It might to the uninitiated be an impertinence to pronounce our Almonte apartment one resembling a Manhattan apartment. Yet for me the ambitious notion persists. Indeed it is part of the attraction of the place that it instills the comparison.  Perhaps what prompted the association in the first place was the staid colour of the paint on the walls – a slightly burnt yellow, not a common colour but one which blends remarkably well with the darker hardwood floors.  Perhaps it is its size which by New York standards is a very respectable 1,046 square feet.  Perhaps it is the exuberance of the Persian rugs, the leather chairs, the mahogany furniture, the brass lamps, the crystal decanters and the paintings (about 42 in all).  The place is passably elegant. There are in addition two full bathrooms, an unexpected luxury.  One mustn’t overlook the secluded nature of the apartment either. We’re a top floor corner apartment with an uninhibited view of the nearby pastures in Ramsay Township (granted not too like the Manhattan skyline but nonetheless similarly peerless – imagine if you will a view upon Central Park towards the Upper East Side).  Lastly the supreme distinguishing feature of the place is that in keeping with New York culture it is an apartment, not a house.  It conveniently lends itself to immediate and trouble-free vacancy. This cosmopolitan element blends nicely with our hibernation strategy.

Adjustment to the size of the apartment has resulted in the imposition of another Manhattan attribute; namely, a studied economy of space.  We haven’t for example any spare room for redundant things.  There is no possibility of storing anything “just in case” it might be needed one day. Duplication is likewise out of the question; only one set of cutlery, dishes, placemats, etc.  This all contributes to modern expediency.  Surplusage is incongruous and utterly impractical.  We have kept only our treasured possessions.

The building itself reveals a number of features which distinguish the place. While it hasn’t the constitutional template of the New York cooperative it has instead the novelty of a “life lease” which in many ways affords the same supercilious restrictions so common to the cooperative, prohibiting for example ownership or occupancy by anyone under the age of 45 years.  The sweeping circular drive at the front entrance is overhung by a large portico which vaguely resembles a trendy residential hotel. The lobby is calculated to inspire propriety, colours of silver and matching elegant furnishings. There is a specially outfitted common room and a small gymnasium complete with powder room.  At the back of the building is a very well appointed and landscaped area which over the years will assuredly qualify as a giardino segreto.

Finally there are the personalities of the inhabitants.  Without question the blood lines have the appearance of cultivation.  Social graces are not lost on the burghers of this particular enclave.  There is just the right amount of corporate guardedness to preserve a shadow of urban anonymity.

A sodden grey Sunday is matchless for a roast beef dinner.  I recall a visit with my undergraduate friend Fred Jones (that was his real name) to his parents’ place for Sunday dinner.  It was a blustery autumn day near the beginning of term when the trees were at perpetual risk of losing their leaves.  Fred’s parents lived in an old part of Toronto in a three-storey red brick townhouse covered with ivy.  As my friend and I ascended the stone steps and passed through the front oaken door the wafts of appetizing aromas from the kitchen welcomed us into the muffled drawing room.  There the master and mistress of the household were at their ritual stations in preparation for what was unquestionably the practiced ceremony of Sunday dinner.

Mrs. Jones, sporting a decorative frilly white apron, flitted between the kitchen and the drawing room to check the meal preparation and to attend to the hors d’oeuvres and drinks.  We boys were permitted a beer or sherry.  Mr. Jones wore a nondescript suit and stood bolt upright next to the black grand piano where he had positioned his martini. As he stood, he smoked, holding his cigarette from the bottom with the first two fingers and thumb of his right hand, drawing on the cigarette, inhaling deeply, removing the cigarette as though it were a small torpedo by rotating his arm slightly downward then puffing the evidence of his  industry into the air before him where he briefly marvelled at it. Only then did he figure to address us boys to enquire after our health and the weather.

Our lubricated conversation delighted Fred’s parents as we recounted the details of university, at least as much as we thought prudent to share with them.  I played the piano, a Bourrée by Bach.  The wind outside blew against the Georgian-style leaded windows. The fireplace sparked and blazed its burning logs.  The firelight shimmered in the room and a coziness descended upon us.  We sank more deeply into the cushioned arm chairs.

