It is effortful not to tilt one’s head and smile when arresting one’s eyes upon the freshly scrubbed and beaming face of an innocent child. Likewise the fresh face of a young and especially attractive person can have the same magnetic affect. Nature loves a winner and when it comes to winning, good looks are no booby prize. For those of us past youthfulness and who as a result prefer to avoid reflective surfaces, it can be one of life’s unexpected rewards to discover the bounty of the cosmos expressed in the sanguine features of vitality characteristic of a young and winsome person. Beauty has such an inescapable authenticity. It is virtually impossible to divert one’s eyes from it. It is a priceless commodity for whose arena there is no charge of admission.

Thankfully for us all the quality of the treasure we adore is different. Not everyone’s view of beauty is considered ideal. What for one person is captivating is for another not so. Certainly there are those whose appearance is so universally artistic and profoundly meritorious that most would not deny it being a thing of beauty. More often than not the appeal is the balance and harmony with nature, though always subjective. Nonetheless there have been attempts throughout history to establish a classic look interestingly involving mathematical dimensions such as symmetry and proportion. It is also believed that the model of beauty oddly derives from the “averageness” of one’s features, the less likely one’s appearance is markedly different from the sum of the total.

The word beauty evolved from the Greek word meaning “hour”, the implication being that beauty is aligned with the ripeness of one’s age, which nicely captures the beauty that can be found in both a baby and an elegant octogenarian. Be that as it may, I find that elegance does not compete with the verve of a fresh face. To pollute the idea of outer beauty with the necessity of inner beauty is in my opinion equivalent to retailing the product in a new package.

A fresh face can come at a cost. When the bloom is gone, the flower is cast aside. For some who have been lucky enough to be endowed with visual appeal, the loss of it through misfortune or attrition can precipitate unwelcome consequences. The loss of beauty and its collateral advantages of personal attraction can unleash devastating results if the person has not acquired other skills of association and social interaction. Even when not dissolved, beauty presents a standard of comparison which can invite enmity and lead to discontentment.

Inevitably even the fresh face becomes common-place. The analysis of time always points to the defects of nature. Time, no matter how little of it may have expired, is an exhausting fuel, one which leaves its own less flattering patina instead. Much of the draw of a fresh face is its mere novelty. How quickly we become heedless of contemporary beauty! Yet no sooner does one fresh face fail to attract than another passes by. Nature is generous in its provision of moments of beauty.

It was a lost cause! There was no way in the world that Rebecca was going to fit into that dress, even if it were the only one she owned of any worth. The fact is, Rebecca Sample hadn’t worn a dress for so many years that it was no wonder it didn’t fit. The last time Rebecca had worn a dress (indeed the same one she was now trying to get into) was about ten years ago or more when she had been invited to Judge Newton’s retirement party, along with all his sophisticated and influential local friends and the other people who had ever worked for the Newtons. Rebecca had been their cleaning lady, that preposterous and obsequious expression used to describe someone who cleans toilet bowls. Anyway, she didn’t care what people called her (within reason), and she certainly never made the mistake of confusing herself with a lady in spite of the nomenclature. What was she to do! She had to have a dress for the luncheon at the Château Laurier Hotel in two weeks time. Rebecca had never been to the Château Laurier Hotel, though of course she had seen it on the occasional visit she had made to the City from the country to do some shopping (which expedition inevitably ended with an empty basket, she just couldn’t bring herself to pay those prices). Once, she had contemplated using the ladies’ room in the Château Laurier Hotel in an emergency situation, but her natural shyness prevailed, and she chose instead the more public (and more distastefully maintained) washroom in the By Ward Market. She could recall the stench even to this day!
Several weeks ago, Peggy Doyle had called to invite Rebecca to join her and two other former girl friends (Margie Blatchford and Heather Morris) for lunch at the Château Laurier Hotel on a Monday afternoon. Peggy was one of the few people among the tiny populace of Burnstown Village where all the girls had lived who had succeeded in distinguishing herself, other than by getting married before twenty-two years of age and having children within a year thereafter. Peggy, who had come from the same modest family background as the other girls, had the one thing the others didn’t have in abundance – brains. While Rebecca had her feet solidly enough on the ground to avoid confusing honest work with shallowness or inadequacy, she nonetheless also recognized that Peggy Doyle had done a lot to advance herself through University to become a qualified professional (she did something in the financial sector, that was all Rebecca knew or cared to know for that matter). Whatever it was that Peggy did, Rebecca knew it wasn’t cleaning other people’s toilets.

