While it was fashion and its evident quality that prompted me to buy the hat, I especially like that “Canada” is written all over the product.  We Canadians haven’t often that kind of renown to proclaim.  Being a Canadian company does not of course guarantee that the product is in fact made in Canada, but in the case of the Raffia 11 hat which I purchased today it was apparently manufactured by an experienced and respected 3rd-generation hatter “right here in Canada”.

This medium brim fedora has a lower crown profile, and is trimmed with a brown leather hatband. Made from our Madagascar raffia, this hat has been ‘tea-stained’ to a rich tone that highlights the texture of the raffia.

I have owned about three hats in my entire life.  Two of them were for Fall or Winter wear.  The third was a baseball hat which I bought more for the colour (canary yellow) and hardly ever sport. My Tilley hat is for summer wear; and considering the current rage to avoid direct sunlight, combined with the fact that we hope to winter on Hilton Head Island for the remainder of our days, I expect to get some use of it.

Hats, perhaps more than any other article of apparel, are decidedly geared to a particular age group and often a particular niche within that group.  The fedora is a traditional look best suited for the “mature” gentleman.  The fedora, successor to the similar-looking “homburg” style, was for example associated with gangsters in the Prohibition but it fell out of favour due to a shift towards more informal clothing styles. It was however later popularized by Harrison Ford as the film character Indiana Jones in the Steven Spielberg thrillers.  My personal association with the straw hat is that of someone like the French impressionist painter Claude Monet:

It would normally be too grand to wear a hat like that of Monet but the straw or raffia (a long-leaf plant from Madagascar) lends itself to more modest employment and almost certainly its utilitarian feature will trump any social context. It is undeniable that as I age  and ferment the attraction of once quaint accessories is on the rise. If nothing else, protuberant bellies and sagging muscles require accommodation if one’s appearance is to survive the transition of time.  I am determined to do what I can under the circumstances and not to be defeated in that goal!  Barring exercise and plastic surgery, sartorial dalliance seems the least disturbing of the alternatives.  It may have promoted my interest in this particular hat that we lunched at Gad’s Hill Pub in the Village of Merrickville today.  We enjoyed a very satisfactory lunch of tea, soup and sandwich. These small details matter!

No matter that one has quit his law practice for retirement, the scope of the initial retainer may continue to haunt the lawyer for years afterwards.  I know this from personal experience because more than once I have been “consulted” by a former client regarding work I performed many years ago. Fortunately for me the enquiries have to date been restricted to information gathering and general reminiscence as opposed to allegations of professional negligence.   Nonetheless it is common knowledge that no practitioner is above error and the perpetual possibility of discovery is one which lingers long after one has doffed one’s gown.

The Lawyers’ Professional Indemnity Company (which insures all Ontario lawyers for a mandatory minimum amount and also insures many others for “excess” errors and omissions insurance) provides a standard “run-off” amount of coverage for no charge after the lawyer has retired.  It is of course possible to enlarge the coverage amount for a price.  In spite of this safety net no lawyer likes to think that he or she has failed a client.  It is however imperative that the retired lawyer recall that he or she is no longer capable of practicing law (since there is no mandatory minimum insurance other than the run-off insurance which only applies to matters arising after retirement). As such the retired lawyer must be careful not to opine or to have the appearance of opining on a matter of consideration which may have recently arisen.  This is so even were the lawyer particularly anxious to assist the client (or should I say, the former client) in the resolution of their trouble.  The danger is two-fold:  1.) of primary importance, the advice given may be inadequate or incomplete; and, 2.) of secondary importance, the lawyer’s seeming desire to assist the client may be an indirect and even unconscious attempt to deflect liability which might lawfully exist.  While there is certainly shame in having short-changed a client initially, it is an even greater embarrassment and disgrace to thwart what might be the client’s lawful remedies to perfect the abuse.  In plain terms, car accidents are never a picnic but at least there might be insurance and damages which may be collected as compensation.

When it comes to pointing fingers no one can pretend to relish being on the receiving end.  It is clearly uncomfortable for any professional to make an admission of even the chance of error; but the failure to put the interests of the client first does nothing but compound the anxiety.  This is by any standard a tall order and not one to which most would leap.  Nonetheless it is on the balance the lesser of two evils.  Besides one must remind oneself that professionals have errors and omissions insurance for a reason.

