By most standards a rainy day is not the preferred forecast.  I have however developed a predilection for a rainy day on occasion though not for any agricultural or other similar botanical purpose. A rainy day affords me a break, a break from myself. It is with regret that I confess what to me – and to many others who know me – is a pitiable devotion to habit. It would require but a moment to itemize my repetitive daily behaviour. Many of the indices are similar to those I adopted before retirement. The problem isn’t simply monotony. Indeed I have rather a flavour for routine and sameness of pitch.

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Throughout my lifetime I have been a member of various groups such as theatrical groups, a debating society and a highland cadet corps; or more professional associations such as bar associations, the Law Society of Upper Canada and a Chamber of Commerce; or a fraternity such as Ancient Free and Accepted Masons; still others which go by the collective label of “club” such as a swimming club, golf club or the Lions club. I wouldn’t however proclaim to have been a member of a political group, not because I oppose them, rather because I simply hadn’t any interest or objective in them.

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The newly formed middle class of the nineteenth century is the most overwhelming indication of the separation of spheres. With industrialization on the rise, clear gender roles emerged as the social structure of the family changed. Whereas in the working class both women and men contributed to the family income, in middle-class families the men worked for wages while their wives stayed home to manage the household. This gave women of the middle class little opportunity to participate in the public sphere. A clear indicator of middle-class status was the ability to keep any number of servants. Most families had only one servant. Nevertheless, it was the women of the household that directed their work in their homes. This was the contribution they made to their household. The occupation of homemaker, though valuable to the family, cemented their lives in the private sphere. Mothers were expected to provide for the education of their children. It was because of this ideology that middle-class women were able to be educated in math, literature, history, and foreign language, and to teach their children in turn. As daughters grew up, the limited education they received was the basis for wives and mothers to properly fulfill their roles, teaching their children as the cycle of domesticity repeated itself.

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Eating is a critical part of my day. First and foremost I subscribe to that near religious belief that the day mustn’t begin without something “on you stomach” (a prepositional adage which in turn approaches a medical or scientific truth). I grew up with breakfast in prep school because we had it every day in the Great Hall. Precedent to that assembly was a clanging bell in the dormitories at five to seven o’clock each morning (note the 5-minute respite before precisely 7:00 am), then into the showers, followed by donning the flannels, crested blazer and school tie.

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Yesterday I received a singular email. It was from a former housemate and colleague of mine during our law school days together at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Daniel Laprès is his name. He is a member of the Bar of Nova Scotia. He lives primarily in Paris, France where he is Avocat à la Cour d’Appel de Paris. In addition he is a professor at Institut Supérieur de Commerce (Paris).  He is also Senior Counsel to Kunlun Law Firm, Beijing.

It was not, however, those impressive credentials which constituted the peculiarity of the email. The email was supplemental to one addressed to a number of people whom I know from law school and who are now lawyers, a senator and a superior court judge. Daniel flattered me to ask for my “additional enlightenment “ on the subject of Saskatchewan’s latest swing to the right after a history of “being notoriously NDP/socialist”.

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I traded my old MacBook Pro 15” laptop computer today for a new 14” model. The new one is on back order until July 29th. And, no, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s difficulty getting parts (which I suspect) or maybe demand (which I doubt considering the 14” model is not likely as cool as the latest 16” rendition). I now survive in the technology universe solely through the media of my iPad and iPhone. All part of downsizing (and putatively a signalled battery concern with the old Mac). The Apple clerk mentioned too that the letters “a” and “e” on the keyboard of my old Mac were worn to the point of triggering a “damaged” alert which curiously might effectively contaminate the entire computer specifically the entitlement to a trade-in value which in this instance was $495. They decided to overlook the possible qualification.

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We estimate that it has been eight years since we last saw Toronto. We have – rather, until recently we had – two friends (one of whom just died) who in particular drew us to Toronto (that is, when we didn’t go with them instead to cottages in Muskoka or Prince Edward County). Now we’re planning a return visit to Toronto for the memorial gathering for our late friend. As common as it sounds, the memorial reminds me not only of our dear late friend but also of Toronto (which I know he too loved).

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The Ontario provincial election is on June 2nd. We voted today in the advance poll for our area at the arena in town. It is the first day of ten days of advance polls open until May 28th. We chose to attend the advance poll in the rain today thinking we’d thus escape the crowds.  Turns out we were wrong on both counts: no rain, no crowds. At the arena entrance was a greying, heavily bearded official , one of the so-called “volunteers” (read: party hack) to greet us and to offer the ubiquitous hand sanitizer. He directed us to the elevator to the second floor, a large room overlooking the arena/skating rink/curling lanes below.

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From the moment I threw back the duvet and flung my shanks overboard earlier today – I hesitate to use the words “this morning” because I was so treacherously late arising – I have conversed with an uncommon buoyancy.  And even more strangely the blitheness has continued uninterrupted throughout the remainder of the shimmering day. It makes one wonder – is it something I ate?  Or just a good slumber? Or perhaps the ineffable weather about which everyone was celebrating as we mingled with JB and another while bicycling in the neighbourhood surrounded by yellow and violet spring flowers, wide spaces of yellow dandelions judiciously left untouched for the moment? It might even be something insidious such as the “risk of harm from cannabis resulting from daily or near-daily use over a prolonged period of time“. Other times I imagine the enchantment is luck of the draw, a chance formula ignited by the unpredictable combination of events occurring over a stretch of days, even months, even a lifetime. It can take a long time for things to rise up after penetrating reflection. And then there’s the more immediate preserve of hair and product; as well as how the steel cut oats and kéfir were perfection; the apple was crisp and clean; the brown toasted bagel sodden with butter and peanut butter that dripped from my fingers onto the Crown Derby sideplate as I bent to consume a crunchy morsel.

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Say what you will about the provincial health care system, the University of Ottawa Heart Institute is terrific.  I speak on this occasion more precisely of the pacemaker clinic at 40 Ruskin Street, Ottawa. I now visit that office every year about this time to have my Biotronik pacemaker checked by a specialist nurse who afterwards reviews the data with a physician. To date – that is, since the implantation of the pacemaker in 2018 in Florida following a spill from my bike on the beach – the tiny device continues to churn.  The report today was that I have about 8 years left before the batteries run out.  Naturally I will not repeat the quips that the staff has heard all too often following the likes of that pronouncement!

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