I regularly reflect languidly upon things, a pastime which some ungenerously tag as navel gazing. It is however a philosophic occupation I am powerless to subdue. Today I couldn’t help but think how pleased I am with what I am seeing.  This simplistic and seemingly self-congratulatory remark begs the question about the depth and breadth of the observation. It nonetheless satisfies me. It’s an achievement not always assured in spite of its appearance of brazen confidence. There are so many exacting perspectives when considering the question, “Do you like what you see?”  Some are superficial or materialistic, some practical, others psychological and entirely spiritual and introverted.  Whatever the standard  it should be enough if on the balance the answer is “Yes!”  The answer could I suppose be provocative even if “No!” especially if the enquiry promotes analysis and stimulates improvement. But I view that alternative more as a booby prize.  If one were pressed to canvass all the possibilities there may be cases where one likes what one sees, but shouldn’t; and similarly cases where one doesn’t like what one sees, but should.  In the result it theoretically doesn’t matter how one answers the question.  Yet I still prefer to say I like what I see. And frankly I do!

As a measure of its value I am aware that this current state of bliss is not necessarily one which will last forever. The limitation does however more to polish the situation than diminish its intensity.  Driven as I am naturally to confess this supreme satisfaction I cannot escape the further expansion that it represents the culmination of a lifetime prosecution. Like most people I have always wanted the result but I couldn’t have planned it better. In fact I cannot take credit for planning it at all!  This is part of what stimulates my delight; it is so purely fortuitous.  To be specific, until five years ago I hadn’t heard of Hilton Head Island.  My introduction to it was quite by accident through my sister-in-law while lunching at Les Fougères in Chelsea, PQ.  At that time our vacation resorts normally included only Florida and places more southerly.  It would never have occurred to us to have considered Hilton Head Island had it not been so heartily recommended to us.

Once here we fell in love with the place.  I recall my first elated impression upon driving onto the Cross Island Parkway! It instantly captured everything I have always held in high regard, all the things for which Hilton Head Island is famous and which have formed the template for the development of other communities.  Specifically I marvel at traveling though caverns of large live oak trees draped in hanging moss, the avenues bounded by palm trees; cycling on the beach for fifteen miles or upon endless miles of paths throughout the Island; avoiding snow and crowds while enjoying off-season rates; experiencing great restaurants and a superior service industry in everything from agencies to mechanics to dentists.  In short it is a thoroughly beautiful and comfortable place to be.

There are of course moments when my rambling thoughts are less than euphoric, when I question my superficiality and reflect upon the dreadful and inescapable realities of life here and beyond.  One would have to be extremely narrow minded to avoid such perilous diversions from time to time.  We shall never be completely insulated from the unfortunate horrors of the world.  But this is only one more reason to confess that I like what I see!

When JFD and I visited his mother and her then current (third) husband in Naples, FLA many years ago, besides having been impressed by the magnificent Gulf-side condominium they had rented (from the Vice-President of Mobile Oil who intended to retire there the following year), I recall being struck in particular by their advice that they had made arrangements to rent the property the year before prior to their departure from Florida.  Of course it makes perfect sense that they had done so but at the time it was my introduction to cultivated snowbird policy and it left a lasting impression upon me.  Perhaps even then (during the height of my professional obligations) I envisaged the day when I might do the same.

This afternoon we attended upon our estate agent to sign the property rental contract for five months next year.  On its face the conclusion of this arrangement is not particularly noteworthy.  That overview would however short change the procedure.  It does for example gloss over the considerable time spent initially investigating not only the various property choices, but also the alternate venues (Hilton Head Island, Jekyll Island and Amelia Island) and other local property managers.  Each variable required examination and contemplation.  We made arrangements to inspect seven properties, four in detail, three others we dismissed only from a curb view.  Subsequently we met with the estate agent to review our findings and to obtain preliminary financial details.  Privately we had considered at length the value of dealing with our current estate agent rather than other corporations some of which were international and not locally owned and operated.  At last we met again with our estate agent to put to her our list of choices and applicable priorities.  She then enlisted the consideration of the corporate owner and finally an offer was put to us.  We accepted without further negotiation, being satisfied that our agent had done what she could in our favour.  Today we put it all in writing and ponied up the deposit.

