One of the last times I recall flying in a private plane – I believe it was called a “Beaver” – was in 1964 with David Garrett (whose father was head of De Havilland aircraft company) and “Buck” Buchanan who was the pilot. After lunch at the Garretts’ place in Forest Hill we spent a glorious Sunday afternoon winging across the expansive agricultural territory immediately north of Toronto, jettisoning out the sliding windows parachutes made from handkerchiefs to which we had attached cryptic notes for unsuspecting candidates on the ground.

“Throughout an impressive 75-year history of producing various models of aircraft in Canada and for the world, De Havilland has always proudly been known for its adaptability and dependability. Being responsible for creating some 3,500 aircraft—including the most advanced turboprop in the air today—our experience and expertise constructing the highest performing planes in the industry is second-to-none. Our aircraft are all manufactured in Canada at our state-of-the-art facility in Ontario and are a proud symbol of Canadian innovation and achievement.

On March 5, 1928, the De Havilland Aircraft Company of England incorporated a subsidiary business in Canada. Over the coming years, this small upstart would become one of the most accomplished aircraft designers and manufacturers in Canadian history. The DHC-1 Chipmunk—an all-metal trainer developed for the Royal Canadian Air Force—was the first all-Canadian design to come out of De Havilland Canada and helped establish the young company as a leader in the North American aviation industry.“

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Almost anyone you talk to – no matter where in the world – will similarly report first having to endure the inconvenience of the pandemic around March 10th, 2020.  That was when we received a communication in Florida that our private medical insurers intended to cancel our 6-month policy in ten days. This was accompanied by the Canadian government’s alert that international travellers should return home within the same time. Though with marked reluctance we dutifully drove back to our residential digs in Canada. We sequestered ourselves as required for 2 weeks. Since then we have practiced social distancing when cycling, grocery shopping or filling the car with gas.

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Before I betray annoyance I must first remind myself of the adage, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth!”

Since horses’ teeth change over time, inspecting their teeth is a way of gauging age. However, doing such a check would be a sign of mistrust towards the giver.

From Middle English texts for “given horse”:
No man ought to looke a geuen hors in the mouth. — John Heywood, 1546.

The substitution of gift for given occurred in 1663 in Butler’s Hudibras, because the iambic tetrameter required a shortening:

He ne’er consider’d it, as loth
To look a Gift-horse in the mouth.

Although uncertain, the origin can be traced even further to St. Jerome’s Latin Equi dentes inspicere donati., from the Preface to the Commentaries of the Letter to the Ephesians, circa AD 400, where it is denoted as a “common proverb” (“vulgare proverbium”). In: Patrologia Latina Volume 26, S. Eusebii Hieronymi, Stridonensis Presbyteri, Commentariorum In Epistolam Ad Ephesios Libri Tres, 537-538.

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The pep and vigour of youth is indisputably welcome and inspiring.  As diminished as my carcass is first thing in the morning, I am nonetheless thoroughly revitalized by the unmistakable gusto of young people! Specifically I allude in this instance to my niece and her husband. They’re models of energy, utility and sprightly impression. We rallied with them and my sister and her husband at their residence in Ottawa South today.  Preserving the correct social distancing, we congregated in the garden beneath the shade of the burgeoning trees and sipped coffee. When the wind occasionally picked up we were dusted by the floating cherry blossoms.

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It is bad enough merely to mark time. It is worse yet to consider what it means to do so. Marking time has as I am certain you know  but a speck in its favour at the outset; basically it involves doing little while waiting for something that is going to happen. To acquire an insight into the condition, it helps to recall that synonyms include dallying, diddling, dillydallying, shilly-shallying and lallygagging – not exactly the most energetic inspirations.

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It isn’t every day that I recover from my irrepressible anxieties and thrill to the soothing sensation of a balmy afternoon and the unmistakeable feeling of bien-être, “État agréable résultant de la satisfaction des besoins du corps et du calme de l’esprit“. Today was just such a day. Perfection about captures it! My first hint was immediately upon awakening this morning. As I drew back the patio door to the balcony I overheard a marvellously uplifting bird chirping. This was the prelude to our leisurely bicycle ride alongside the channels of the Mississippi River skirting Coleman’s Island and then through the tranquil countryside to Martin St N.

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As we set out for our constitutional bike ride this morning it was evident that the buds of the trees had suddenly awoken. The entire horizon was transformed in an instant to burgeoning verdant wildlife. Where before there had been spines of branches resembling diminished candle wicks, there now blossomed unmistakably nutritious and vigorous leaves and flowers. The diaphanous atmosphere was soothing and enveloping no doubt boosted by the ambient temperature which had risen sufficiently to promote the overnight growth. The fine weather forecasted for the next week will undoubtedly ignite a final explosion of blooms to herald the arrival at last of springtime.

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Employing an official agreement to resolve a dispute is never a bad idea in business. It’s a record of what the parties agreed upon. But the adjudication of a compromise within oneself is a different calculation. Not that there is anything specious about the personal endeavour. On the contrary the stakes surrounding continued loggerheads even within oneself are as unsettling as any public or commercial friction. But the determination of an acceptable conclusion regarding an internal disruption rises above formality – though perhaps not compromise. The competition is so often between what we expect and what is – two of the more dangerous antithises.

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Wandering about the countryside today in my aeronautical Aviator I caught myself idly reminiscing. The memories were prompted by an apparent thirst for purpose. Seemingly there is no satisfaction without fulfillment; and there is no fulfillment without industry. I wasn’t long in reckoning that the perpetual ambition for anything in the future is but a diversion from the rewards of the present. Perhaps I can be forgiven for lingering momentarily upon the past wherein after all there are similarly choice contemplations.

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There are I am discovering but two critical elements to social survival – something to talk about; and someone to talk to about it. The coffee shop and pub owners clearly landed upon this seemingly uncomplicated recipe many years ago. During this pandemic however the simplicity of the prescription is by no means easily perfected. Either – after having stewed in isolation for days on end – there is zip to report other than tarsome complaint; or – what is sadly more likely in this estranged environment – there is no one with whom to share the intelligence whatever it may be. The choice of topic is as challenging as the choice of correspondent. Some people have of necessity adjusted themselves to a state-of-art manner of communication through the internet, normally an inventive way of conducting business. For those of us less inspired by the force of circumstance the occasion for socializing is far more restricted.

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