The buoyancy of life, though undeniably mercurial, is by compensating contrast reciprocal. There are good days and bad days, ups and downs. And while there is never any guarantee, there are nonetheless those singularly pleasant days that inexplicably colour the canvas of life’s easel. Today is just one of those days, a good day, a healthy harvest of ample proportion; and, a warm sunny day to boot. The fortuity of the day is naturally its unanticipated delight, an unfolding of epic proportions. It is an alternately persuasive rendition to what only as recently as yesterday was considered an entirely uneventful and speculative focus.  There is taunting heat under a blazing sun followed by a relieving light breeze devoid of humidity. There is as well the enduring image of dedicated gardeners bent over their flower beds like common labourers, plucking spoiled blossoms to preserve the idyllic perfection of the midsummer day.

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Among the two social groups to which I belong – friends and acquaintances – I seldom have any reservation expressing my estimate of religion.  I will, however, admit that the topic is generally not widely circulated and that in some circles of either group I wouldn’t dare say what I think. Religion can be a touchy issue (though certainly less so now than before).

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Fresh corn from the stalk imposes a risk for those who prefer to eat from the argent end of a fork or spoon. Its added perils are dripping butter on one’s waistcoat and smarting salt on one’s lips. While I cannot recall when I first ate corn-on-the-cob, I most certainly recollect the image of my late father (who was normally reserved and restrained) at the head of table industriously devoted solely to the management of his soup plate of fresh vegetables slathered in butter and a spot of milk, his buttered corn at the ready so to speak à côté.

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Chapter XIV, p. 700

“The events which took place in the autumn of 1689 sufficiently proved that the ill fated race, which enemies and allies generally agreed in regarding with unjust contempt, had, together with the faults inseparable from poverty, ignorance, and superstition, some fine qualities which have not always been found in more prosperous and more enlightened communities. The evil tidings which terrified and bewildered James stirred the whole population of the southern provinces like the peal of a trumpet sounding to battle. That Ulster was lost, that the English were coming, that the death grapple between the two hostile nations was at hand, was proclaimed from all the altars of three and twenty counties. One last chance was left; and, if that chance failed, nothing remained but the despotic, the merciless, rule of the Saxon colony and of the heretical church.”

Excerpt from:
The History of England, from the Accession of James II — Volume 3
Thomas Babington Macaulay

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It isn’t often we perform – as we did today – our routine bicycle ride throughout the neighbourhood at 8:00 o’clock in the morning. We were amply rewarded for our pertinacity. The temperature was ideal. There was a slight breeze. The sun shone brilliantly. And the sky was a picturesque mixture of azure and billowing white. Those few whom we encountered en route were distinguished by their quiet resolve. The ceremony was clearly one of primary importance to the start of the day – echoed naturally most often by the obvious ambition of the dogs on their morning constitutional.

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Though Denis and I throughout our 26 years of partnership have never celebrated one another’s birthday, it is not because we disparage the anniversary for any reason; rather that we collectively respond that every day is a celebration. Having said that about our approximate 10,000 days together I believe Denis warrants his annual slap on the back and expression of good – and hopefully repeated – returns of fortune.

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Few words in the vernacular excite the mind more fully than the word “SOLD” when seen on a real estate yard sign. Naturally the owners and their agents have already shared the intelligence. For the rest of us – that is, those outside looking in; or, in our case, those inside looking out – the notification constitutes a favourable domestic remark regarding commerce and current economic buoyancy. As a former real estate lawyer I can attest to the fact that nothing contaminates the business world more toxically than prolonged yard signs accumulating tall blades of grass. A professional client of mine for example had the disheartening experience to withstand upwards of four years of economic stagnation before her otherwise charming solid-brick home finally slipped into the economic stream. For even those who, during the same period, sold at a loss in order to facilitate purchase of a new home in Europe, the SOLD sign on their property was at the time and in retrospect a welcome alternative. The machinery of the world functions far more appropriately when the word SOLD is visited upon the equipment!

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I am a hopeless addict. My addiction affects every particle of my being, everything from pill-popping to chocolate and I’m an especial devotee of JD Salinger. While I have at least quit drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes – Oh, how I miss those frozen martinis in bathtubs on sticks with the giant bluish green olives! – I nonetheless preserve my assignment and enslavement to almost every other habit one can possibly cultivate from the moment of arising from the virginal lair to the evening descent thereto. This so-called creature of habit is visibly one who long ago created for himself what he perceives to be the ideal circumstance and behaviour. Why remold the perfect design?

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After graduating from law school in 1973 – and beginning Articles at MacDonald, Affleck 100 Sparks Street in Ottawa – the least of my preoccupations was a holiday weekend. Indeed having just begun my employment in June of that year my focus was entirely upon my work at the law office. Generally speaking my work was that of a domestic servant; that is, rudimentary employment to which was attached little profound significance. Much of what I did was closing real estate transactions – which was nothing more distinguished than personal delivery of documentation to the Land Registry Office in central downtown Ottawa. It was a common quip that the legal secretaries knew more about the practice of law than the articling students who were labelled “Gophers”.

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If you’re what I imagine most of us are (which for purposes of this thesis might be described as malleable or impressionable), the transition from one group of society to another frequently invites alteration and accommodation. When I say a group of society it is but a convenient reference to klatches, those so-called sloppy lumps or masses of people normally devoted to one particular enterprise or undertaking. The variance of these groups can range from the bluntness of fraternity or sport to the ceremony of religion or diplomacy. Straddling the boundaries of these groups of society regularly forces the participants to blend or manipulate their conduct to reflect the tone of the group to which they have been transferred.

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