That wasn’t the only bit of business on the table today.  I had back and forth emails with my sister concerning my elderly mother and her geriatric consultation. Thankfully the consultation went well and my sister is similarly relieved, which in turn takes a weight off me as I am displaced at a distance. Some private banking matters were also settled including arrangements with our financial advisor.  That alone would have been enough but I also received a communication from my lawyer and that matter too has been addressed.

On a less commercial level we undertook some unusual shopping today with equally sterling results.  We bought a set of martini glasses to complement the evening ritual; and a set of upscale head phones which it turns out greatly improve the quality of sound from my new electronic keyboard.  The latter achievement is positive fortune because I had been blaming the keyboard device for the poor quality sound when it seems the cause was the other inexpensive headphones (now relegated to daily computer usage).

Finally some non-glamorous but utilitarian business – arranging a cleaning with a hygienist at a local dentist’s office.  This is one more element of gradual immersion into local life.  We already established contact with a mechanic and a hair stylist.  I have yet to discover where the post office is located but our agent has so far spared us that enquiry.

Without meaning to contaminate the successes of the day I have to say I derive the same familiar sense of fulfillment in the accomplishment of these chores that I formerly got from my law practice. As much as I appreciate a sunny day at the beach I have to say that it gives me great satisfaction to set a goal and to reach it.  That’s business!

The end of the year naturally promotes reflection and recapitulation. It is an embedded custom in our society.  Likely it stems from that arbitrary commercial undertaking – the “Annual Report” – designed to assess the general strength of an enterprise over what is considered a reasonable period of time to allow for mercurial dips and spikes. The practice has since been extended from the mundane business vernacular to popular media to include an examination of the personal lives of famous people. Even if the close-up is diluted by a reference to a difficult childhood or an occasional failure, the celebrity under the microscope generally comes up looking pretty good.  On the contrary I suspect most of us would agree that turning the spotlight on one’s self or one’s friends or relatives is assured to be far less glamorous whatever the circumstances.  Or is it?

Even though I obviously speak for myself, I wager that all of us haven’t far to look to discover some pretty amazing people within our immediate orbit. Those people are not likely billionaires, movie stars or media gurus.  But their achievements are frequently no less worthy of attention and praise. In some instances the accomplishment is getting through some terribly serious surgery, whether a brain tumour, kidney transplant or cancer. For the person who faces the dreadful subject of death and who suffers these incredible trials it is unfortunately often the result of the surgery (not the perseverance of it) which dominates the assessment of the task.  I say it is unfortunate because it is unmistakeable that some surgery (if indeed not most) entails repercussions which include physical and economic loss.  For example, child bearing may no longer be an option; there may be disfigurement; employment or livelihood may be diminished or lost.  To appraise the success of the misadventure on that basis does not however capture the overwhelming triumph of the person to have endured the horrid experience.

Other equally worthy feats include the survival of a marriage dissolution, the loss of a spouse or child, the loss of employment or the loss of one’s life savings.  In each instance the loss is catastrophic.  For those of us who haven’t had to meet such acute deprivation it is virtually impossible to appreciate the extent of the damage inflicted but it requires very little consideration of the event to be touched by its magnitude.

Too often the assessment of success is directly related to how much money someone makes. This is hardly flattering when you recall that the manufacturers of Kleenex and Ketchup do very well in that department.  Surely a person’s success must depend on more than its financial quotient.

Quite apart from medical challenges which are for the most part entirely random, I have great sympathy for people who have encountered potential ruin and defeat at their own hands.  There are some observers who would be less generous with so-called culprits where the cause of the loss is technically one’s own fault.  But I still view this situation as fateful.  It is in my opinion a grievous presumption to imagine that any one of us is spared such destiny merely because of our innate perfection.  It is impossible to fathom what drives a man to risk his good name for shallow causes.  If the fellow can somehow rise above the paralyzing dismay of it all, then I say he is to be commended.  If nothing else we haven’t the right to make ourselves taller by standing on others whatever the reason.

All this is to say that sometimes just living is enough of an achievement and any New Year’s obsession with improving ourselves may be quite unnecessary. This isn’t of course to suggest that we haven’t room for change.  But I think if we spent more time thinking about what we have accomplished than where we have failed we might find we’re a great deal closer to perfection than we thought. Happy New Year!