Mrs. Jones, having dipped into the kitchen one last time, reappeared and called us – now almost lethargic – to table in the dining room.  The dark oak table was laid with silverware, white linen napkins and cut crystal wine glasses.  Mr. Jones assumed the head of the table, Mrs. Jones the other.  Fred and I completed the sides.  We were asked to give the blessing which was rendered in Latin in keeping with our schoolboy tradition (“Pro hic et omnibus tuis beneficios …“).  Dinner consisted of a standing rib  roast (which Mr. Jones stood to carve), horseradish, mashed potatoes, gravy, Brussel sprouts and Yorkshire pudding. There were of course “seconds”.  When asking his wife if she cared for more, Mr. Jones politely enquired, “Have you had enough, darling?” to which she placidly replied, “Yes thank-you, dear!”  Fred and I were less reluctant but we nonetheless maintained more than a passing interest in the English trifle that followed.

Back to the drawing room after dinner.  The fireplace had subsided to a mere glow.  It was by now dark outside and we could no longer see beyond the windows which reflected the drawing room lights.  The conversation touched upon recent political matters, music and the highlights of previous travels. The evening was becoming somnolent.  Fred and I were anxious to return to residence to congregate with our cronies.  We may even have had some studies to complete before the beginning of the week.  Our Sunday interlude was concluded.  Fred and I regained the cool evening air to return to the university campus leaving behind the warmth of family and home.

Have you ever said something unpleasant and afterwards regretted it? Did you kick yourself because you knew you shouldn’t have said it in the first place? That’s a double whammy, being slapped in the face twice with the same wet fish. How slow we are to learn. Either we’re so convinced of our propriety or we handle the anxiety of the moment so poorly, we go charging in with guns blazing and raze the place. As satisfying as it may be to dumbfound the opposition (and never mind any psychological entitlement to do so) don’t be fooled; being nasty is a losing cause. Among other fallout the very person you maligned may end being one of your dearest friends. The twists and turns of society!

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Living in a small community is being part of a family. As in a family the different members of a community are bound by common threads.

For Sarason, psychological sense of community is “the perception of similarity to others, an acknowledged interdependence with others, a willingness to maintain this interdependence by giving to or doing for others what one expects from them, and the feeling that one is part of a larger dependable and stable structure” (1974, p. 157).

McMillan & Chavis (1986) define sense of community as “a feeling that members have of belonging, a feeling that members matter to one another and to the group, and a shared faith that members’ needs will be met through their commitment to be together.”

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Glancing back on a lifetime of educational studies and the practice of law I thought some reminiscence about work habits might prove mildly diverting. Unquestionably my work habits were more plodding than ideal, not exactly the work of a Whizz Kid.  To qualify as ideal the scheme would had to have been both efficient and productive.  While I can claim some modicum of success with productivity I am less convinced that I was efficient.  Anyway what matters here and now is only a chronicle of how I worked.  I am not marketing my habits as a reliable instrument of erudition.

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Say what you will, I am convinced the recent disruption of my life was linked to the full moon. In this instance it was called the “Super Moon” or if you prefer the astronomical term, a perigee-syzygy moon which signifies the moon’s closest approach to earth on its elliptic orbit. The supermoon phenomenon has been associated with increased risk of events such as earthquakes and volcanic eruptions.  Its troubling influence upon my universe was similarly apparent yesterday.

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Considering its weightiness, the end of the world commands remarkably feeble engagement.  At least in the short run.  By which I mean few of us brood over the hot topic before its vitality is exhausted.  If given attention at all I wager that it achieves preeminence only when death is at our door and by then it is likely too late to be creative about getting there.  Granted there are those who for religious reasons contemplate the advantage of life after death but that is not the same as buckling down to the cerebration of what we’ll do until then. It may offend our democratic sensitivities to think we’re somehow manipulated in what we do, that we haven’t exactly got our hand on the tiller throughout most of our lives.  But that is pretty much the case.  While it is pushing it to say we’re all sheep, there is nonetheless merit in diminution of our lives as predictable in more ways than we’re prepared to acknowledge. Adequate reflection upon the subject is therefore timely and perhaps even urgent.

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While there are many private schools of every description in Canada and elsewhere, when I attended St. Andrew’s College, Aurora, Ontario in 1963 we flattered ourselves to be among a select group called the “Little Big Four” which applied to St. Andrew’s College, Upper Canada College (Toronto), Bishop Ridley College (St. Catharines) and Trinity College School (Port Hope). We had occasional reciprocal football games with Pickering College (Newmarket) and Lakefield College or “The Grove” (Lakefield) but they were considered outside the normal orbit.

