For harmony on the harp or lyre is attained by notes in unison and not in unison, sharp and flat somehow or other producing concord, but in the harmony of friendship there must be no unlike, or uneven, or unequal element, but from all alike must come agreement in opinions and wishes and feeling, as if one soul were put into several bodies.
Excerpt From
Plutarch (c.46–c.120), “Plutarch’s Moralia”
Several days ago my partner and I saluted our 30th year together. During those three decades we have been inseparable – to the point of working together in my law office when my former young assistant suddenly required a kidney transplant.
In the past 12 years since my retirement on March 1, 2014, my partner and I have established a routine of nonstop togetherness, traditionally spending the winter in the southern United States of America, the remainder in Canada. Normally we are divided by an hour in the morning when each of us does a bit of exercise (I on my tricycle, he in the gym or walking outside) and several hours in the afternoon (during which I drive my car and he watches his favourite podcasts). Neither of us has many friends nearby (whom we otherwise see only infrequently). And if we do see friends, they are customarily mutual so we see them together,
There is nothing suspicious about this tenebrous day. Indeed, muted by the dull grey skies and the flat white fields, there is an overwhelming lack of novelty. To a degree it is an uninviting day – notwithstanding my persistent and native draw to horse! Clearly some things survive “whatever the weather“. The modest hint of blue in the overhead dome encourages the mensural ambition towards springtime. And this morning during my subterranean cycle I was informed of the imminent departure of our neighbours to Mexico for a month. He reported that the temperature there today is 30°C.
Lately I was asked by a dear friend in Toronto to send her photos of my new car. Frankly the request caused me to pause. To me it always sounds fatal to go on about a car. Almost childish – as in an amusement with a toy. Though perhaps there is very little difference between the two – that “men and boys” quip comes to mind. Nonetheless today – once again for the millionth time in my life – I found myself privately gushing about the marvel of the car as I headed northwestward along the Ottawa River towards Renfrew County and back home. I had just come from the Petro-Canada Glide car wash on Hazeldean Road in Stittsville. The weather was ideally clear and cold, the roads were entirely dry. And for whatever reason on a Thursday afternoon in the Ottawa Valley at the end of February there wasn’t a lot of traffic. I had all the windows open.
My partner and I have spent the entire afternoon fussy with SiriusXM Canada. I hold an introductory (or trial) plan of music and videos following the purchase of a new car from Reid Bros in Arnprior. I was attempting to locate and manage my account on-line and to facilitate the “streaming” of music to our separate devices (iPhone, iPad and MacBook Pro). Streaming (which is basically “transmitting or receiving video and audio material over a computer network as a steady, continuous flow”) is an added bonus to subscription to SiriusXM Canada including its availability to a limited number of family members. In the result however – after struggling to make it all work – I am feeling exceedingly strained and drained. Translation: I am kaput!
There is a comic (though stinging) adage I shall forever recall; namely, “If she knows why she loves him, she doesn’t!”
There is a period of my life in 1969 about which I seldom reminisce; and, less often share with others. I have the excuse that my recollection is clouded (both intentionally and statistically). Even after 56 years it is an era – albeit narrow – which remains distant and unsteady. And yet provocative. No period more adequately cemented my inadequacy while enabling my capacity. While therefore definitely a time of personal growth, it is not a time of my life I prefer to revisit. There were painful learning curves. I recall on the evening of my 21st birthday (December 11th) being alone, staring quizzically into a mirror in the men’s residence at university where I then “dormed”, speculating who I was, who of my parents I most resembled. It was a marked period of introversion, controversy and discovery. And like any true learning it came at a cost.
Yesterday js (that’s his sobriquet) and I arranged to have coffee and a chat. The rendezvous today went exceedingly well in my opinion. Nothing of especial note – unless you count the “interruption” of Donnie who, after removing his ski wear, plopped himself in a chair at table. Of lesser note was my perception that I was awakening to a side of js I hadn’t previously thought. Today just seeing ancient photos of his family (including him of course) and hearing tales of how and where they met, stuff like that, painted a lively image. The added detail left its mark, by which I mean I whittled a far different view of what I was now seeing.
On Saturday morning, beneath a sky the colour of old pewter reluctantly admitting a bruise of blue at its margins, a senior gentleman resolved upon an act of quiet daring: he would purchase a 15-watt light bulb.
A term of endearment is a word or phrase used to address or describe a person, animal or inanimate object for which the speaker feels love or affection. Terms of endearment are used for a variety of reasons, such as parents addressing their children and lovers addressing each other.
“You have a dirty face too, dear.”