By design I relinquished myself to today’s implacable summer drowsiness. The fatigue felt at times irreversible. Accordingly I relieved myself of whatever activity I would normally tackle even in this predominantly indolent state. This meant there was no bicycling, a purgative routine I am customarily reluctant to forgo. Not having that rewarding springboard from which to leap was a  decided deprivation. Yet I have noticed on occasion that a so-called “break” from repeated physical exercise affords its own stimulation the next day.

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As the human population slowly recovers its more public involvement I noticed today in particular a marked proliferation of people in the bakery section of the grocery store. Everyone – young and old – was milling about the bread aisles and centre consoles where the boxed sweets were piled. Other on-lookers (specifically two full-figured girls) were shamelessly transfixed before the long glass counter within which were displayed models of the available cakes, pies and cookies. It was 4:30 pm on a Sunday afternoon, a decidedly dangerous pre-dinner engagement. I accordingly proceeded delicately and confined my abuse to date squares, lemon tarts, 7-layer bars and 9-grain bread. And butter!

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The day is rapidly approaching when nothing will matter. I say this not from disparagement but rather in response to the forceful reality of change and decay. In the lead-up to the end of Universe (at least as I know it to be) the once seductive allure of people, things and events is diminishing. The evolution is for the most part welcome – no doubt a collateral to the adage that Nature teaches us how to die. Characterizing the transmogrification as distillation perhaps enables a less wistful result. Personally I prefer the limitations of old age, what for me facilitate both tranquillity and clarity. After a lifetime of agenda, necessity and planning it is a welcome revision to deal only with what is at hand and with what naturally captivates my focus or interest.

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Somethings just don’t last. This morning we responded to the summertime call to the golf club for breakfast on the patio overlooking the first green. In the narrow sphere of our being the golf club has become over the years a cherished haunt for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It never fails as a successful calling card for visitors to Lanark County. Nor do I forget that it was in the original club house (prior to the reconstruction of a new one following a mid-winter fire) that Galligan & Sheffield, Barristers &c. hired me in 1976 thereby initiating my law practice here.

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Whenever I set my alarm for early awakening – as I did last evening for five o’clock this morning in anticipation of my appointment at the car dealership in the city – it translates into a sleepless night and I end clawing my way out from under the sheets as much as an hour before the scheduled arousal. This particular rendezvous had at least the advantage of being an anticipated improvement – the addition of a missing decal to the front quarter-panel. Though the elevation was purely restorative it happily signalled the last of a series of steps lately undergone to perfect the mechanics and other features of my new vehicle. Essentially after two months of repeated attention to this and that I was finally afforded deliverance from endless anxiety.

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It is more accurate at times to describe a relationship not as that of spouses but rather one of friends or maybe partners. Anyone living alone appreciates the value of companionship. The relevance is especially acute when one is noticeably older than the other.  Yesterday after a mercurial battle with cancer Donna left her spouse, friend and partner John. Her passing was untimely and as a result both sad and provocative.

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Earlier today when contemplating my evening amusement of writing I pondered a suitable title for the post.  The inexpressible and unwitting Nirvana of the moment drew me to such words as “legitimacy” or other expressions characterizing a sense of clearance from the heat of embargo. I settled upon “sanction” as the most apt distinction. Strangely sanction is either punishment or approbation. Either way it involves chastising or applause of one degree or another. The meaning which arose in my mind on this sunny day as I soared down Hwy #416 to Burritts Rapids was that of accreditation. Inexplicably I was consumed by  a transcendent state of peace and serenity. It was as though my inner mechanism had been transformed to an ideal free from anguish.

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These days drifting is the closest I come to any purpose. It is what I’ve heard called that magic feeling, “Nowhere to go, nothing to do!” Yet within this aimless ambition there persists rumination about such modern thinking as changing the face of retail through on-line work-from-home and door-to-door delivery. In the case of grocery delivery, the pandemic has acquainted the aging population with a relieving option. Telephonic medical consultation is no doubt proving to be a matter of further intense consideration. The global feature of today’s anxiety is at the very least a reminder that the realities of humanity are inescapable over any border.

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In anticipation of the upcoming US presidential election in November, 2020 there are many who purport to envisage Trump’s re-election for a second term following his scrape through the Electoral College in 2016. One such person is Pulitzer Prize-winning author David Cay Johnston:

“Though he is not a criminal like Gotti, Trump’s unsinkable reputation shows he is a Teflon Don for our own era. Deceptions, lies and near-treasonous acts of disloyalty such as saying he trusts Vladimir Putin over American intelligence agencies merely slide off him.“

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Christmas morning with my parents – whether in Canada or abroad – was always a buoyant atmosphere.  My mother, in addition to lavish household decorations, gifts and endless baking, ensured an appropriate punctuation of the moment by first serving Champagne in fresh squeezed orange juice. The breakfast – tender filet mignon, creamy yellow scrambled eggs, croissants with butter and homemade strawberry jam – was so rich and fulfilling that we often interrupted our dining pleasure to re-visit the drawing room beside the Christmas tree to investigate more presents or to read my father’s recently composed and handwritten Yuletide message to the family.

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