Last evening during the ribaldry of Christmas Day dinner conversation with our hosts we volunteered to look after their French bulldog Max during their proposed outing to Savannah today with their house guests.  You might be inclined to imagine there was a vinous influence at work but there was not. Our purely motivated uptake was instantaneous upon hearing of their intention to sequester Max at home for the day while they galavanted about the countryside.  It was not going to happen!

When we had our own French bulldog Munroe we were grateful for the privilege of being able to leave him with either my parents or my sister for varying periods of time, normally only several hours, sometimes during vacations for as much as a week or two.  Because I took Munro to the office with me every day it was indeed seldom that I was either obliged to or desirous of putting him in the care of another. In fact I was so obsessed with the minutiae of his guardianship that I preferred not to capitulate to anyone else. I was an exceedingly fastidious parent. But if temporary care were required it is well known that the supreme happiness of the French bulldog is the company of humans. Once for example I made the mistake of entrusting him to a kennel.  Apparently he cried the entire time.  And remarkably when the Frenchies cry, they sound disturbingly like a baby!  That was a mistake we never repeated.

So arrangements were concluded last evening to have Max delivered to our charge this morning around ten o’clock.  Overnight I prepared myself for the adventure by acknowledging the upcoming restraint upon my erstwhile freedom, addressing the responsibilities to be assumed and revisiting the customs of protectorship. Any hesitation or second thoughts I may have had evaporated in an instant  upon Max’ arrival. The escapade was underway! Introductions were superfluous. He wasted no time casing the joint. To my surprise he quickly found his way up the hardwood stairs to the second floor from the balcony of which he gloated for a moment upon the group of us staring below before he descended to scope the remainder of the place with equal gusto. Granted as our friends commenced their departure for their day trip Max’ initial response was to go with them, but he understood the pointed finger of his master and dutifully remained inside the threshold of the door as it closed upon his pug nose.

I won’t pretend that we adjusted instantly to the renewed duties of a parent. It had been at least ten years since we had last accommodated a four-legged friend. Not surprisingly we at first attempted to reinstitute the habits which we had formerly cultivated with our own Frenchie, introducing him to the softer and cosier pieces of furniture, gently massaging his legs, going with him as he investigated the further recesses of the house, and naturally speaking baby-talk all the while.  Eventually however we succumbed to the routine pedestrian duties of dog handling and went for a walk.

Our journey was of course halted almost immediately as Max inspected every inch of the property along which we proposed to meander.  Max I discovered is more singularly minded than Monroe and it took some cajoling to get him to adopt a less inquisitive demeanour as we rounded the lagoon.  Like any grandparents looking after “the little one” we naturally stopped to take photos to share with the parents later, a duty I wasted no time fulfilling upon our return.  We repeated this outing routine twice throughout the day.  As instructed by Max’ daddy we filled Max’ water dish only sparingly.  He did, as we were informed we would do, drink whatever was put before him.

Having long ago resigned ourselves to abandon our daily ritual of a bicycle ride we nonetheless submitted in part to our own personal agenda midday.  At least I did.  I went to a local beanery to purchase a take-out burgers and white bean and kale soup. When we subsequently consumed our large meaty burgers at the kitchen table I remarked upon Max’ distinctive breeding that he had no expectation of sharing human food.  Max’ dinner would have to await the return of his master.

The customary soporific effect of the lunch inspired me to put Max on the bed with me as I dozed.  My right leg rested against his body and kept us both warm as he lay prone and slumbered as well.  I am advised that the two of us snored!

It wasn’t long after reviving ourselves from the afternoon nap that I received an email from Max’ master that the wayfarers were making their way back. Naturally I had the sense to share the news with Max to whom I showed the email on my iPhone.  I am quite certain he read it and understood the import because he then stood watch by the front door.  I later reasoned that it was likely my mention of the names of Max’ owners which alerted him to their impending arrival.  How else could he have realistically known?

Oddly when the doorbell rang to announce the return of Max’ owners, Max was decidedly aloof. At that point he was on the large couch in front of the television and it was some minutes before he even deigned to raise his head to investigate the cause of the commotion.  We suspect he was rewarding his previous abandon in kind though he finally relinquished any hard feelings and beat a cheery path to the front door to greet his mommy and daddy.  The wayward party was evidently anxious to regain their home territory as well and they all departed without delay.  Our surrogate duties were thus concluded.  All in all a thoroughly pleasant day with Max!