Peggy, it might usefully be observed, had the same respect for Rebecca and the other girls, though of course for other reasons. Peggy had an eye for what is commonly called the salt of the earth, and she wasn’t ashamed or hesitant to admit it, though she fully suspected that the girls would be surprised to learn of her high regard. Margie worked as a Clerk in the Becker’s store in the Village, and Heather worked as a Manager in a nearby Giant Tiger store. All of them, except Rebecca, were married. Marriage just never appealed to Rebecca, and she had yet to meet anyone who interested her enough to steal her away from her favourite pass-time of canoeing, which in the winter was replaced with snow shoeing. Rebecca was distinctly the out-of-doors element of the crew. This also explained why Rebecca had nothing to wear to the Château Laurier Hotel. Her private industry and solitary life merited little requirement for the more effeminate accouterments. She had got along quite well with only blue jeans and flannel and denim shirts.

As Rebecca contemplated her predicament, her mind wandered to a consideration of what had prompted Peggy, after all these years, to call the former girl friends together. True, they had been stuck to one another like glue in high-school, but that relationship had quickly dwindled upon graduation. Actually, Margie never graduated; she left two years earlier than the others, forced by necessity into the work force. Oddly, neither had any one of the girls been to the wedding of the others. By strange coincidence, each of them had decided to have a very small and intimate wedding, and Peggy’s was even in Barbados, which would have been out of the question for the others to attend in any event. Peggy had married “up” or “well” as some like to say. In spite of this, the girls were such close and true friends that they maintained equal affection for one another even after all the years had passed; and, more significantly, they retained their genuine curiosity to know what and how each of them was doing. Conversation was never lacking among these four, no matter what the interval of correspondence between them! Still, Rebecca couldn’t figure why Peggy had orchestrated this reunion. Was she going through a divorce and feeling the loss of companionship? Was she becoming sentimental for her rural roots? Did she just want to show off her urban and professional status? Was she just being a friend? Whatever it was, Peggy hadn’t betrayed her purpose. When Peggy had telephoned each of her girl friends, she almost jokingly teased them about the motivation behind the call, simply saying they “would see soon enough”.

As so often happens when ancient friends have not seen one another for a long time, there is an inclination to want to present a favourable impression of oneself when the acquaintance is renewed. Of course, for any who consider the point for but a moment know, the impression is quickly forgotten and replaced with the depth of knowledge which the other friends already have of you, so in that sense the effort is entirely wasted. But, still, there is that tendency. It did, however, perturb Rebecca that she should be obliged to spend some of that money which she was always so reluctant to part with upon an adventure which might, at the most, last no more than three hours. Rebecca was not the type to derive any particular thrill from making an entrance. First, she was too self-effacing for that, and besides her practical nature mitigated against anything as obviously superfluous as looking pretty for the sake of it. And yet, she didn’t want to disappoint Peggy, nor the others for that matter.

Not to be ruined by the dilemma, Rebecca intently canvassed her options for getting a new dress (even though it burned her up that she might never use it again). Among her immediate thoughts were, not surprisingly, the discount clothing stores, but Rebecca felt that anything she might get at those emporia was likely to be identifiably discounted goods. As much as Rebecca did not spend her money on clothes, her proximity to women with money (whose homes she cleaned) had educated her eye to what was good and what was bad in the women’s fashion industry. Rebecca never failed to open the closet doors in the bedroom on the pretext of cleaning the tops of the doors, to examine surreptitiously and often wistfully the contents. Besides, Rebecca found she enjoyed the wafts of perfume which frequently flowed from the racks of clothing, a smell quite different from the antiseptic cleaners she employed to fulfill her duties. Rebecca knew of several stores in the City where she could search to find something within her budget, but she knew that a good deal of her reluctance to do so was not just the expected high price of the goods, but also the whole process of doing what she considered to be foreign to her. Rebecca was not a shopper by any stretch of the imagination, and she certainly didn’t appreciate the prospect of being mollycoddled by some matronly shopkeeper who would invariably seek to impress upon her what she considered to be her superior views of fashion, as though Rebecca were, by her folksy appearance and mannerisms, obviously in need of guidance. Rebecca’s instincts told her that in matters such as these one had to be able to stand one’s ground to avoid complete capitulation. As a result, the regular commercial options did not appeal to Rebecca. There was, however, one further option which only came to her mind as an after-thought, and that was her recollection of a store in the Village which had recently opened. The store sold vintage clothing (which Rebecca thought was a significant departure from used clothing). While Rebecca had never been compelled for any reason to examine the items which had been displayed in the window, even her cursory sight of them as she passed on the street informed her that the articles were of good quality, some in truth being virtually brand new and never used but once or twice.

