman, and conservative legal activist. He was the longtime vice president of the Federalist Society and is currently, along with Steven Calabresi, the co-chairman of the organization’s board of directors.
Vogel wrote that Leo had built “one of the best-funded and most sophisticated operations in American politics, giving him extraordinary influence as he pushes a broad array of hot-button conservative causes and seeks to counter what he sees as an increasing leftward tilt in society.” In 2023, ProPublica described Leo’s activism, namely through the Teneo Network, as focusing on “‘woke-ism’ in corporations and education, ‘one-sided journalism’ and ‘entertainment that’s really corrupting our youth.”
Long ago we surpassed the description of clothing as mere retirement from the atmosphere – akin to surrounding leaves in a tree or pieces of straw assembled in a nest. We now believe no doubt that the majority of clothing is primarily functional. We have blue jeans for Saturday and sensible shoes for temple. We all know the significance of a wedding dress, a dinner jacket and a bow tie or the rustle of a courtroom silken gown. Indeed the list of “costume” goes on forever!
Beyond the utility of clothing is what Thomas Carlyle (see below) refers to as “decoration” (and what I might call instead “accessories”). Carlyle, I suspect, felt the need to equate the “barbarous man” (another of his anachronisms) with the purely cosmetic feature of decoration rather than ascribe to the additive any nature of supplemental appendage such as ornamentation. Perhaps I am unnecessarily quibbling. My only point is to emphasize that accessories needn’t be purely decorative; that is, nonfunctional.
The first spiritual want of a barbarous man is Decoration, as indeed we still see among the barbarous classes in civilised countries.
Excerpt From
Carlyle, Thomas
“Sartor Resartus, and On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History.”
A wedding band for example – though considered a great symbol of love and adornment – also passes as an unwitting signal to outsiders to keep their distance in the event of an unprovoked interest. By contrast, the appearance of discreteness and reserve translated from a 3-piece suit and the curling smoke of a briar pipe are no inhibition to the most rampant clubhouse behaviour with the right amount of whiskey or porto.
Whatever the accessory, there is normally a message within. I don’t think it is “stretching it” to say that those with tattoos have made a decision about not only the inner “decorative” nature of the tattoo but also the outward implications adjoining it. The same of course applies to the chap in the 3-piece suit. It is the same reason that wearing a ring on your pinky or middle finger provokes a different message. Nor is there room for limiting the alignment of particular accessories to men or women. A diamond for example is often seen in a gentleman’s pinky ring – as I recall years ago having done at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, British Columbia.
Speaking of the lack of imbalance between men and women, the Scottish gentleman can make an earnest competition to any accessory a woman might use – kilt pins, cap badges, plaid brooches, sporrans and sgian dubhs (perhaps even dirks and daggers).
All my life I have worn a chain about my neck. For starters, I like metal – everything from copper and bronze to sterling silver and gold.
Copper, brass, and bronze are all reddish-toned metals, but they differ in their composition and properties. Copper is a pure element, while brass is an alloy of copper and zinc, and bronze is an alloy of copper and tin. This difference in composition leads to variations in colour, strength, malleability, and resistance to corrosion.
This morning I was obliged to remove my gold chain to avoid interfering with an endodontic scrutiny. Because I have to return in a week for another more detailed X-ray (or whatever they call it), I have decided to avoid replacing my chain until we’re done. The deprivation amuses me because it never fails to arouse a noticeable disturbance. And it is not merely the absence of the chain; it is the comparative sustenance without it. Shamefully I feel somehow less qualified. Which of course I know is absurd but it illustrates the scope of the alteration. Interestingly I have temporarily abandoned another accessory – a sterling silver bumble bee – not of course because it is at all inappropriate for a hot summer day rather because I haven’t the current inclination for it. This vague mandate is nonetheless one which will, I know, one day suddenly resurface and compel me to adorn it for whatever manifestation I then seek to exemplify. In other words, the ornament is not purely decorative but may indeed be functional in an odd sort of way.
Though it is only Thursday today, still mid-week, everything suggested holiday. The summer spirt has overtaken. The roads were quiet. Most were in no particular hurry. There was almost a dimness of sound – heightening the belief that everyone has abandoned the territory.
Of more animated content was an always welcome email I received from my friend JS who touched upon several points of interest. His first – and clearly to him the most important – was the need to share one’s experiences – or, more generally, what I might usefully characterize as the need to communicate. I will however acknowledge that the superlative form of sharing is immediate conversation. Extending that vernacular to electronic communications (telephone, email, message, text) is less valuable. And then there is my personal favourite – writing – a device which admits in my opinion to more tolerable variations of communication including the so-called “literary licence” (which of course is often a polite way to say codswallop or worse).
Writing as a means of communication is for me strengthened by the associated conversations I may subsequently have (usually now by email – but occasionally by a pool or over drinks or dinner) with people who – yes, you dear Reader – actually read the stuff. To me, the distinction of having a limited subscription or a qualified number of friends is no different. Particularly as one ages, the convenient boundaries for friendship narrow; and, accordingly the numbers decline – though frankly I have never said I had a lot of friends.