We disturbed our blissful somnolence around 7:30 a.m. this morning.  I accompanied my morning ablutions with classic Christmas music streamed from the Songza on-line library.  The uplifting sense of Christmas morning persists!

For as long as I can remember a hearty breakfast on Christmas morning has been the order of the day and today was no exception.  Le Maître de Cuisine prepared a downright tasteful plate of eggs, bacon, potatoes and Gorgonzola cheese, followed by wedges of Mandarin oranges, all washed down with strong, black coffee.

Although the skies didn’t clear until later in the day, we nonetheless ventured forth on our bikes to take our customary constitutional.  It was apparent from a quick scan of the beach at Beach Club Resort that the high tide had consumed too much of the beach to permit regular cycling traffic so we contented ourselves instead with the winding bike paths.  There were I noticed on the beach an uncommonly large number of pedestrians purifying themselves from past indulgences or readying themselves for those to come. The wayfarers no doubt valued the sight and sound of the pounding surf on Christmas Day and the bracing morning air.

At Coligny Park we connected briefly by FaceTime with family, an adventure more symbolic than substantive as we were clearly interrupting the matutinal proceedings.  That duty accomplished we headed along William Hilton Parkway to Palmetto Bay Dunes whence we retraced our route and ended back home after about a two-hour stint.  By then the skies were perfectly clear. We now prepare ourselves to rally with a young couple from home who have kindly invited us to dine with them this evening.  And their lovely French bulldog Max!

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It would be a shame not to memorialize the superb Christmas Day dinner we have just savoured with our friends (who I fully expect will one day buy a place here).  We were in fact seven for dinner, a congregation of family and friends.  The entire evening was perfectly fluid; conversation streamed effortlessly and bountifully.  The homemade meal was nonpareil, a Borscht soup, salad with vinaigrette simple, moist turkey, rice and vegetables followed by a heavenly Buche de Noël (Yule Log).  And did I mention Max?

The Lord above made liquor for temptation,
To see if man could turn away from sin.
The Lord above made liquor for temptation-but
With a little bit of luck, With a little bit of luck,
When temptation comes you’ll give right in!
With a little bit…with a little bit…
With a little bit of luck you’ll give right in.

My Fair Lady – With A Little Bit O’ Luck | MetroLyrics

It’s Christmas Eve on Hilton Head Island!  Christmas Eve, December 24th! Christmas Eve in South Carolina! And I don’t mind telling you I am pleased, very pleased to be here.  It is a triumph of serendipity! It closes the loop on a lifetime ambition.  Santa Claus could well be forgiven to give our place a miss tonight!

Although we’re currently locked in conflicting fronts of warm and cold air masses which are sweeping the country and causing regular outbursts of rain and occasional deluges (even a possible tornado), we interrupted the holiday lethargy of our fancy free afternoon to go for an hour-long (and fairly dry) bike ride through Sea Pines Plantation. Initially we hadn’t any mission grander than getting some improving exercise. But an assignment percolated into our naughty consciousness. It was after all Christmas Eve! We headed for our preferred package store “Rollers” in Coligny Park at the end of South Forest Beach Drive. In conversation with the Swiss-born hostess of the emporium I was flabbergasted to discover that the store also sells olives, bar ware, cocktail accessories, party supplies and even cigars!  We embellished our elemental shopping list of vodka and Vermouth accordingly.

As we cycled homeward, dogging the intensifying rain drops by tunnelling through the giant sea pines and live oak trees on the twisting bike path, our bicycle baskets duly charged, the tell-tale “clinking of the sandwiches” betrayed our sanctimony.

Once home we delayed addressing the upcoming evening supper just long enough to throw our dampened clothes into the laundry. Though yesterday the thought of a homemade tourtière meat pie had crossed our minds, we abandoned the rustic preference as too ethnic for the American palate and settled instead for the comparatively uninventive though equally traditional menu of shrimp cocktail with spicy cocktail sauce, filet mignon, sautéed mushrooms, asparagus spears and fingerling potatoes – a meal which in retrospect I can relate was superbly contrived!