As favourably disposed as any well-intentioned lawyer may be to assist his former client, one must further recall that in law there is not a right for every wrong.  It has long ago be established that a claim to be successful must be “actionable”; that is, it must have a foundation in law, generally either case law (precedent) or statutory (legislated law).  This I can assure you is a point upon which insurance defence Counsel are bound to adhere tenaciously notwithstanding any sympathies of their lawyer-client to the contrary. There may be special situations which admit to the implementation of what historically were called the Rules of Equity, namely the general principles of “justice” which are considered to trump even the letter of the law.  This latter vernacular is particularly prevalent in the arena of so-called “natural” law which sustains such principles as freedom of speech, the right to be heard, procedural fairness and so on but it normally constitutes an esoteric thesis upon which most claims are not upheld.

Quite apart from the bona fides of the client’s claim, the duration of the professional retainer is itself subject to some limitation based on the doctrine of laches (delay); namely, the failure to prosecute a claim within a reasonable or stipulated time.  Fortunately for the claimant a body of jurisprudence and case law has grown up surrounding this particular issue and it is generally conceded that the limitation period (whatever it may be) only begins to run from the time the claim was either discovered or discoverable.  This for example affords adequate protection of the title to one’s property if it is not sold for a very long time after it is purchased (and presumably the offending error were not discovered until then).  Where however the error becomes apparent through some other means and nothing is done to prosecute the claim for compensation, the clock may work against the claimant if he dawdles.

For the past year following the sale of our house and my office building I have prided myself upon relief from the exigencies of property management.  That reprieve ended today.  Because of a leaking toilet at my elderly mother’s house, I met with a plumber there to oversee its repair.  I insisted that while the plumber was there he examine the other two bathrooms in the house and any other plumbing features throughout the house, including the kitchen sink and the laundry facilities in the basement.  His examination disclosed that the sinks in all three bathrooms are corroding underneath (pointedly invisible from casual superficial views).  He also discovered that there was a dripping joint in a pipe connecting to the hot water tank and that the cement laundry tub is cracked in several places.

Not only does this catapult my mother into an entirely unanticipated realm, it also forces me back into property management.  The harder sell however is convincing my mother that after fifty years the original fixtures of her then newly constructed house are becoming dilapidated.  If ever there were an example of being overtaken by the imperceptible progression of time, this is it!  Add to that stark recognition the further dimension of fashion – the tourquoise, pink and yellow sinks are now hopelessly dated – and the effort of persuading my mother becomes decidedly uphill. My mother, who is about eight weeks from turning 89 years of age, is adamant that her colour choices made a half-century ago are sustainable.  I have attempted to correct her view by pointing out that a perfect match between the sinks and the other fixtures will be highly unlikely but she rebuffed my initial protestations.

Happily my mother’s opening gambit appears to have altered as she reconsiders the matter on her own time.  She has begun to embrace the logic of not throwing money away on a colour scheme which, as a matter of resale alone, will probably be unattractive.  As a result I have been instructed to redirect the plumber to abandon the search for colour matches for the existing sinks and instead provide samples of replacement sink and toilet fixtures. This will naturally entail consideration of new taps (though we have agreed to abandon the thought of replacing the tubs at this point).  It may be that the replacement of the toilet tanks entails repainting of the anterior walls, but that is a demand which will simply have to be met if and when encountered.

Part of my disenchantment with my mother’s original reticence to consider these changes springs from what I know to be the characteristic intransigence of my parents to champion any need for maintenance at all.  Apart from very limited decorating my parents have never undertaken much in the way of maintenance of their house.  They were people who for most of their lives lived in accommodations provided by Her Majesty.  Even on foreign postings, my father confined his own capital improvements to gardening.  The matters relating to hardware and structures were entirely ignored in anything they have rented or have since owned.  Now however the admission is inescapable and its weight is falling hard upon my mother’s unsuspecting shoulders.  I am certainly doing nothing to cushion the blow as I have always secretly harboured a disdain for my father’s erstwhile “duct tape and binder twine” remedies which he succeeded to force upon my mother through nothing more than bloody mindedness.  I have also had some personal experiences in management of my own former properties which encourage the taking of fresh and significant steps rather than makeshift ones.  I am familiar with the resale process and can safely predict that market preferences do not currently include turquoise sinks and toilets.