The time before the reunion passed quickly. Unbeknownst to the other girls, each of them was doing her very best to make the event memorable, which is to say that each of them was working hard to prepare herself for what promised to be a remarkable and unprecedented outing at the Château Laurier Hotel, putting her best foot forward. Without disclosing to one another what they planned to wear, or even hinting that the subject was of a pressing nature, the three girls in Burnstown Village arranged to travel together to the City on the appointed day. There was no need to take separate cars, and besides they could catch up with one another along the way.

On the other side of the proverbial coin, Peggy Doyle was busy making her own arrangements, the least of which was booking a table for the four ladies at Wilfrid’s dining room. Peggy could hardly contain herself in anticipation of the event! Never before had she done anything like this (nor decidedly would she ever do so again), and it was all she could do to restrain herself in the weeks and days leading up to the affair. Peggy’s husband, Jamie, who imagined that he knew all about the arrangements, saw his petite wife positively elevated off the floor for the entire time.

The Doyle household had been in an unusually excitable state for the past eight weeks, when Peggy had first learned that she had won the lottery. But having once decided that she wanted to share part of the winnings with her erstwhile girl friends, the level of excitement was raised to a feverish pitch. For most husbands, the prospect of parting with even a tenth of such a windfall would have precipitated more than a little consternation in the family. But Jamie Doyle was hardly in need of the money, he had enough of his own. Fortunately for the integrity of Peggy’s plans, her girl friends were unaware that Peggy had had such luck. Though the win had been dutifully reported in the media, everything which appeared was under Peggy’s married name, which of course appeared as Margaret Doyle, thus putting even further distance between herself and her small-town roots. Neither Rebecca nor the others would ever have thought to check the newspapers or the internet (which they never used anyway) for such intelligence. Such good fortune was thought to be unimaginable. And Peggy had been out of the vicinity of Burnstown Village far too long to have remained important to any others.One would think that the business of writing a cheque to someone would not present much of a problem. However, considering the amount of the cheque which Peggy proposed to give to each of her three girl friends, her financial and legal advisors had told her to be cautious. Quite apart from the simple act of depositing money to someone’s account, the more important corollary was what was to become of the money once deposited. The legal issues were somewhat less thorny for Rebecca, who was not married and therefore had no exposure to a traditional spousal claim (and seemingly there were no “partner” claims in the wings); however, for the other two girls, the possibility of the money being traced to a matrimonial home distinctly contaminated and compromised the independence of the fund. Peggy did not want her girl friends to suffer the indignity of having kept their own windfall for a mere short time only. Peggy, as a financier herself, well knew the statistics on windfall gains and the many sticky fingers which often attached to it, much less the very real possibility of having the money dribble through one’s fingers like water for a myriad of other reasons. In her debate with her advisors on the many issues surrounding the gifts, Peggy had canvassed such esoteric considerations as the establishment of a trust for each of the girls, the imposition of restrictive divestment provisions, and the possible inclusion of the bequests in her own last Will & Testament. As so often happens in matters such as these, the ultimate resolution took more time than expected, but within two days of the scheduled luncheon, Peggy had brought the matter to conclusion and the desirable legal mechanisms were in place. Now it only remained to bide her time until Monday next at 12:30 p.m. when she anticipated meeting her girl friends at the Château Laurier Hotel for luncheon.
When the day of the luncheon finally came, it was a brilliantly sunny day, highlighting the glistening new copper roof additions to the Hotel. The doormen appeared in long, dark coats and blazing brass buttons. The nearby sight of the grand structures on Parliament Hill added to the formality of the experience and the fairy-like nature of the buildings. When the girls from Burnstown Village arrived beaming at the front of the Hotel, they were so overwhelmed by the day and the attentiveness of the staff that they permitted themselves the indulgence of valet parking (though it must be owned that Rebecca, who sat in the back seat, considered it an unnecessary extravagance, and she had some trouble accepting that the door was held open for her). What followed – the glide through the Grand Lobby, the ecstatic greeting by Peggy at the podium outside Wilfrid’s, the luncheon, the gossip and the desserts – all that pales in comparison to the moment when Peggy slipped each of her girl friends an envelope, which she invited them to open. Words cannot begin to describe the heart palpitations and cold sweats on the brow which immediately followed thereafter. The other guests in the dining room all looked up in unison from their gilt-edged plates as the crescendo of excitement rose at the table where the four girls sat. It took the longest time, and rapid interjections from Peggy, to explain what had transpired. To the credit of the girls, it never once was asked by the beneficiaries why they were entitled to such largesse from Peggy; somehow they each knew they would have done the same for the others, given the opportunity. What, however, they didn’t ask, and didn’t know (nor did Peggy’s husband, Jamie), was that nine weeks ago to the day, Peggy had been told she had an inoperable cancer and that she had three months to live.