Meanwhile we divert ourselves by catching bits of specialized cooking shows and repeat Christmas movies on television,  and answering emails from friends afar.  I never fail to relish the mystery of Christmas Eve!  It is a time so thoroughly dedicated to the delight of the present.  Even if one were to contaminate the immediacy of the experience by any pretence of planning, the objective would be limited to mere hours hence, so fleeting is the celebration.

Only recently I have read “The Communist Manifesto” (1848) by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels.  Not to belittle the learned treatise, it has sparked a desire to promulgate my thoughts on what I consider important at Christmas, the eve of which is tomorrow.

A manifesto is a published verbal declaration of the intentions, motives, or views of the issuer, be it an individual, group, political party or government. A manifesto usually accepts a previously published opinion or public consensus and/or promotes a new idea with prescriptive notions for carrying out changes the author believes should be made. It often is political or artistic in nature, but may present an individual’s life stance.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Before attempting a summary of my view of the matter at hand I hasten to add one further literary reference, this time that of Dylan Thomas though not as you might expect “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” but rather “Fern Hill” wherein the author wrote:

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Foremost about Christmas is the element of “good will to men”.  The metaphor of the Christian story is in its fundamental distillation the provision of a gift of good news for all.  Howsoever one views the religious tradition its significance of joy is inescapable and it thus lends itself wholeheartedly to the extension of friendliness.  The expression of this compassion is usefully made through Christmas cards and specially compiled Christmas letters.  As much as the elderly who have not kept up with computer technology may regret the advent of electronic Christmas cards they are nonetheless extremely efficient at achieving their objective and they permit a far more fluid communication than previously existed when regular mail was the only medium.  I do of course recall with warmth the memory of Christmas cards displayed throughout my parents’ home and later in the reception area of my place of business.  The cards even promoted social status if they were received from a Member of Parliament or some other recognizably important person, maybe even the Prime Minister himself.  Nonetheless the modern electronic Christmas cards admit to variations upon “status” if they are obviously the product of some complicated cybernetic construction, many of which are admittedly terribly clever and undeniably whimsical and often artistic.

Naturally the civility of wishing someone a “Merry Christmas” persists in almost every venue of our Western society.  I must say I particularly admire the exercise of the nicety when it manifests itself in a telephone call on Christmas morning between close friends.  Undertaking the duty in this manner nicely distinguishes it from the materialism which so commonly saturates a Christmas morning particularly where children are involved.  It also puts a meaningful distance between one’s friends and token gifts, again emphasizing the paramountcy of neighbourliness.

Society – whether confined to family and friends or whether it includes acquaintances and associates – is yet another distinguishing feature of Christmas.  The utter sadness provoked by the thought of someone being alone at Christmas is evidence enough of the proposition even if thought to be maudlin (though I honestly doubt that it is).  Every effort should be made to commingle with others at Christmas and no excuse however palpable under other circumstances should be tolerated.  For those who live under the cloud of potential loneliness at Christmas there is regrettably opportunity to forgo the pleasure of foregathering which is a tradition almost unique to Christmas. There are always circumstances convenient to thwart the Wassail – the weather, distance, declining energy after the Winter Solstice, abhorrence of frivolities, restrictive diets and alcoholic abstinence.  Granted there may be some merit in the objection but the value of community trumps even the most laudable dissent.

Notwithstanding the moral imperative of Christmas, most of us are admittedly bound by the tide of popular commercialism which has so insinuated the celebration.  Generally speaking I favour the myth of Santa Claus for young people (sugar plum fairies, toy trains, tinsel and sparkling lights).  The indulgence does however wane beyond the teens.  For those who by virtue of their historical kindness or personal efforts are entitled to recognition, Christmas is perhaps the best time of the year for making known one’s feelings.  Likewise people who are intimately involved or between whom strong sentiments otherwise exist, gift giving at Christmas is compatible with the Biblical reference to gold, frankincense  and myrrh.  Where however it fails to be a reiteration of the Christmas theme and merely a game of reciprocity or extravagance, it is utter nonsense and calculated only to diminish the experience, often resulting in preposterous adventures and unwanted outcomes.

Every other expression of Christmas benevolence is merely a variation on the theme of good will, whether kindness, charity or decency.  Underlying the whole is music of which there are so many adaptations peculiar to each individual’s private experience.

People of All Countries, Rejoice!