Note:  The digestion of this overwhelming amount of information has not been easy for either me or my mother.  After tossing and turning in my sleep I rose from my lair and composed an email to the plumber asking him to outline the matters of pressing need or urgency, advising that I wished to review it in further detail with my mother before encouraging her to take any step in particular.  Notwithstanding that the fixtures were installed when the house was built in 1966 they may still be useable without maintenance or replacement.  In any event the speed at which this has all unfolded is making things uncomfortable so I am seeking ways to slow things down if for no other reason than to permit my mother to absorb it all and make a decisions with which she feels comfortable.  The additional background matter of concern is that we mustn’t avoid doing anything which will contaminate a possible subsequent insurance claim in the event of a loss.

Nobody likes computer problems though we’ve all had them.  What makes them so exasperating is that one hasn’t a clue what’s causing the problems.  It could be the computing device, the “server” (whatever that is), the “network” (another mystery), the WiFi modem or even the weather!  And don’t think of mentioning the “Settings” (which have about as much appeal as reading the manual before operating your new car).

If one is driven by circumstances to decipher the problem on one’s own (because for some reason you haven’t access to “tech support” or you’d prefer not to struggle with a foreigner for whom English is his or her third language), then the resolution lies in some characterless experimentation which is designed to eliminate possible sources of the problem.  This campaign of course only takes place after one has effectively got on one’s horse and ridden off in all directions, the standard unprincipled effort to “do this and that to see if it works” which usually it doesn’t.

Anyone with the slightest appreciation of computer problems knows that the starting point is a re-boot of the offending device; namely, turn off the entire system (not just re-start it) and wait for an ample length of time (the VooDoo magical duration customarily extends no less than three minutes), then turn it back on again to see if anything has changed.  Usually not.  From this strategic maneuver the next point of departure is to shut down one’s WiFi modem, again being certain to unplug the power source and wait a recommended 10 minutes (as though electricity from your house somehow drains at a donkey’s pace unlike normal electricity in the rest of the world).  At this level of quack doctoring, there may be improvement but it certainly isn’t guaranteed and one is reminded that this less than scientific process of analysis is nothing more glamorous than hit-and-miss.

Having exhausted the mindless guesses at what is wrong, now begins the real work of elimination.  If one is robust it entails a Reset of the computing device.  This scheme is an attempt to return the device to its uncontaminated original state.  If undertaken the Reset necessitates re-loading the personal account information which may be part of the problem.  Once again however there is no assurance that this prolonged eradication will resolve the issue.

At this stage of sleuthing it becomes necessary to adopt an entirely new game plan.  In what has now become desperation you reverse what you were doing, turn it on its head. Instead of looking for what doesn’t work, it’s time to verify what does work.  Oddly enough this too is part of the process of elimination. If for example the suspected problem is one which would be expected to affect all of one’s devices, then it is imperative to check whether it does.  If not, then you can isolate the one device to which it is appurtenant.  This still does not plainly focus on the problem but it may succeed to eliminate what were considered possible related problems. The next step is to particularize the issue on the offending device.  This means that the health of any similar functions must be investigated piece-meal, one at a time.  Hopefully this will expose the nucleus of the problem.  Even then however the certainty is lacking.

Only when one has painfully gone through each of these tiresome procedures does one finally resort to Google which I hasten to add is where one should have begun in the first place.  The ploy is no more complicated than this:  Ask Google if there is a problem with XYZ.  You will likely be astounded to discover that your problem is not unique; indeed you are probably in surprisingly good company and you will therefore ascertain that the problem you are having is pervasive for the device in general and yours in particular. Only then will you face the unhappy (though oddly alleviating) conclusion that a.) things don’t happen quickly; and, b.) you’ll just have to wait until the Universe corrects itself because all your fussing, complaining, jigging, stewing, vitriol and phillipics are but a waste of time and energy.  It is not just you who has the problem; everybody does!  As I say, the realization is nonetheless soothing as it distracts the anomaly from oneself to a system and there is always comfort in the faceless object of scorn.

