Thankfully the governments of most countries avail their population of the benefit of statutory public summer holidays. We’re familiar with Canada Day (formerly Dominion Day on July 1st to mark 1867 Confederation of central and eastern settlements as one dominion within the British empire until the patriation of the constitution in 1982) and Independence Day in the United States of America  (July 4th to mark independence in 1776 from British rule). In France they celebrate Bastille Day (July 14th to mark the storming of the Bastlle prison and fortress in 1789 at the start of the French Revolution).

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With the temperature nearing 90°F today it was impossible to escape the refreshing desirability of the summer wind. It was not only uncommonly warm and humid (there’s rain on the horizon) but there was a soothing violence to its unrestrained breath. My first exposure to this exceedingly favourable rush of air was upon lowering the widows and opening the landau roof of the car as I headed predictably along the undulating ribbon of highway I so adore to the Township of West Carleton for a car wash.

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It isn’t often within the orbit of one’s life that everything aligns for the perfect fit. And when it does – apart from the imperative to relish the infrequent arrangement – the sensation is beguiling. To the point of hesitancy and moderate trepidation. The uncertain agitation distills from the pleasurable amplitude of events, events both significant or inconsequential. One’s universe appears to operate in synchronization with the very street lights which almost magically turn green at an opportune moment.

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His conscience was perfectly neutral. For it was his deliberate opinion that no form of ecclesiastical polity was of divine institution.

Thomas Babington Macaulay.
“The History of England, from the Accession of James II — Volume 3.”

Those sage words reputedly reflected the thinking of the King of England William of Orange. At first blush the observation appears directed solely to the paramountcy of the state (parliament) over inherited dominion of royalty or prelacy (the theory being in some sectors that entitlement derived from apostolic lineage specifically succession from St Peter). It was an equal obstruction to both Catholic and Protestant claimants.

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We’re prepared. Ready to go. 100% charged. Buffed and primed. Paradoxically we’ve nowhere to go. And just as well! We’re inert, presently resigned to unrepentant immobility, smugly content to languish in the cool summer breeze and warming yellow sunshine, book in tow, listening to our favourite music or watching a new show. Eager to succumb to hypnotic drifting dreams filled with sometimes curious images and soporific lacquer. The things that take you somewhere else. That magic feeling “Nowhere to go, nothing to do!

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This afternoon we inadvertently drove to the Village of Tatlock, a highly secluded venue in the Township of Lanark Highlands. The object of our outing had been the Village of Clayton (more immediate and far less obscure) but the proverbial winding country roads overtook us. The drive could not have been more pleasant! The azure sky was clear, the temperature pushing 75 degrees. The air was fresh. Obviously we were meandering. Just killing time while there was a showing of our apartment for sale. We have agreed with our Landlord (who is soon to be 93 years of age) to vacate in order to facilitate administration of his private capital. As I said to another resident here, “It’s a venture of mixed feelings – not because we have any reservation about leaving. We’re terribly happy here. Yet we’re excited about the new place especially as it is on the other side of town where we have our residential roots.”

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Forty-six years ago my morning, noon and night were consumed running my solo law practice. I employed three secretaries. And in keeping with the tradition which my predecessor Raymond A. Jamieson QC had afforded his farming clientele over his 52 years of practice, the office was open Saturday mornings (though unlike Jamieson I didn’t balance by closing Wednesday afternoons). I regularly ate my lunch out of a can while leaning over the kitchen sink to avoid getting either fish pieces or oil on my waistcoat. Once when I attempted a healthier concoction by assembling raw vegetables and tomato juice in a blender, I failed to secure the lid tightly and the contents exploded on me and the kitchen cupboards. I was momentarily distraught.

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Live happily ever after
With a Chablis and some laughter
“Between the Sheets” is lovely
With a dizzy blonde and a bottle of bubbly!
There’s nothing sicker in society
Than a lack of liquor and sobriety!
So, down the hatch
Here’s mud in your eye
Take a bracer
With a chaser
Wash it down with Rye!
Bottoms up!
Stirrup cup! It’ll put you in the pink
And all you have to do is
Drink, drink, drink, drink, driii-ink!

Christopher Lee “ Name your Poison”
The Return of Captain Invincible

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After breakfast this morning at the golf club we toddled northward to the Madawaska River in the Village of Burnstown in the County of Renfrew. It was a leisurely drive from the Village of Appleton towards the Ontario provincial hinterland of Algonquin Park and La Verendrye Wildlife Reserve along the the route once travelled by erstwhile adventurers, coureurs de bois, railway and waterway commerce from the St Lawrence River. The pathway is to this day remarkably forested and seemingly unspoiled by centuries of human intervention.

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No doubt you’ve encountered occasion on which your developing perspective is less than complimentary, times when you feel more acquainted with friction or obstruction than progress and accomplishment. It is an unsettling toxin and certainly one from which immediate removal is preferred. Regrettably the synthesis of objectives is not always evolutionary; or if it were, the alteration can be punishingly obscure or protracted. Make no mistake ingenuity insinuates not only what we imagine to be a favourable credit for oneself but also what blends with the private ambitions others may have. Metaphorically the journey upriver is fraught with unexpected deadheads, weeds or the mere contradiction of what is no more elegant or calculated than the natural flow of the river at that particular juncture.

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