All the buildings on campus had the settled appearance of brick and stone. Each of the residences was three storeys.  The oldest residence was MacDonald House (named after the first Housemaster) which then housed the boys of the Lower School.  The rooms in MacDonald House were dormitories of many beds in a large room. The four Upper School residences were housed in one long building overlooking the “Quad”, a large park-like area where the annual Cadet Inspection and Prize Day were held.  The rooms there housed two or four students.  Some of the rooms of Fourth House had been renovated to remove the old veneer and replace it with the a new modern though sterile look.  There still remained however a room with a working fireplace (which room I was fortunate to have as a House Captain in Lower Sixth Form).  In both the Upper School and Lower School residences there were rooms reserved for the Prefects who had the luxury of their own room. The House Captains in the Lower School shared a room. In each of the Houses was an apartment for the House Master and his family.  The Head Master and his family had a separate house at one end of the Quad.  The other Masters and their families lived in small brick houses surrounding the campus.

It was clear from the outset that students were expected to work hard at what they were doing, whether academics, athletics, drama, debating or whatever.  At every turn there was no tolerance for slacking.  To ensure the motivation was there, there were constant rewards.  Everything had a trophy of one sort or another.  Even just belonging to one of the four “Clans” (which was mandatory for everyone in the school) entitled you to a piece of identifying cloth to sew onto your school sweater coat.  Membership at every level was accommodated.  The “New Boys” were required to wear a bland blue tie which was by design shortly replaced with the striped school tie.  As other achievements were achieved different ties were awarded to identify position or accomplishment.  The so-called “Number One Dress” was grey flannels and blue blazer (with the school crest on the breast pocket).  This could be exchanged for the kilt (Gordon tartan) and blue blazer.

The Masters imposed strict terms of reference.  They were always addressed as “Sir”.  The Masters addressed the boys only by their family name.  If there were more than one Smith, then it was Smith I (pronounced “Smith Primus”), Smith II (“Smith Secundus”), Smith III (“Smith Tertius”), Smith IV (“Smith Quartus”) and so on (though I can’t recall a fifth denomination).  Among themselves the boys normally used first names except when referring to someone outside their Form.  Fourth Form for example was the equivalent of Grade X in the provincial school system.  Fifth Form was Grade XI; Lower Sixth was Grade XII and Upper Sixth was Grade XIII.

Athletics adopted a similar system of priority, the senior teams of any sport being First Team.  First Team members were entitled to wear a white sweater coat with red trim.  The standard school sweater coat was red with white trim. Apart from the usual sports of tennis, football, hockey and swimming there was a very active cricket group. Those boys wore white ducks, buck shoes and white cable-knit sleeveless sweaters.

Debating was popular at each of the Little Big Four schools.  This extracurricular activity blended nicely with the equal affection for Stratford theatre.  It was all about performance. In later years the debating platform was expanded to include competition between schools from all over the world.  The debates held with other schools of the Little Big Four attracted celebrated personalities (politicians and industrialists) as Judges.

During the school year the highlights were the football games with competing schools of the Little Big Four; the Christmas Carol Service in the Chapel; and the Cadet Parade through Rosedale in Toronto.  Each of these instances provided an opportunity for family and friends to entertain the students at local restaurants and golf clubs.  The only other time the boys were permitted to be absent from the school was for Sunday evening dinner which was almost guaranteed to be roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and mashed potatoes with gravy.  If the boys were senior enough (and the parents were lavish enough) they could also count on having a beer or a glass of sherry before dinner.

All students were required to attend Chapel every morning (Matins) and twice on Sundays (Matins and Vespers).  No one ever enforced prayer but everybody had to sing.  The flavour of each service was decidedly Anglican (Church of England) and such hymns as later popularized by the movie “Chariots of Fire” were among the favourites.

Everyone in the school participated in the Highland Cadet corps.  Some were part of the pipes and drums band.  In addition to having to keep one’s shoes polished there was the added aggravation of having to polish the brass buttons on one’s red tunic.    If you were a Prefect or House Captain you were entitled to punish misdemeanours by having the younger student polish your gear.  The hierarchy of cadets included Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Captain, Regimental Sergeant Major, Second-in-Command and Commanding Officer.