In the end the answer to your problem – like the answer to so many others in life – is to wait it out.  All your manipulation and interference is but a dust storm of activity.

Within the past four weeks following our return from Hilton Head Island I have met with my hairdresser, lawyer, dentist, eye doctor and physician.  This morning I capped it all with a visit to the blood laboratory for some routine testing.  The overriding commitment at this time of year is however Canada Revenue Agency for the annual trek to the shrine with one’s tithe.  This latter obligation is a nagging annoyance and one filled with perpetual speculation until the impenetrable accountant makes the final determination.  Meanwhile we’re in limbo awaiting advice.  Considering that our affairs are planned upwards of a year in advance the intelligence upon current obligations is not without its import.  I won’t pretend that we have so carefully gauged our expenditures that we can cast fate to the wind.  A current milestone would distinctly assist in the calculation of our plans. Nonetheless it doesn’t help to become impatient.  The plight of accountants at this time of year to work seven days a week leaves little if any room for accommodation of zealous clients;  we must wait in line for pronouncement of our sentence.

I have added to the mix a consultation with a retailer regarding the fabrication of a much-desired bauble, a project which has been brewing for months.  I won’t diminish the ambition as mere frippery as it carries particular weight with me.  The word “symbol” or “hallmark” is closer to the truth, more than a metaphor.  Because I am having it custom-made it perhaps substitutes for what historically qualified as an insignia or escutcheon, the inherited badge or emblem of a clan or family.  Any association with such membership would for me amount to pretence, an out-dated affectation more suited to people who insist upon wearing a kilt at least once a year.  Instead I have latched onto this tribute to my imagined position in society as a modest mark of my cultivation and achievement.  It is however ostentatious enough to qualify as singular and mildly amusing from any perspective.  And if the truth be known I draw especial satisfaction from material such as this, the precious metal gold.

My final concession to the importance of branding was to order new lenses for a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses I discovered by accident in a store on Hilton Head Island.  The model has been around for many years and I would have thought it had been abandoned, but apparently not so.

The so-called underbelly of humanity – that dark, seamy and often vulnerable side – is not exactly topical though for anyone who has lived with another for any length of time the realties hardly constitute confessions of the first order. Rather those unspoken truths are at best the camouflaged details of our genetic makeup.  The way some people characterize themselves you’d think they hadn’t any bodily functions at all and that the human strain is but a contamination of their ethereal nature!

The blunt inner contemplations which occasionally percolate to the surface are generally not matters we’re anxious to publicize.  Very often the admission is preceded by the declamation, “I couldn’t possibly say that!” which is to say, “I damn well wish I could!”  Nonetheless most of us rein it in and muzzle the garrulousness at least for the time being though later it may unwittingly seep into casual conversation.

While it excites the imagination to speculate that each of us harbours an undisclosed secret, that conjecture is best reserved to the script writers of a James Bond movie series.  Witnessing the antics of a baby or visiting a decrepit family member in the hospital pretty much insures we’ve glimpsed all there is to see of a personal nature.  As for more exotic disclosure – jewel heists or even petty crime – the most one can hope for is a published version written from a gaol cell.  Unless there is some commercial advantage to its unveiling it isn’t likely to be prompted by the gratification of public purification.

The more probable vernacular for hidden agenda and disguised sentiment is everyday communication and interaction.  Driven by both conventional social etiquette and expediency we avoid the complications and extenuations of truthfulness and revelation.  Customary repartee is an intricate web of petty lies.  One must be quick-witted to discern and interpret the many nuances which characterize these exchanges.  It frequently forces the point to insist upon an open admission of intent as though we’re unsatisfied with the strength of our logical conclusion.  It further begs the question, “Who do you think you’re kidding?” Deceit requires extraordinary skill and few if any of us are a match for its exigencies.  In the result we’re likely to succeed only to fool ourselves but no one else.

