As much as I warm to the expression “To toddle off” implying as it does an acceptable saunter or meander say to your local library for improving literature the likes of Oscar Wilde or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the word also denotes the wobble of a child or, worse, the shuffle and lurch of an old fogey dragging his feet. I regret that I fall – so to speak – into the latter category. My meander has turned from a tootle to a teeter.
Not certain whether it is impolitic pride or outright impracticality that stimulates one to venture inappropriately beyond one’s scope. Perhaps it is conceived a dynamic view of moral imperative. But it is categorically erroneous to undertake anything outside one’s norm at least where the enterprise is not purely for unmitigated adventure. Otherwise outcome matters. It is feasible when starting out in life that everything is beyond one’s terms of reference – but even that I have learned is a horrid mistake.The limitation is connected to competence not one’s personal ambition; and as such should be assessed critically not as confinement or a missed opportunity. What is at stake is aptitude and performance. Even within a vernacular other than that of one’s trade or profession – say a mere social engagement – any extension should be evaluated before entertaining the latitude. Keep in mind too that the guiding principle is how one feels about the enterprise; that is, knowing what you do best is as instinctive and visceral as any other appetite. The edict is as much a prescription of gut as of mind.
It’s the beginning of a snowy day at the end of the week. Listening to the jazz of Bill Evans, remastered from long ago. The music soothes. And the overnight fast is emphatically broken by Le Pizy from Fromagerie La Suisse Normande skillfully applied to Ace Bakery “Everything” Baguette bagel. These are superb local products! Yet another reminder that you don’t need to leave home for the best.
What is it that transforms a state of commotion to one of accommodation and understanding? As rhapsodic as the result may be, the rejig is nothing more impenetrable than listening to one’s inner voice. The solution is within the problem. It is a time-honoured formula. The felicitous part of the beaconing is that the longer it is ignored, the louder it becomes. There are in fairness so many features which compete with the initial cymbal. Learning to listen to one’s own instruction is fraught with sometimes ungovernable suspicion – usually promoted by convincing but deceptive argument which only succeeds to prolong the initial annoyance.
As gripping as American politics have been for the past four years, I’m hoping that with the second impeachment and Mitch McConnell’s castigation we’ve seen the last of Trump. The picture of a nation constantly at loggerheads is exhausting. I’m not saying American politics differs wildly from that of any other country, but the visceral nature of Trump has made it singularly depressing. Assessing the job of politicians from afar – that is, as a “member of the public” – is like the regard of another man’s pain; namely, innately prejudiced and uninformed. But the analysis does admit of some constancy.
Retrospection is not something I normally do. Looking back on or reviewing past events or situations, especially those in one’s own life, is I find usually plagued by wistfulness and regret. Quite simply, I have no regret. This does not mean I can’t see how transfigured things may have been if certain choices had been otherwise; but I never wished I had done so. I have on occasion visited singular junctures in my life when going one way instead of another would likely have radically changed my life. In every case I’m glad I went the direction I did. I see it not as mere accident but rather a positively beneficial outcome. Indeed I can become quite proud – even haughty – though I concede that is no shocker!
V – LA GRAPPE DE RAISIN
Mais ce que j’aimais plus que chaque chose en particulier, c’était l’ensemble des choses: la maison, l’air, la lumière, que sais-je? la vie enfin! Une grande douceur m’enveloppait. Jamais petit oiseau ne se frotta plus délicieusement au duvet de son nid. Elle était toute petite, ma vie; mais c’était une vie, c’est-à-dire le centre des choses, le milieu du monde.
Excerpt From
Anatole France, “Le livre de mon ami”
Apart from the obvious desirability of business alliances when working for a living the only evident fealty in relationships is to family (in which I include amorous relationship) and friends. What distinguishes allegiance to family is the complete lack of necessity (unless you include duty); but for the most part it’s sous entendu. What distinguishes friendship is the pleasure of association, a close second but nonetheless having an underwritten objective (though not so much a need or ambition). Competing with these predominantly selfless confederacies is the confession of the ultimately personal nature of the universe.
When I was perhaps eight years old I received a wind-up toy car from Santa Claus. I remember it well. It was a silver coloured German-made racing car with a white rubber bumper. I spent Christmas morning propelling it about the smooth kitchen floor. When I wasn’t playing with it, I put it on a shelf for protection and admiration. Though I can’t imagine the model car initiated my subsequent interest in real cars there were characteristics of the toy car which match the qualities I like about the real things. I hesitate to say German engineering because I have only ever owned domestically manufactured automobiles; but the German tradition of creative superiority is an indisputable hallmark. Another is the sense of solidity and weight. Simplistic design is another. And overall stability. In sum, the feature of reliability was and is manifest.
There are two things I abhor: travel logs and recipes. The reason? They both inevitably dwell tarsomly upon the cause not the effect. When it comes to globetrotting and tucking in I’d much prefer to hear what happened than how. Accordingly I shall spare you, my dear reader, a repetition of the formula of last night’s meal other than to say, first, it was superb; and, second, it was pork tenderloin médaillons with mixed green salad and local baby potatoes.
How many times in your life have you asked yourself, “Is this the right time?” I suspect more than once. You may even recall precisely when. It is as likely to have transpired to your discredit if you chose to ignore the sonorous call. I’m thinking for example of would-be love affairs because those in my experience tend to strike home most noticeably. If by chance you were one who opted to do something about it, at the very least you know of what constitutes the deprivation; and, you may have stumbled on a great deal more. Whatever the outcome it no doubt inspires a wistful memory. A ship departing on the distant the horizon always does! On this Valentine’s Day I must however digress to less prismatic instances when the decision about the right time to do something also strikes us as unexpectedly.