“Prize Day” at the end of the year was the crown for the year’s work.  Parents and friends were invited to enjoy the display of accomplishment for the boys. There was of course always a lecture given by some visiting personality; occasionally the lecture was directed to the boys alone and actually contained some entertaining material (usually as the expense of some of the current Masters).

While events at the school were unquestionably predictable, from time to time there were disruptions and misfortune.  A boy might be expelled for having gone off campus and returned drunk.  A boy who had enormous promise was abruptly removed from the school when his parents divorced.  A boy died in a field while walking in the winter from the Toronto airport to the school. There was once innuendo about promiscuity between an older boy (nicknamed “Horse”) and boys in the Lower School; sometimes the innuendo extended to the Masters but only to the extent of mockery.

There were two annual dances, one of a semi-formal nature, the other the Highland Cadet Ball.  For the younger boys who were often from other parts of the world, the “dates” were pre-arranged.  The girls arrived from one of the Toronto girls schools such as Branksome Hall or Havergal College and were effectively paired with one of the boys.  The Cadet Ball typically involved closer alliances.  Plans for that occasion included such extravagances as breakfast parties held afterwards.  The participants were chauffeured to the party which in some instances took place in nearby private residences or in a downtown Toronto Hotel. Once the party was in a private car of a train to Kingston, Ontario and back.

Years ago a dear friend of mine postulated there are four topics of conversation: sex, gossip, bodily functions and shopping.  When I questioned him about sex being a sub-set of bodily functions he dismissed it out of hand. He insisted upon the preservation of the two.  It shouldn’t have surprised me. He was notoriously licentious and derived huge comic gratification from rude noises.  Likewise he refined the etiquette of gossip (which he had elevated to the rank of Zena Cherry in the society pages of the Globe & Mail) to exclude the strictly functional purpose of shopping.  The four topics nicely captured the natural and fervent inclinations of my friend.

While there is admittedly something compelling about the reduction of human conversation to those four subjects, one mustn’t overlook the obvious limitation. They all have a decidedly visceral tone to them.  As clever as he was, my friend’s intellectual capacities were invariably overshadowed by his affection for the less cerebral elements of life.  And there is no doubt that he was hopelessly dedicated to pleasure.  The unfortunate corollary of such hopeless dedication is the risk of trivializing whatever else transpires. Hedonism tends by extension to preclude anything that interferes with it.  It also sanctions whatever it takes to get it.

I think my friend would have been disappointed to learn that in spite of the amused tolerance which others had of his focus in life, he wasn’t considered someone of much personal depth.  In fact everything about him was superficial.  After he had had enough to drink (which was regularly) he adopted an almost stage-like appearance albeit an entertaining one.  This however did little to promote his more intellectual side.  Normally this transparency was unimportant as the highly social environment contributed to the general levity of communication.  But if you were by chance separated from the herd with him alone, the conversation rapidly deteriorated;  as always, it was a matter of sex, gossip, bodily functions or shopping.

In the examination of social conventions one must of necessity dwell upon abstract concepts.  It isn’t after all the detail of personalities which is on the table; rather the broad strokes of human conduct.  The context therefore mandates a degree of removal from the personal elements of communication. Mastering theoretical discourse of sex, gossip, bodily functions and shopping is as such a talent worth possessing.  There was for example no question that my friend was a prime candidate for almost any social convention.  He was guaranteed to contribute to the proceedings and not sit on a chair in the corner for the entire evening.  This naturally leads me to conclude that the motivations of my friend were not to be diminished.  He may even have reasonably suffered a degree of shyness and introversion which he sought to compensate by such overtly brash behaviour.

There is generally enough about life that is serious without having to add purposively to its weight.  Here my friend unquestionably excelled.  By restricting the conversation to his chosen subjects he ensured the maintenance of what may be categorized as a level playing field for all involved.  There are after all very few people who, when they ask “How are you?”, really want to know.  It is both less mucky and far more assured of buoyancy to keep the conversation to sex, gossip, bodily functions and shopping.  If one insists upon going deep down into life and pulling everyone with you into the abyss, there are likely more appropriate venues for doing so such as your analyst’s office.