Perhaps prophetically I am staring at the soothing late afternoon sunset overlooking Calibogue Cay on the first day of January, 2017. Though there are clouds and slender grey streaks, the predominance is a soft orange light evaporating into the blue and pink ether. The alluring sunset has transfixed silhouettes of people along the sandy white shore. They stare into the mauve distance. A restfulness has descended as the year 2017 approaches the conclusion of its first day.
It is a common mockery of older people that they lose track of the day of the week. Understandably when one no longer has a schedule to conform to nor an agenda to observe, the confusion is rife. There is however one barometer by which I can be assured to judge my present circumstances – my inclination to write. There is almost nothing other than physical impossibility which impedes my yearning to write. When however that impulse lapses – as it recently has – it is equally certain that I am ill.
Five years ago we met the Andersons on the beach near Coligny Park. The very plausible causal connection was their French bulldog Max who was reminiscent of our former Frenchie named Monroe. As chance would have it the Andersons hail from Ottawa. The serendipity of our meeting was repeated the subsequent year when we encountered the Andersons once again walking their little dog on the paths in Sea Pines. In the third year of our acquaintance they invited us to join them for Christmas Day dinner on Hilton Head Island.
As I suspect is the case with most acquaintances, there are but few singular features which survive the currency of the relationship. That at least is my recollection of the late Louis de la Chesnaye Audette, QC, OC who died over 20 years ago. Louis, apart from having been a distinguished warship Commander, lawyer and civil servant (not to mention the grandson of Sir Andrew Stuart, Seigneur and Chief Justice of the Superior Court of the Province of Quebec), distinguished himself in my mind by his command of language (both English and French) and his unrepentant dedication to himself. He once remarked for example that he especially enjoyed dining at his club by himself because he was assured to have the best company possible! While there was always an element of mirth to whatever he said, it was nonetheless apparent to me that there was an equal degree of sincerity which insinuated his flippancy. Another case in point was his reply to my question what advice he would give a young man. His answer: “I have three words of advice – read, read and read!”
It’s Christmas morning. When I emerged from my bedroom, showered and dressed (that is, insofar as one dresses in this seaside context), I was greeted by the smell of fresh-perked coffee. As always my first project was to peel two Mardarin oranges and separate them and deposit the segments into a bowl to which I added prunes and Golden berries. My bowl of fruit and cup of coffee were then placed onto the dining table at which I perched to gaze at the seashore and then fired up my computer to commence another day of electronic communications and meditative ramblings.
As irreligious as I may profess to be, I can’t imagine a more spiritual day of the year than Christmas Eve. It is very early in the morning but already an undeniable placidity has descended upon the day. The day is pregnant with anticipation yet there is an overwhelming tranquillity. It is an odd mixture of mystical and childish glee. The delight is stoked by the imagery of the season which has hit a feverish pitch. All the decorations which have been assembled days and weeks in advance are directed to this one day in particular. It isn’t Christmas Day but Christmas Eve which stirs the mind to hope and provokes imagination.
Dear Board,
I don’t want to belong to any club that would have me as a member.
Sincerely yours,
Groucho Marx.
Among the two social groups to which I belong – friends and acquaintances – I seldom have any reservation expressing my estimate of religion. I will however admit that the topic is generally not widely circulated and that in some circles of either group I wouldn’t dare say what I think. Religion can be a touchy issue.
Focus – except when it suggests monomaniacal behaviour – is generally considered an advantage. It reputedly enhances intensity (which I suppose is axiomatic) and – what is likely just as significant by default – it eliminates distracting fluff. While I have never been inclined to cultivate a wide and contemporaneous view of the world (preferring instead to remain centered on one thing at a time) I nonetheless fashion that my interests are catholic. I subscribe to a curiosity in almost anything given the opportunity. But one thing is certain, I prefer to remain focussed if only because my inherent concentration dilutes the product when the absorption is spread too thinly. What governs my so-called discernment is my predisposition; specifically, I am not persuaded by the rapture of others to adopt any particular concentration. When it comes to my personal decisions I decide what and when.
If the weather on Jekyll Island had been sunny or at least sunnier – even if not especially warm – we would have stayed another day as we had originally planned to do. However this morning’s gloomy drizzle and uniform charcoal sky dissuaded us from lingering. We had already been soaked yesterday on our bike ride around the Island, reminiscent of a dripping tropical jungle tour. And as much as I appreciated the kindness and welcoming of the staff at Hampton Inn it is not a hotel to which I would return any time soon, just a bit too run-of-the-mill for my liking, a little more “real” (though unquestionably practical) than my quixotic mind prefers. The new Westin – further up the beach – is my choice. Even the old Jekyll Island Club with its creaky floors and liveried dining room staff leaves me cold by comparison.
Shortly we leave our cherished Ocean-view condominium on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina for a few days and drive southward about 2½ hours to Jekyll Island, Georgia. Our preparatory stop will be lunch at the King and Prince Beach Resort on St. Simons Island, Georgia another sea island mere minutes from Jekyll Island.