Years ago I recall having been introduced to the communal benefit of a well written obituary. What follows is an example:

Meed was born in New York, New York, in 1944 to Alan “Tamey” Wetterau and (Ethel) Cary Moncure.   At age 5 they moved to upstate New York, where life centered on the vibrant artists’ community of 1950s Woodstock. There, Meed was surrounded by teachers and mentors of all kinds, so that although “home life” was a moving target, Meed became an accomplished painter and sculptor and a NY Board of Regents Scholar by the age of 18.

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Suddenly things have changed. For the better. The sunny morning – though surprisingly fresh – began unequivocally. Upon awakening I simply answered duty. Mainly, I had an early morning appointment with a dermatologist, the doctor who – upon referral to him by my GP months ago – identified a malignant tumour associated with skin cancer. He commented today while peering through his fancy dermatoscope that we fortunately caught it early enough to ensure it hadn’t spread rampantly through the lymph nodes. I’m booked to see him again in six months. If – as I predictably quipped – I make it that far. He ignored the humour. He bluntly speculated the subsequent return will be a year afterwards. Clearly though he’s unconvinced the initial problem has vanished. The succinct dialogue was not unlike an encounter with a funeral director, polite but uncompromising.

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Many times I have driven by a motorist stranded alongside the highway.  Sometimes the driver is wandering curiously around the vehicle as though searching for an overt obstruction; other times, he is lying beneath the vehicle apparently intent upon remedying a flat tire or a mechanical defect.  Whatever the eventuality (and aside from the predominantly forlorn nature of the sight, it is often impossible at high speed to discern the precise dilemma), I have always whistled mournfully upon seeing someone in despair. Never however have I authentically imagined that my turn is next.

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Early this morning I was reading an English translation of the Essays of Montaigne published in 1877. The author Michel de Montaigne was born February 28, 1533. Not surprisingly many of his allusions were fundamental reflections upon then current social principles. Among those elemental references was one to the familial obligation for the preservation of humanity. In its broader perspective, the duty is for propagation of the species (reproduction by natural processes from the parent stock).

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It has been a dreamy summery day today, balmy breeze with temperatures bordering on hot, endless sunshine under a powdery azure dome. An ideal day for the national holiday “Victoria Day”.

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Once we seven were comfortably seated at table this morning in the clubhouse, we reckoned upon brief recall that it has been six years since we last foregathered at Temple’s Sugar Bush on Ferguson Falls Road, Lanark. It was the identical crew then as today with the exception of the absence of Jennifer’s colleague who was otherwise engaged and the addition of Denis Secundus who has only lately meshed with the Town of Mississippi Mills. For young Wyatt (whose 12th birthday approaches on June 6th next) the abbreviation of time was nonetheless demonstrable (though I believe it is fair to account that I too surprised myself to have altered significantly within the short time period).

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Getting a haircut, though a moderate inconvenience, nonetheless ultimately ranks as a welcome interruption. It is undeniable that cleaning up the shaggy dog is an improvement.

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Pain is such an inhibiting irritant. Its singular presence is normally incapable of rectitude. Like any good religion – though with more entitlement – pain is uncompromising. Yet once relieved of the annoyance (usually following the consumption of an anodyne), the world returns to a moderate and compromising status.  It probably helped this afternoon to overcome my ribcage arthritis having consumed two “quad” espresso; that is, double espresso twice. I am wary of attributing remedial medicinal theory to espresso; but, whatever the reason, the caffeine drug is not without its evident benefits.

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It would appear to the open mind that travel is an imperative for the elderly. I presume the impartial affliction is partly the result of years having been spent chained to domestic or employment necessities instead. For others (of similarly advanced age) whom I know, travel is viewed as an enduring and uplifting occupation. For others it is a mere diversion. Naturally those with the wherewithal to do so enjoy travel of every description; that is, covering both the Arctic and Antarctica, the pyramids and the Himalayas, etc.  For some the more exotic the travel, the better – including extraordinary hiking, remote islands, exclusive lodgings.  There are some who call upon their professional career as a travel agent.

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Depending upon how one chooses to look at things, perspective makes all the difference.  The word perspective has a multitude of meanings which reflect the variety of interpretations: outlook, view, viewpoint, point of view, standpoint, position, stand, stance, angle, slant, attitude, frame of mind, frame of reference, approach, way of looking/thinking, vantage point. In short, one’s perspective is largely determinative of how and what one experiences. The word derives its meaning from not only what is seen but also from the character of the observer.

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