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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The much touted reappearance of Donald J. Trump as a golden idol and centre stage performance at this year’s CPAC Dog and Pony Show is notable for its predominantly laughable agenda. By the time the disgraced Trump gets through the looming civil litigation,  criminal charges, income tax reassessment, declining $2B asset evaluations, maturing $1B debt, diminishing “base” supporters and revitalization of the GOP with its erstwhile genuine conservatism, Americans as a whole will long ago have lost interest in Trump’s venal mendacity and the demeaning behaviour of his pyramid-based family and heirs. The attendance of the Proud Boys and QAnon at this year’s love fest is not at all helpful to any realistic recovery of the GOP.

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There was no doubt this morning from the moment of awakening – an elevation which by the way began for one of us not long after 2:00 am – that the paramount ambition today was completion of the puzzle, the 1000 piece obfuscation from England called “A Winter Stroll” by Steve Crisp sold by Gibsons “Proudly Entertaining Generations Since 1919”.  I confess the occupation is not my own. For my part it’s Bill Evans, “You Must Believe in Spring (1981)”. I excuse my reservation from the endurance of the puzzle by my preference instead for finding words. Both of us however were agreed that a cycle was in order.

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Certainly the removal of Donald J. Trump from political office has spurred considerable buzz worldwide. Mostly in a good way, I’m guessing, even for the GOP (at least if you were to listen to Mitch McConnell). I suspect the “Trump Base” – an unfortunate collision of noun and adjective, support and sordid – will in typical manner disacquaint themselves with Trump when they run to ground that he misled them for his venal purpose. The political hounds like Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley may prove to be more penetratingly misguided but they’re already at peril in my opinion. Americans don’t like losers. Whatever the consequences of Trump’s electoral loss on November 3rd and the Capitol insurrection on January 6th last, people are I believe thankful to be relieved of the constant apprehension and embarrassment surrounding Trump’s circus performance in the public arena.  President Joseph Robinette Biden is a welcome catharsis of the national image and a digestible alternative to Trump’s unsettling diet. Biden’s redecoration of the Oval Office is but one refreshment.

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The moment I threw back the duvet this morning and projected myself from the virginal lair onto the precious Persian I peaked through the patio drapery to check the weather.  Although the forecast on my iPhone was 100‰ snow precipitation for the next hour, the driveway was clear and there was only an ominous bank of grey clouds in the distance. I speculated that before the snow showers overtook us there was yet time for a bicycle ride! But we hadn’t any time to lose – not even time to make the bed.  That could wait.  Just dress and begone!

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It isn’t every day that one feels an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and fulfilment. When one does, it is the Sacrament of Heaven! Friday affords a convenient occasion upon which to be cock-a-hoop, representing as it does a traditional day for unblemished merrymaking and the start of what may become a weekend of flawless frivolity. This is especially so today as temperatures have for the first time in weeks risen to the astronomic level of precisely 1° above freezing! What greater imperative can there be for a burgeoning springtime!

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When I began attending boarding school at St. Andrew’s College in Aurora, Ontario at 14 years of age in 1963 my address in the year-book school directory was c/o Canadian Embassy, Strandvagan 7-C, Stockholm, Sweden. I remember being dropped off at the school by a driver in front of MacDonald House on a grey, miserable day. The “new boys” to the school arrived earlier than the other boarders.  I suppose it was to give us time to acclimatize but it proved to be more lonely than anything else. The discomfort wasn’t long-lasting.  As soon as the regular régime of academic, athletic and cultural activity began there was no time for anything else.

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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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