I have never flown a glider. I have no desire to try bungee jumping. Aerial kite flying is right out! In fact for my entire life I haven’t really done anything either outstanding or remarkable.  Swimming, downhill skiing and bicycling are about as adventurous as I have been. The transitions in my life were essentially predictable. Even winning the occasional reward or distinction was about par for the course.  I have by comparison no hope of appointment to the bench or bestowal of a reward by the Governor General. Mediocrity is perhaps the least indelicate description of my life’s fulfillment.

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When my elderly mother asked when I intended to leave for Florida for the winter (we actually go to South Carolina but Florida is her colloquial term for “south”) and I told her early November, she summarily retorted, “So you won’t be home for Christmas“.

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When we spend the winter on Hilton Head Island it is “off season”.  The real tourist traffic starts in March and continues until Labour Day in September.  There are clusters of people who return for American Thanksgiving on the third Thursday of November and again briefly after the New Year. Otherwise the Island is comparatively quiet.  I was reminded of that today as I lounged by the pool in the late afternoon sunshine.

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I have always rationalized that I enjoy life because I have nothing much to complain about not. I haven’t any special talent for managing the ups and downs of life. Indeed I rather hold fast to the theme that life is good even though I am certain that an impartial on-looker might not be quite so charitable. This morning for example I received a long-distance telephone call from my neurologist’s office advising me that his review of my recent MRI discloses a degenerative disc. I can’t say that I was either alarmed or perturbed by the intelligence. After all I’ve been living with this progressive ailment for years now.  In fact I indicated that it is probably just something I will have to live with forever (although I may think differently once I receive his full written report). Until then however I have resigned myself to accepting that dilapidation and aging go hand-in-hand. That certainly seems to be the universal empirical conclusion so I don’t see why I should be an exception.

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A glistening Thanksgiving Day on Hilton Head Island! Though I went to bed around midnight last night I was up before seven o’clock this morning, a tad earlier than normal.  My days of beating to the office before nine are long gone! As a rejuvenation I decided to launder my bed clothes and bath towels, etc. I tossed in the textile I had worn yesterday as well. The washer/dryer here is extremely efficient, it practically invites participation! Almost all my clothes are identical – three blue and white stripped Polo shirts, four white Polo shirts, 3 white smalls, two white shorts, 2 khaki shorts, a red and a black pair of synthetic shorts (for bicycling), 2 sets of three pairs of white socks. The cotton crewneck sweaters are red and grey (I would have a dark blue but they didn’t have my XXX size on my latest shopping spree).  I have two woollen sweaters for those chilly days in January (and one black Viyella cardigan that I’ll probably never wear here). Generally I look the same one day to the next. I only have one webbed belt.  My thinking is, if I need anything else, I’ll buy it. Generally every morning I wash whatever I wore the previous day though as I say, no one could tell, it all looks the same.

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When I was speaking on the telephone this morning with my elderly mother – a communication I prosecute almost daily – she asked whether I was getting bored being on Hilton Head Island, bicycling every day, routinely contemplating the Atlantic Ocean, listening to the sea gulls and and the clack of empty oyster shells and lounging in the perpetual sunshine surrounded by Palmetto ferns.  I told her, “No!”  She laughed and seemed to agree, all but muttering as she has so often said before, “What’s not to like!”

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I have always jokingly observed that I have a foot fetish.  Perhaps it is true though it’s not something about which I have consulted a professional.  I confess I rather like feet all other things being equal.  By that I mean I obviously only applaud the well-maintained and naturally crafted feet.  There are for example some dreadful renditions of feet caused by arthritis and neglect. Those poor feet are not what I’m talking about at all, not at all!

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Hilton Head Island, South Carolina is remarkable for one thing in particular. Everything is at sea-level and everything about the sea is a reminder. For example fine white sand is ubiquitous, not just at the beaches but on the edges of the roads, in the parking lots, in one’s apartment or car, in your bicycle, clothes and hair. It’s everywhere! The sight of water is at every turn as well – whether the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, the rushing streams of fresh water straits or lazy inland sea marshes. There is seemingly an everlasting sky and sunshine.  Maritime horizons are known to be boundless but living under a magnificent azure dome never ceases to impress.

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There are few subjects more delicate than romance.  Yet when it comes to the liaison of others, parents, friends and perfect strangers liberally weigh in upon the matter often completely insensitive to the prickly issues at play. And the topic becomes even more fragile when broached within the context of on-line dating. Never having tried on-line dating – though I have heard anecdotal stories of both its successes and failures – it is for me peripheral to the essential query about how best to accommodate loneliness. I am assuming that if one is looking for romance then the object is to combat loneliness. It is the search for an idealized state involving two people.

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Much of what we traditionally do on Saturdays is performed as though by rote and as a result is hardly engaging. It was however with a degree of gusto this morning that I sprung myself from the downy lair. Though as usual I hadn’t slept particularly well last night – plagued as always by wacky anxiety about preposterous matters I can never recall the moment of awakening – I nonetheless greedily anticipated this morning’s foray upon the new day.

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