The value of discretion as a governor of hysterical outbursts is however not to be diminished. There are alternate avenues along which the truth will out.  It isn’t always the harshness of its delivery which supplements its content though there can certainly be rhetorical advantage.  But unless you’re intent upon making a scene there are other ways of telling it like it is.  Who hasn’t yearned to speak their mind from time to time?  The introduction of the candid material must include a confirmation of its personal importance. Mere rude and withering observations do not count.  So far as I am aware not even animals derive any pleasure from such gratuitous behaviour. But an honest rendition of one’s boundaries and intentions is a benefit to all parties. If we spent more time directing our attention to what we wanted to say than what we wanted to hide, we’d probably alleviate life’s perpetual struggles. Obfuscation is by definition bewildering.

Oddly the last person to whom we’d care to admit the secret details of ourselves is us!  The particulars may involve things we’ve done and things that have been done to us. Often we’re unprepared to admit to them because of a sense of regret or embarrassment.  To deal with those matters we may prefer instead to spend a lifetime of ignorance or dedicated to dilution of their import.  Equally strange about these private admissions is that their greatest alarm is to us not others.  We can however derive comfort from knowing that none of us is spared the rigour of this unvoiced knowledge.  In fact it would probably surprise us to discover that others have similar experiences under wraps.

My sensitivity to the advantages of living in Mississippi Mills is fortunately not sparked by deprivation (“You don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone!“). Nor did I have a sudden revelation about what I had formerly taken for granted. I have always known that Mississippi Mills is a terrific place to live.  Sometimes however it doesn’t hurt to reiterate the reasons.  Here are a few of my own.  No doubt you will have others you wish to add to the list.  For brevity (and not to diminish their importance) I have listed a hodgepodge of services and facilities below without amplification.  The background to the particularity is our stunning river views, charming architecture, surrounding farmlands and bucolic winding roads.  And did I mention the people?  Everyone whom I know here is dedicated to our community and feels as enthusiastic as I do about the place.  We’re a singular lot and proud of it!

.  The Almonte General Hospital

I suspect I am in good company on this one.  This primary choice illustrates not only the logical tact of choosing the most critical example (protection of one’s health) but also the infinite desirability of having such an extraordinarily up-to-date facility and superlative management, staff and volunteers in our small community.

.  Restaurants

One is never at a loss to choose a restaurant in Town for casual or fine dining. For many of us the destination is within walking distance which makes for a delightful outing on a sunny day or temperate evening. We have the choice of waterfront dining, home-cooked meals, specialty foods, fast foods and renowned concoctions.

.  Trades and Professionals

There is no need to leave Town in search of trades or professional advice, those whose job requires special education, training or skill.  There is ample choice of qualified building contractors, carpenters, electricians, heating specialists, masons, painters, plumbers; accountants, architects, auctioneers, bankers, beauticians, chiropractors, computer technicians, consultants, dentists, doctors, farmers, financial advisors, firemen, first responders, funeral directors, graphic designers, hair stylists, health care professionals, horticulturalists, insurance agents, inventors, journalists, landscapers, lawyers, life coaches, massage therapists, mechanics, music teachers, nursing aids, paramedics, photographers, puppeteers, real estate agents, real estate developers, science writer, surveyors, veterinarians, among others.

.  The Fair Grounds & North Lanark Agricultural Hall

Whether the occasion is the Highland Games, Bus Fusion, Flea Market, swimming, boat races, Truck and Tractor Pull, Car Toot Bingo or end-of-summer fair, this riparian public venue attracts everyone at one time or another. In addition “the Agricultural Hall (built in 1869) is used for family parties, weddings/receptions, horticultural judging schools, exhibitions, card games, fund-raising events, pipe band practices etc., as well as housing all the exhibits at the annual agricultural fair. There is 6,000 sq.ft. of space, perfect for your event.”  It is our very own Village Green.

.  Banks & Financial Advisors

Two of Canada’s chartered banks provide top service to the community, including daily banking, chequing and savings accounts, investments, mortgages and loans, conversion to and from foreign funds and international banking and credit arrangements, even specialty wiring exigencies.  And if weighing your money is your favourite pass-time there are those to help you keep and augment it, people dedicated to improving your portfolio and managing your finances.

