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.

Step aside, pusillanimous rogues!  Make way for those hungry for enterprise! I’m all about P&V!  I have no intention of relenting while the bodily humours course vibrantly throughout my worldly frame!  To horse, I say, to horse! Until I’ve withered on the vine I mean to do what I can (a laudable ambition I think you’ll agree). We who yet tarry upon this unfathomable globe are inherently charged to fulfill the ordinance for which we are enabled by dint of our natural blessings and good fortune.

Trouble is, I haven’t an inkling what that might entail. The aspiration is for the nonce ineffective. Nevertheless I am Hell-bent upon doing what I can. In a word, I am driven. It is the percolation of the unstoppable creative impulse, the zeal that drives one to learn to play the piano, to read a book or to run for public office, even for some to play lawn bowls. For the time being however there has been nothing which has withdrawn me from my painless inertia. There have been bait lines thrown in my direction, invitations to join gaggles of immersed people – a religious congregation, a charitable troop, an intellectual assembly.  I have however rejected them without ceremony and certainly no apology.  As stimulating as each of them no doubt is, I haven’t been persuaded to succumb to the particular invocation. In these critical matters the discriminating mind must set its own pace, unpersuaded by rash projection and misguided rapture.

Life is about fortuitous intersection! I harbour the belief that when the seasonable project comes along it will implore my sense of purpose and I shall then do what I can. I am confident that the collaboration which is the “right fit” will in time transpire and I will know when to commit, to seize the opportunity.  This meanwhile compels a measure of assiduity, keeping one’s ear to the ground and an open mind.  The window through which to contribute to society is boundless though the aperture is to each individual select. It requires discernment.  I perhaps flatter myself to say that serendipity has always played an astonishingly pivotal role in my life. I interpret even the casual skirmishes of life as fortunate happenstance, good luck for the most part, nothing as unremarkable as mere coincidence.  But stoicism is required to ensure life’s expressive unfolding.  There is no toehold for haste in the sound implementation of these signal manifestations. Prudent reservation and a degree of hauteur recommends itself to the proper navigation of these winsome waters to ensure a happy correspondence of energy and cause.

When one is at the end of their tether (such as I suppose I am) it might be considered more prudent to forgo the occasion to re-engage.  Or if one must do something, at least keep it uncomplicated.  This precious state of unflappable lassitude should not be recklessly unhinged.  Its cherished fuel may exhaust more quickly than expected.  Only when one is assured of the worthiness of one’s propitious campaign should it be targeted with uncompromising avidity.  All that I am is in preparation for that fateful moment of circumstance!  I shall lunge like a skilled swordsman when the occasion is properly conceived!

Until then I shall do what I can.

Having to wait is seldom considered desirable.  Most often waiting is associated with delay and annoyance, like waiting for a bus or the traffic to move or your accountant to call back.  But holding one’s horses is not always irritating.  Think of waiting for Christmas.  Or the arrival of a friend.  Even something as pedestrian as hanging fire for dinner or for a movie to begin. Waiting can at times be a teasing preamble, a temptation of what what is to come.  There are even times when waiting proves to be more exhilarating than the event itself.

Waiting does however universally cause anxiety of some degree, good or bad. In its happier incarnation waiting is called anticipation, looking forward to something, not just loitering or impatiently calculating the minutes or hours remaining.  There is the added veneer of expectancy, even suspense.

At the moment I am in such a state of enthusiasm.  I needn’t bore my dear reader with the trifling details; waiting for anything is always personal and the object is not guaranteed to move another as it moves oneself.  Heightened longing is not peculiar to any particular category of person; it can strike anyone at any age.  One would think that after a certain point in life the possibilities of amusement have been exhausted but this apparently is not so.

While one waits, one contemplates.  An inertia takes over, prohibiting extraordinary undertakings until the latest passion is accomplished.  It is setting the stage for what is to come.  A scan of the constituents of one’s life mechanically occurs.  Where will the awaited object or person fit into one’s life?  The strength of the occupation is not diminished by the recognition that almost everything about oneself was at one time or another awaited, once longingly envisaged. The novelty of what one is waiting for nonetheless stimulates its attraction.

It would be wildly foolish of me to liken the absorption with the anticipated arrival of a newborn babe, for the focus is often nothing more than objective, a mere thing.  But even then the uplifting spiritual feature is there!  The object is meant to transform albeit in a small way.  It may be a reward, compensation for something.

Meanwhile the abstract view of one’s being lends itself to this mature way of dealing with what is expected.  The details of everyday living are slotted and categorized, put into their place pending the arrival of the foreign element.  It is however a project as artificial as attempting to stop the clock.  It is quite impossible to arrest the status quo for any length of time no matter how significant the object of one’s attendance may be.  But it at least enables a fleeting glimpse of the whole before its components are revised, the inevitable shuffling of anything new in one’s life.

As we squished our way along the smooth highway surface, the car splattered by the large wet snowflakes of a late Spring day, glancing at the grey and brown countryside covered in its mantle of whiteness, we talked. The conversation was initially of a summary nature, rounding out our most recent communications with friends, ensuring that each of us had all the details of what was said, including the nuances, then surmising what they are intending to do.  The digestion of all the raw material afforded us by our friends requires time and reflection.  No one is completely transparent; the application of reasoning is required to deduce the correct conclusion, or at least to attempt to reach the correct conclusion.  For the most part we’re more amused by what our friends say and do than by where they are going.  Besides speculation is so often wrong.

We also tossed about the idea of a jaunt to the East Coast, to the beloved Atlantic Ocean. My mind is set free whenever I contemplate the seashore,  the views, the smells, the people, the food, the inns.  We decided to avoid the major urban centres like Montréal and Quebec City.  The object is St. Andrews-by-the-Sea, a place we’ve never been.

And we talked about books and philosophies, including broad subjects like the evolution of thought throughout the world – as though we could do it any justice!  There were practical matters too, the latest purchase and chatter about finances and income tax.  The transition from one subject to another had no theme or purpose.  And then we were funnelling into Gananoque, parking the car and walking across the street to the restaurant.

We are never disappointed at the Socialist Pig, the butter dripping from the grilled sandwich of brisket and cheese, a delicate vinaigrette on the fresh leafy greens, a tangy old fashioned lemonade.

Our project accomplished we turned around in the opposite direction, this time along the Ivy Lea Parkway with its panoramic views before entering Highway 401 for the clinical ride home.  We stopped along the way at my mother’s to bring her a Mocha coffee and to share the news of the day.  Then it was groceries and back to our apartment, nibbles of crudités, cheese and yes, a Nanaimo bar for dessert.  House of Cards to end the day, what will become of Francis and Claire…