Backing up for a moment, I see that I have jumped over the underlying collateral to communication – and that is the person with whom one is conversing. Foremost communication is a 2-way process. As wonderful as a “good listener” may be, I much prefer reciprocal communication. Sometimes – as by chance recently happened to me – the listening process is unintended but nonetheless demanded. Listening – other than in the context of personal relationships – may amount to pure “sounding board” material which of course is more a duty or other prescription for welfare than the nutrition of a relationship.
Coming home today from my round-a-bout journey along the highways and country roads, I followed two enormous pieces of farming equipment which I suspect were destined for a nearby corn field. As I was in no rush, I followed safely. As did each of the other cars behind me. It was a reminder of the history of well-being in the county. It afforded several lovely views of adjoining farm properties as well as the occasional sight of a grand residence at the end of a long and winding road.
Last evening – from the report of a lately revived prep school colleague – I acquired additional intelligence about a friend whom I knew almost 60 years ago. The elongation of a relationship – by the effluxion of time or by any other circumstances – is evidence not of the evaporation of the relationship, rather of its sustenance. The mere fact that one preserves or maintains an interest (including at times an adverse curiosity) in the person is, to my thinking, evidence that the friendship – howsoever diminished – lives on (and may even unwittingly form part of the fabric of one’s soul). Friendship – like appetite – is too instinctive to be neglected as a trial. By the same token, becoming “estranged” from former friends does not mean the end, just a change of appetite. There is however nothing merited in relinquishing a possible mooring to the association. Not that one should imagine a revival – but neither should one dismiss the possibility.
Lastly – on this odd kind of a day – I toyed with my new car. Inadvertently I discovered how to initiate the hands-free driving. Initially I had thought the feature was only available through paid subscription but seemingly there is at the very least a free trial period. I activated the feature only while driving on a 4-lane highway, not while driving in an urban atmosphere. It performed wonderfully. After holding on for some time, I eventually removed my hands. No problem. But if I did anything to obstruct my view, the steering wheel began flashing green – and perhaps would have changed to red if I were to have continued my insolence (I was taking the photo that is the featured image). Meanwhile – apart from this and other equally extraordinary discoveries – I continue to adore the drive of the electric vehicle. The size fits. The weight and stance are ideal. The only difficulty I’ve unearthed is that Mr. Tesla did not make the cables from his Superchargers long enough to reach other vehicles. Yesterday I had to park my car sideways to an outlet to connect. I got away with it in that instance; but it is not assured that there would be sufficient space to do so on every occasion.
We were up this morning before 6 o’clock. Within an hour – after the usual ablutions – we were out of the apartment into the car headed for breakfast at Neat Café in Burnstown – about 40 Kms distance. It is a lovely spot by the Madawaska River through scenic farm property in both Lanark and Renfrew Counties. Generally at that time of day the café is assured to be tranquil or politely reserved. The enthusiastic cyclists, panting and somewhat withered, tend to focus only upon nourishment and brief relaxation.
The featured image is an edited version of a photograph recently sent to me by a chap who lives in New Zealand. He and his partner were on a “winter” trip there from their place near Wellington, NZ. I’m not sure where they were exactly. It hardly matters. I most assuredly wouldn’t know the place. Anyone who lives within shouting distance of the Tasman Sea and the Cook Islands is already singular enough!
Dear Reader,
Those of you who know me, know that now and again I have been going on about AI (Artificial Intelligence). Mostly within a literary vernacular. Today, using ChatGPT (I have a free limited usage account which frankly serves me very well), I thought to extend that boundary and employ AI (which I personify by referring to “it” as Hal in line with the Space Odyssey introduction) to address a small matter I have arising from the charging cable for my new EV (Electric Vehicle). What follows is a copy of the narrative.
Unusually I am listening to CBC FM 103.3 on a Tivoli Audio Model One AM/FM radio. With the advent and my discovery of Apple Music my usage of the radio as a source of music has evaporated. Nonetheless when, as today on a sunny summer afternoon, I am lucky enough to have nothing better to do than sip my chilled espresso while staring out the drawing room window, I find a bit of Chopin on the radio is intriguingly archaic and uniquely restful.
Today while reading Giles Coren’s article in The Times of London entitled, “Darn it, all the old skills are disappearing” about the passage of sock darning, crocheting, whistling, weather adages (“red sky at night, sailor’s delight”) and the like, it made me consider what if anything I miss about the past that didn’t make it into the future. Frankly, upon a speedy reflection, I am more inclined to list what I don’t miss about the past than the other way around.
Though I am always alarmed – something I know embarrassingly that I should not be – interjecting a new vehicle into one’s life is forever unbalancing. Since 9 o’clock this morning (when I met my sales agent Jane Dechert at Reid Bros Motor Sales in the Town of Arnprior to complete my purchase) – I have been “acquainting” myself with the Cadillac Optiq. The bottom line is that I am pleased. We have yet to defeat the Sirius XM business; but – most importantly – the mechanical side and comfort of the vehicle are good. I christened the vehicle this afternoon by putting it through the car wash at Petro-Canada on Campeau Drive in Kanata; then streamed along the winding country highway with the windows open on this splendid sunny day. We also have a small matter relating to the hanging of the charging cord – requiring what we believe to be a screw to suspend the heavy portion of the cable against the pillar where the 240v outlet is installed. Our building superintendent has helpfully agreed to address the matter on Monday.