.  The Arts

Our local artistic community is exceptional, no other word for it!  We are blessed to have among our number highly accomplished local artisans, designers and artists who enjoy national and international renown, some of whose artifacts also adorn the fashionable galleries of Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver and further abroad.

 .  Recreation

Apart from school athletics there are opportunities for baseball, basketball, bicycling, curling, golf, hockey, hunting, lawn bowling, skiing, snowmobiling, snow shoeing, soccer and tennis.  Many facilities are specifically designated and others are of general utility.  Skate-boarding is in the works.

.  Retail

Once one has determined to buy locally, whether as a convenience or in deference to our business proprietors, there is seldom need to leave Town.  At our very doorstep are antiquarians, art gallery dealers, bakers, bicycle repairers, building suppliers, butchers, Christmas tree farmers, clothiers, coffee shopkeepers, coin sellers and traders, consigners, dry cleaners, feed and seed vendors, footwear sellers, flower merchants, framing specialists, furniture dealers, gift sellers, grocery stores, hardware stores, ice cream parlours, jewellers, maple products, musical instruments, pharmacies, printing, rentals, service stations, specialty goods, street vendors and upholsterers.

.  The Old Town Hall

 .  Bed & Breakfast & Inns

 .  Museums

.  Five-Span Bridge

 .  Charities and Support Groups

.  Religious Leaders & Institutions

.  Library

.  Teachers & Schools

.  Service & Fraternal Clubs

.  Golf Clubs

.  The Millstone News

The passage of time and our growth and development are so unnoticeably incremental that we find it hard to fathom how we transformed from one state to another. How often have we remarked, “I’m the same as I’ve always been!” The reflection is of course a comment upon our interior state of mind. Even the most vain of us acknowledges that the superficial skin undergoes observable change.  But we’re not so quick to recognize change in our way of thinking.  Do we really consider we’ve changed from the time we were younger?  And if so, when exactly did the change take place?  A year ago?  Ten years ago?  Ever?

Certainly there can be life-altering events in our lives but that doesn’t mean we changed our character.  I believe rather that we develop contrivances by which to accommodate the external temporal changes.  If for example one goes from being a carefree teenager to a mother of three, things are going to change fairly rapidly.  This of course doesn’t mean the girl stops being a girl and suddenly becomes a woman and a wife; instead she alters her behaviour to adapt to the changing circumstances.  Some of the devices may be purely pragmatic – such as training herself to suppress personal desires in favour of family; others may be calculated social conventions – such as encouraging affability by getting others to talk about themselves.  All told however nothing really changes.

One likes to imagine that the blessing of maturity will eventually blossom within us.  The take which each of us has upon this complex subject is bound to be different.  There are times when the resulting product is alleged to be the reaction to a harsh or unpleasant experience, something for example which suddenly prompts us to speak our own mind. Candid observation and blunt conversation are frequently considered to be signals of maturity and change, even the toxic privilege of “old age”.  Others by contrast adopt a more conciliatory approach and appear to become forgiving.  In either case the question remains, did anything really change?  Or are they just adopting (not adapting) a new posture?

The elemental nature of human beings is something which is not only bred in the bone and genetic but – that even deeper Darwinian concept – instinctive. The science of heredity is so profound that we are prepared to accept that our nature is traced in stone from the moment we’re born.  Anyone familiar with geological and animal documentaries knows about the references to metamorphosis which take place over millions of years: a water-living fish changes to a land-dwelling creature whose gills are adapted to lungs.  This is not something that happened over night.  By extension our own progressive alteration is equally protracted, assuming as I do that centuries of casual moral contemplation will eventually insinuate even the most obdurate surface.

In the result the adaptation may not be so much an improvement of our nature as an adjustment to it.  We simply learn to live with ourselves.  While this still leaves ample room for connivance, manipulation and other self-sustaining and protective measures, the blueprint of our persona likely remains the same.  And probably a good thing.  After all, it would hardly be worth promoting uniformity in all that we do.  Even if the skill of our maturity is confined to finessing the annoyance or obscurity of ourselves and others, at least it facilitates interaction and communication.  Nonetheless there remains the undisturbed toleration of individuality and uniqueness.  Ultimately we’re alone in this universe so anything we can do in the meantime to smooth the waters is welcome even if not certifiably mature.

