It will surprise no one to hear that during the prevalence of the pandemic my daily agenda is both limited and repetitious. In a word I have grown to realize and appreciate the strength and importance of social contact with others – whether casually at a coffee house with strangers or acquaintances or more formally over breakfast, lunch or dinner. With almost every degree of familiarity having been quelled, one must learn to withdraw from social fabric and instead replace time with more solitary customs. My scope of adventure is tiresome to a fault! Nonetheless what I do is always a first choice preference not a mere filler.

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Who doesn’t adore a Sunday! Though the Sabbath is a religious observance common to many faiths the Christian rendition (and its historical prohibition of commercial activity) bears repeating. The weather forecast for the remainder of the day – at least until sunset when conditions begin the ascent to a flawless sunny Monday tomorrow – is relentless rain. The probability varies in range from 40% to 80%.  And cool temperatures below 50°F.  I can hear the forceful drizzle upon the drawing room window. What could be more perfect for an idyll Sunday, Beethoven’s Mass in C Major, Op. 86 (Ingeborg Danz et al.), black coffee, sliced green apple, wedge of Brie cheese, toasted and generously buttered cranberry/pumpkin seed bread and steel cut oats ornamented with pitted prunes! It all unites with the low yellow lights, green leather chairs and stunning Oriental rugs to inspire a relaxed and soothing metaphysical atmosphere.

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Though the bike path earlier this morning was not particularly occupied (perhaps because of the cool temperatures), later in the day the streets in both the country and the city were busier than they have been in the past month.  I saw an endless string of cars on the main street as I was leaving Almonte to go for a car wash. Later as far afield as Burnstown in nearby Renfrew County I noticed a surprisingly large number of vehicles in the parking lot of Neat Café. I was tempted to go in but resisted. I telephoned the Café to enquire about the status of their business and was told that they’re offering take-away only – but nonetheless a full menu.  Already however people were showing their exhaustion with social distancing. There were a number of patrons assembled at a picnic table on the patio adjacent the main entrance of the Café. I suspect the dereliction will be tolerated by whomever has been cast an enforcement officer There is at least room for legal argument – the measure of social distancing, the acceptability of familial abuse, an overriding entitlement of liberty. Whatever!

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It is a small compliment to my inventiveness that terra firma mysteriously affords me the advantage of doing more meaningful things – or should I say, doing things more meaningfully. The trait is especially noticeable because the scope of my general activity – wherever it occurs – is shamefully repetitive.  That is, it isn’t so much what I do as where I do it. Furthermore the transition to this side of the border is purely natural, little more than the fulfillment of a creature returning to its nest. You no doubt perceive that the alleged novelty is thus intuitive – or as so many these days are inclined to say, “organic“.

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I spent the afternoon driving my new Lincoln Aviator. After I got it washed in Stittsville the rambling tour was about the back roads of Lanark County. It would be quite inaccurate to suggest I either flew or sailed but the sensation was I am sure similar.  I am guessing because the closest I have come to flying an aircraft was when I flew from Miami to Key West in a plane that was so small I could tap the shoulder of the pilot.  The last time I sailed was in a skiff on the Baltic Sea near Stockholm, Sweden.  Both incidents were are very long time ago.  I am however content to equate today’s exhilarating automotive experience to the much renowned businesses of flying and sailing.

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To a degree taking delivery of a new motor vehicle is not entirely novel to me. I have repeated the ceremony regularly throughout the past forty-five years beginning 1975 when my father bought me my first automobile, a green 4-cylinder manual transmission Ford Mustang. This afternoon I re-enacted the ritual by completing the purchase of a Lincoln Aviator.  Aside from having stuck with Ford Motor Co – what I regale a “domestic” manufacturer – a good deal of the event today was considerably different not only from forty-five years ago abut also from just last year.

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As I drove into Ottawa early this morning to take my car to the dealership for replacement of a defective Sirius module, it pleased me to be doing something of substance.  Quite apart from the disabling influence of the pandemic, being retired means I seldom have much of a pressing nature other than groceries or a visit to the pharmacy.  Having this duty to fulfill made me feel relevant once again! As well it got me out of bed earlier than usual which naturally entails the advantage of a longer day – and the incomparable benefit of an afternoon nap!

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The corner of Bayview Avenue and Lawrence Avenue East in Toronto, Ontario, Canada is where I attended undergraduate philosophy studies at Glendon Hall in what was the former Wood Estate. It was surrounded on one side by Mt Pleasant Road and on the other by Post Road, Park Lane Circle and the Bridle Path. Nearby were Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre, Sunnybrook Park and Edward Gardens. Just a short way north, south of York Mills Road, resided E. P. Taylor who coincidentally was a native of Ottawa and a graduate of Ashbury College. It is no surprise that when many of us from St. Andrew’s College were introduced to the bucolic campus in North York’s exclusive environment through Principal Escott Reid we were smitten and made the radical decision to apply there for admission rather than to Trinity College, University of Toronto where most graduates of the “Little Big Four” namely Upper Canada College, St. Andrew’s College, Trinity College School and Bishop Ridley College traditionally sought admission.

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The theme of revival at this time of year is inescapable whether prompted by springtime regeneration or the mixed metaphor of legal and spiritual extension of contract validity with the Holy Spirit. Either way the transition from winter dormancy is acute. The awakening this year is however noticeably diminished by the pandemic. The certainty of the natural and spiritual reinvigoration contradicts the pervasive uncertainty of the future.  Already people are starting to talk about foregoing handshaking interminably! The fluidity of global acquaintance is under attack! And with it comes a blunt admission of our mutual interdependence though not exactly the familiarity we had anticipated.

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There are few people who warrant the designation of flâneur.  It initially had the connotation of wasting time but has since acquired the incomparable ingredient of Parisian superfluity. The French have sought to expropriate the singular denomination much the way they have with Champagne.

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