Resisting an affront (however warranted the incisive retort) may prove to be its own undoing. As I’ve heard it said by those whose wisdom I admire, “Let the shit go down the street!” Sometimes it is better to step aside without engaging in contradiction or lapsing irretrievably into the popular vernacular. Inexplicably today I chose instead to stand my ground. Literally.
The Mississippi Golf Club in the Village of Appleton is for us a choice summertime venue. It’s our Porgy and Bess. Located along the meandering Mississippi River it is especially appealing on a balmy, clear Saturday morning such as today when the verdant vegetation is lush, the soaring birds are chirping and the shimmering river is high. To enhance today’s attendance we arranged on short notice to rally with an ancient friend originally from Ottawa and latterly from Nova Scotia but who now lives in nearby Smiths Falls. The primary skill is to calculate the visit to coincide with the weather. And to insure there is no special event to interrupt the casual and convenient ceremony of breakfasting on the patio overlooking the first green – though this morning the annoying female mosquitoes were prolific and drove us into the clubhouse for shelter.
Over a lifetime – since 1963 when I was 14 years old – I have written diaries, poems, plays, an autobiography, biographies, the history of a Masonic lodge, a newspaper column and various blogs (quite apart from voluminous court, testamentary and estate planning documents). You’d think by now I’d have some sense of the recommendation, “Write what you know”. Yet if I have learned anything it has been a slow evolution. There appears to be a natural divide between what we say and what we want to say. I believe the bewilderment arises from a misguided confusion of “proper” delivery and “authentic “ exposition. The sort of thing you blame on your parents.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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”.
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.
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).