Although neither of us works for a living we nonetheless embrace a Statutory Holiday as eagerly as the next chap.  Today is Good Friday.  Upon awakening we were instantly in the festive mood particularly as the sun was shining, the air was warm and the sky was blue. We know of course that most commercial establishments are closed so our loose agenda was formulated accordingly.

The day’s adventure began with the first of our Springtime bike rides, our modest concession to athleticism. Primarily for the purpose of putting air in the bicycle tyres we determined to head for Concession Road 11A which is near a gasoline station housing an air pump.  The ride is besides a pleasant one.  Concession 11A is a dead-end road into the country, bordering a municipally owned Alvar.  At the end of the road lives a young couple in a century-old stone house with two babies (a boy and a girl) and two dogs, Trudeau (a young black Labrador) and Jemma (an old chocolate Labrador). Trudeau greeted us with his customary bark when we rolled into sight on the crest of the approaching hill.  I am certain he remembers us from previous visits even though we haven’t laid eyes on him for about six months.  There followed the usual head patting, tail wagging, and “what-a-good-dog” declarations.

Our ride homeward was steady and tranquil. Although not early in the morning, the geography was yet fairly deserted on this holiday morn. Occasionally we passed others rejoicing in the sunshine, couples walking together, some with a dog, children batting a ball, a lone runner.  We wove our way through nearby residential subdivisions, around the Anglican Church where the cars of the faithful lined the narrow road, then into the bright sunshine along Bridge and Perth Streets to home.

After connecting on the telephone with family we drove to my mother’s place. But first we collected some Vietnamese soup and spring rolls which we subsequently laid out on my mother’s kitchen table for lunch.  My mother protested she wanted nothing to eat, but as usual ate everything in her soup plate.  She said she had to prepare a frozen lemon pie for dessert for lunch on Sunday with her granddaughter.  We took the opportunity to excuse ourselves and pointed the nose of the car in the direction of home.

However on our way back we diverted ourselves to White Lake on the off-chance that the corner restaurant was open for what we imagined would be the expected tourist trade.  It was.  And to our delight there was homemade apple pie à la mode which we promptly ordered along with a large glass of milk.  Our Good Friday was complete!

Today is the first day of April, a date one might naturally think heralded Spring. Yet the elongation of daylight hours is not matched by the escalation of outside temperatures.  In fact it continues uncommonly chilly, a feature which has characterized the long winter this year.  But the sky was a cloudless blue throughout the day.  We’re under a high pressure dome at the moment and as a result the air is dry and invigorating.

On a day such as this it is a particular delight for me to drive my automobile. The roads are dry. One can feel the tires gripping the pavement.  The sun glistens on the newly washed sheet metal.  My USB collection of dated songs by Vangelis, The Beatles, Enya and the like sparks endless halcyon memories. I recall flying down Avenue Road in Toronto 50 years ago under the shade of the boulevard trees, never then imagining that one day I would be living the dream.  The indulgent three years I spent in undergraduate university at Glendon Hall studying Philosophy were the first time in my life I allowed myself to disengage from constant commitment to studies.  I paid the price in more ways than one but on reflection it would be a barter with the Devil to change the course of history.  My subsequent endeavours at law school and in the practice of law circumscribed my range of actions for years afterwards. Lately I’ve made up for lost time.  I feel as though I have been lifted from a world of obligation to another of hedonism.

As poignant as my memories are, the present is so munificent that I cannot imagine improvement.  The earlier days were but a preparation, the legitimate price of admission.  I have the advantage of having gained entry to this model state.  Much of our status is a product of reasoned choice though naturally there is also serendipity at play.  No life is without a measure of advantage and disadvantage howsoever it plays out.

I continue to enthral myself by feeding my appetite for my favourite things.  A small indulgence in particular which nonetheless affords considerable return. A symbol of triumph, a personal treat.  Still there is an adjustment to age and retirement.  Medications now replace what once youth afforded.  No matter. Even Zeus granted immortality sparingly and I am no Ganymede or cup-bearer. I’ll content myself with my own fabrications and the waters of my past, a day of memories.