As the news about vaccination percolates into the countryside we’re steadily more anxious to do what we’ve always done in the past. Not the least of which is to foregather for a meal. Finn wants to do the same – though perhaps more especially a game of throw-and-fetch! His personal ambitions are for the moment trumped by the continuing pandemic isolation and the family’s overwhelming focus upon Sophia. Having now passed the 6-week threshold post-nascence everyone is looking and breathing better – though maybe still with less sleep.

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Not everyone is comfortable living in a small town like Almonte.  I am.  It’s not that I haven’t an interest in large urban areas like New York City and Paris, France; but when it comes to working and living, I am decidedly more animated by a bijou environment.  No doubt the preference is because I haven’t the chutzpah for corporate resolve.  Indeed it is consistent with my dislike of shopping malls and employment in the federal government that I withdraw from those venues. When on March 1st, 1978 I began my solo law practice, sitting in the swivel wooden chair of Raymond A. Jamieson, QC at his large writing desk, glancing out the second floor window onto the back lots of the historic adjoining Mill Street buildings, I knew it was for me.

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My iPhone and Apple Watch are set to go off each morning at eight o’clock. The alarm is a pleasing sound, quite different from the normal awakening noise, more a buoyant seaside musical piece. I like almost anything to do with the sea.  Anyway…the alarm did not get to do its song this morning. I instructed Siri to “cancel sleep alarm”.  Which it dutifully did.  The reason?  I was awake and out of bed around 6:30 am.  I drew back the drapes sufficiently to enable me to check the condition of the pavement on the driveway surrounding the apartment building.  It was slightly damp but there was no snow.  I returned to bed but didn’t last more than a moment before regaining my zeal for an early morning bicycle ride. The forecast was for snow late in the morning.  One mustn’t miss the opportunity to cycle in the winter when occasion permits as it did today. Besides not having cycled yesterday I was in need of penance and rehabilitation.

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What distinguishes the past 25 years from any other period of my life is a strangely secure sense of perfection. While there is no advantage to comparison of one quarter century of one’s life to another – the mere fact of survival alone is a credit – there is however a constancy and uniformity to the past 25 years which is akin to a work of art having an endurance and feature of almost mystical superiority quite unlike a more historic account.

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As we approach March 1st my enthusiasm heightens!  Although March can have its share of snowstorms it nonetheless promises to unfold towards springtime. I learned today that my hair salon is back in business though “not for walk-ins” which translates to a diminished level of activity. Based on what I recall from our pharmacist it may be March or April when we are able to get a vaccination for COVID.  All in all it makes for steps in the right direction!

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My late father lived until his 96th year. As the inevitable approached he often expressed the wish only for peace and quiet.  Considering his age and all that he had endured throughout his lifetime (including bobbing up and down in a dinghy in the North Atlantic in World War II) it was not surprising he should have wished only for peace and quiet. The focus arose about the same time he agreed at last to allow me to refer the completion of his annual income tax returns to a chartered public accountant.  Until then – the last several years of his life – he had insisted upon filing his returns unaided by professional advice (and as a result he was as regularly reassessed). He visibly enjoyed driving to the offices of Canada Revenue Agency to meet with an officer in person to review his account. But as I say the thrill or whatever it was that initially enthused him dwindled near the end.

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Reportedly there has been a spike in alcohol and food consumption during the pandemic. They’re the stock mollifications. The currency of the need in the middle of winter is but another expedient for the indulgences.  The dreary, grey skies of midwinter are unendurable at the best of times.  Consequently the subjects of abstinence and diet are neither infrequent nor unfamiliar.  Those of us who have both a “fat” and a “thin” wardrobe know full well that the season for confrontation of one’s habits is replete with a list of standard persuasions. The not uncommon failure of repentance means those gimmicky trends seldom work. Why for example would we suddenly decide that we no longer like what we’ve enjoyed for years! Clearly a smarter approach is required. The answer I believe is that less is more.

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Fine art is customarily regarded as the last enterprise of domestic acquisition. It is usually heralded by fine china flatware, sterling silver or plate cutlery, crystal goblets and vases, exotic wooden furnishings, Oriental rugs and brass lamps. Paintings, sculpture and jewellery constitute the ultimate refinement of personal possessions. Photography, woodwork and engraving qualify as well. The specifics include musical instruments and clocks (always mechanical only). Notably absent from the collection of fine art is anything so vulgar as electronic devices which are nonetheless critical to the modern household but which suffer the distinction of precipitous and inevitable decline and replacement, things like sound systems, televisions, computers and smart phones (and their accessories). Also excluded though of importance is one’s library of books, music and film (either hardcover, CD, DVD or electronic). I have but one antique book, an early legal text given me by former clients. I am also proud to say I have two books I have written, one an autobiography, the other a history of our local Masonic Lodge (a copy of which is housed in our local library).

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Without exception everyone with whom I speak these days is going stir crazy! I am as well. The pandemic lockdown is a penetrating affliction. Some suffer the further indignity of having lately lost a loved one and are thus obliged to endure the disfavour alone. Our latest campaign for distraction is a puzzle. We naturally ordered it on-line. It comes from Québec and arrived promptly by UPS. It has proven to be my ruination – though His Lordship has seemingly conquered the unenviable task. I couldn’t handle it!  After having devoted several hours over as many days to the challenge I literally found only one piece that connected to another! According to what is written on the box it came in there are 1,000 pieces.  And to me they all look alike. I am so not into puzzles!  I’m thinking I’ll have to invent an inbred disorder to explain the violation of my acuity. Something akin to dyslexia. As a result I have relapsed into what has now become highly predictable and repetitive behaviour.

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Many of us are understandably devoted to the search for superiority. I’m not here talking about social superiority – though that psychological perversion is at times sadly evident  – rather about the search for what we believe to be the best in life. Clearly the latitude of the subject admits to vast definition. What however I’ve discovered in my researches is the often misguided belief that it is the chandelier above one’s head not the floor upon which one treads that marks the defining quality; that is, that glitter trumps basics. This is an unfortunate error.

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