My career as a country lawyer is marked with many wonderful memories. My greatest recollection is not the good times or the happy times; instead it is the recall that, when I didn’t understand something, I focused on it until I did.  The outcome of my pursuit wasn’t always the way I originally imagined it; but I was never disappointed to have followed my dare to know. This I learned over 50 years ago at an early age and in spite of a senior lawyer having said to me when I dared to question, “That’s not the way we practice law in Lanark County.”

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The global political scene is hard to escape (as much as many of us would prefer to do so – not only for obscure intellectual reasons but also for our personal health). Instead of highlighting our differences – whether democratic or socialist or communist – why not spend more time devoted to giving people what they want?

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It is an advantage of living in the country to drive about at whim on relaxed dry roads, aimlessly directed either north or south, east or west, uninhibited by the pursuit of others or traffic lights or delays. The mission is more liberal on a sunny workday when one’s retirement is rewarded, as though the capital of the world were open to private indulgence.

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Every cloud must have a silver lining
Wait until the sun shines through
Smile, my honey dear, while I kiss away each tear
Or else I shall be melancholy too

My Melancholy Baby by Bing Crosby

As we inaugurate the tail end of January, those of us destined by fate or pre-existing health conditions to remain shivering in Canada are nestling in for the upcoming critical period of winter including what we all hope will be a forgiving short month of February before launching into what is commonly the wistful though unpredictable month of March.  But inspiration is in the offing – albeit 8 weeks remote. Under the circumstances – that is, unless one is a cross-country skier or other avid outdoorsman – the most favourable resort is one’s drawing room. That abstraction translates to books, podcasts and movies.

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My time-honoured friend Fiona from Toronto mentioned in an email to me on this cold winter day that she was having to go outside on an errand which she said was less troublesome for two reasons. One, she said, was the convenient proximity of the TTC which overcame the hurdle provoked by mountains of snow inhibiting car parking. The second encouragement was her new winter coat.  I have asked her to send me a photo.  In the meantime I discovered that her intelligence has sparked my own interest in the subject.

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Some people, so I understand, are prone to dreams.  At least, they verbalize that they like dreams, even apparently those that border on nightmarish, as though the attraction were pure entertainment. I on the other hand have always found dreams – on the infrequent occasion that I am aware of dreaming – to be universally unsettling, including the constancy of a colour mixture of dark green and black to add to the unfavourable character.  I have never had so-called pleasant dreams – except perhaps during my infrequent afternoon naps when, not so much as dream, I simply arrest my mind in a comfortable quarter relieved of noise and anxiety.

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It has proven to be an uncommon perk of our 30-year partnership that my co-vivant and I do don’t compete to drive a car. Though Denis has had a driver’s license issued by the Province of Ontario since the age of about 18, I have never known him to drive (though he assures me he once drove drunken friends in their Lincoln Town Car from a late night bar; and, that he drove a friend’s Mustang home). He advises the licence was for ID purposes; and, by the way, that he had taken formal driving school lessons.

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Yesterday on Netflix I stumbled upon a 2022 Spanish teen drama entitled “Merlí: Sapere Aude“. The original use of the phrase Sapere aude appears in the First Book of Letters (20 BC) by the Roman poet Horace: “Dimidium facti, qui coepit, habet; sapere aude, incipe” He who has begun is half done; dare to know; begin! The phrase is the moral to a story in which a fool waits for a stream to cease flowing before attempting to cross it.

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The nostalgic parallel to old age – as is so frequently advanced – is not, I have concluded, merely wisdom.  By immense contrast the token labels attaching to physical decomposition and arthritis are often far less flattering though – as I am equally bound to admit – no less informative.  In my defence of this discrediting analysis there is a natural but prejudicial yearning of the mind and spirit to invoke not diminution rather increase.  The craving – when applied to aging – is nonetheless not only contradictory but also unfavourable because inadvertently it constitutes an oversight of both underlying fact and influence.

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My dear Patricia,

Thank-you for your email, always welcome.

Normally – at this juncture – I would not engage in prolongation of our internet communication for fear of reducing it to a “Called you last!” jousting. By all appearance, each of us has already exchanged all that needs to be said in the circs. My reluctance is specially so in light of what I am about to say.  And I warn you now this is stuff about you I have silently harboured for years so I have had frequent opportunity upon which to ruminate, refine and reconsider its substance and truth before pronouncing my verdict. However I can no longer sustain my tranquility or withhold my secrecy.

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