Fine art has attracted me throughout my life. I confess I use the expression somewhat broadly – and deliberately – to embrace not only what is commonly considered the more famous or expensive renditions (such as one commonly sees in museums) but also specifically what is produced by local artists. No doubt my affection for local fine art springs measurably from its affordability (though not always) but equally from my personal acquaintance with the artist and the connection I see between the artist and his or her creation.

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To the Lighthouse
by Virginia Woolf

“The Window” opens just before the start of World War I. Mr. Ramsay and Mrs. Ramsay bring their eight children to their summer home in the Hebrides (a group of islands west of Scotland). Across the bay from their house stands a large lighthouse. Six-year-old James Ramsay wants desperately to go to the lighthouse, and Mrs. Ramsay tells him that they will go the next day if the weather permits. James reacts gleefully, but Mr. Ramsay tells him coldly that the weather looks to be foul. James resents his father and believes that he enjoys being cruel to James and his siblings.

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My dearest Mrs. Holloway,

On the subject of writing – “to absorb how it is done” (as your Ladyship so cryptically encapsulated the topic in this morning’s email) – I am inspired to enlist my own resources to address the mystery. This I acknowledge is a purely investigative pursuit, not anything you’ve requested – though I hope my thoughts are of some utility in the formulation of your own. Let me begin by saying that writing has proven to be a hobby of boundless delight. For that reason alone I encourage its adoption as a recreational activity. It is something which can be done anywhere, anytime – whether at a desk (on your computer or even a Smith Corona typewriter or by longhand on fine parchment paper with a Diplomat Mont Blanc pen), while watching TV (on your iPhone), in the drawing room (on your iPad), in the middle of night in bed (again, on the iPhone) and – dare I say so vulgar a thing – even on the throne (in lieu of a book or magazine) if the urgency compels you!

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You may have heard since last night we have had three earthquakes of magnitude over 7!!
The only one we felt here was at about 2:30 am last night. It woke me up and lasted I’d say 8 seconds. Short, but it seems forever when it happens. That one was over 90km east of Te Araroa on the East Cape. That would be over 800km from our place and yet we felt it quite strong.

There has been no report of damage anywhere, there was a warning of possible tsunami after the last one that was first reported to be 8 in magnitude. They were all under water. I gather the tsunami warning reached Hawaii!!! False alarm, no tsunami in the end.

Well that was our excitement for the day.  Beautiful day it is again.

I’d say we’ll keep you posted but the news goes so fast today you’d hear about it before we get to our computer!

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Around midnight we were awoken by snow removal in the parking lot. The snow had been piled extraordinarily high in one corner of the lot considering what I thought was overall an inconsequential amount of snow this winter. The noise was repetitive and jarring. It was useless pretending the sound could be ignored. I got up and fussed on the computer for about an hour, sipping a coffee. It marked the third night in a row I have arisen from my lair in the middle of the night.  Clearly it doesn’t matter a damn, I have nothing else to do.  But I attempted to straighten the crook of affairs by rendering to it some definition, some clarity, some revelation of purpose.

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As much as I adore Canada and Canadians; as much as I am proud of my birth in Montréal, Québec (which in my mind legitimizes me as a Québecois with the same singularity as my sister enjoys for having been born in England). And as much as I am insurpassably proud of my Loyalist legacy on my father’s side of the family from New England to New Brunswick; and of the American relationships from Massachusetts to Michigan to California on my mother’s side of the family; and of the depth of real Ottawa blood and the Franco-Ontarian heritage in my partner and his family. As much as all this, I’m pleased that today we began in earnest the investigation of where to overwinter south of the 49th Parallel beginning next November 1st until the following April. Not only can I bear the deprivation of winter; but more importantly and more bluntly, time is running out.

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Shortly after one o’clock this morning I accepted that I could no longer sleep.  I was never one for a deep or long slumber.  What I recall more precisely is going to bed late and getting up early.  The routine was normally bedtime after 1:00 am then arising sharply at 7:00 am, at least that was when the clock radio alarm went off and I conditioned myself to haul myself out of the sack onto the floor.  In the days when I had my little French bulldog Monroe we would lie on the floor in the television room, my head on a pillow, Monroe cuddled in my arm, as I flipped channels.  When at last it came time to go to bed I’d let Monroe out the front door to void his bladder, then we’d go back upstairs, each to his own bed.  In the morning the same ceremony was repeated and the day began.

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I went to bed last night shortly before or after 9:00 o’clock.  I awoke around 2:30 am, got up, took my usual collection of pills, then went back to bed.  But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about bicycling. I knew the weather, though terribly cold, would be dry and sunny.  Overnight I had heard the wind howling about the building. My iPhone told me we could expect total sunshine today.  At 4:30 am I got out of bed, collected my clothes and headed to the living area to dress and prepare myself for an early morning drive. Until the sun rose it would be an ideal time for a drive. Or, as I prefer to envisage it, a flight in the Aviator!

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Listening to CBC radio this afternoon while driving to Stittsville for my daily car wash, the announcer reported that a snow squall was expected.

A snowsquall, or snow squall, is a sudden moderately heavy snow fall with blowing snow and strong, gusty surface winds. It is often referred to as a whiteout and is similar to a blizzard but is localized in time or in location and snow accumulations may or may not be significant…snowsqualls are very dangerous for motorists and airplanes or generally any traveler unfortunate enough to get stuck in one. The change in conditions is very sudden, and slippery conditions and abrupt loss of visibility due to whiteouts often cause multiple-vehicle collisions. In the case of lake-effect snow, heavy amounts of snow can accumulate in short periods of time, possibly causing road closures and paralyzing cities. For instance, on January 9, 2015, a localized, heavy snow squall caused a 193-vehicle pile-up on I-94 highway near Galesburg, Michigan.

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Somewhere last evening – on CNN or the radio – I read or heard there is foreseeable expectation that things will be back to normal by the summer. Today is the first day of March, almost exactly a year since the news broke of an international lockdown.  It caused a precipitous alteration of everything. Learning how to negotiate the simplest social interaction was an obstruction of Olympic degree. Most conventions were difficult; many were prohibited. Plans were abandoned as either treacherous or illegal.

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