Having practiced law in the Province of Ontario for thirty-eight years (all but two of which have been in Almonte), I am afforded by my antiquity the privilege to provide an abstract view of the subject. I would like to share with you what upon reflection I consider to be the principles of law, those over-riding and distilled theses from which our more particular laws derive. It is a thorny question because so much of our legal system is the synthesis of many resources, religion, colonial history (including the American revolutionary experience), case law and even less identifiable sources such as our sense of fair play, our openness to change and even our view of the differences (if any) between the sexes. These fundamental principles guide not only the judiciary but also the members of society in legal interaction.

The so-called natural laws or products of the collective conscience must be accepted as peculiar to our Province because it is a gross mistake to assume that such principles are the same for every community, though obviously the Canadian vernacular is similar as a whole, but most likely quite dissimilar to the African or Asian model for example. Indeed any comparative analysis, whether of law or religion, is guaranteed to illustrate differences which at times are so startling as to erode the very foundation upon which our own beliefs are purportedly based. The reason for this is that we suddenly come face to face with the realization that our laws are not, as much as we might have wished to think, a priori (independent of experience) or universal; rather they are a posteriori, products of our culture which is why our legal principles are of limited geographic application. Howsoever these principles arise, they nonetheless exist, and for our purposes they arise from what in this Province at least is called the “Common Law” (itself a healthy republican starting point, one of which no doubt the ancient Romans would have approved). Let me add that these principles should not be confused with the constitutional division of powers and what the Americans in particular are of fond of viewing as entrenched rights.

Proportionality

The burdens imposed on the individual must not exceed what is necessary to achieve their objective. This principle nicely covers for example things like taxation, a subject which is especially dear to our hearts at this time of year.

Legal Certainty

One must define the legal entity with whom or which one is dealing, whether a natural person (including a partnership or other commercial construct such as a joint venture) or a corporation. There are no other recognized legal entities. The practical upshot of this principle is that if you are dealing with a corporation your remedies for default may be limited to what is in the account of the corporation, not that that of its principals however well-heeled.

Equal Treatment or Non-discrimination

This speaks for itself. We have long surpassed the once revolutionary legislation of the Family Law Reform Act which adopted the then entirely new concept of “equalization of assets”. It is a hot topic these days, having particular application to school bullying, variations of the meaning of marriage and even grass-roots considerations of whether girls can play on boys’ hockey teams or physically disabled athletes can compete in the able-bodied Olympics.

You Cannot Do Indirectly What You Cannot Do Directly

This principle is one which trumps a lot of otherwise clever manipulations in law. The attempt to defeat restrictions on the severance of land by granting the buyer a lease rather than a deed would be an example.

You Cannot Give What You Do Not Have

This seemingly empty assertion (much like “a bachelor is an unmarried man”) does however convey more than a mere axiom or self-evident truth. Particularly in the context of contracts, this principle has especial application if one party promises something which for one reason or another is out of his control (for example, guaranteeing the consent of a lender or landlord who are not parties to the contract). This principle has achieved such universal recognition that it is captured in the legal maxim “Nemo dat quod non habet“.

The Law Does Not Concern Itself With Trivialities

This is another of those maxims which is as well captured in a Latin phrase “De minimis nor curat lex“. While it might be thought that the law concerns itself with hair-splitting only, this principle prevents the parties from being consumed by relatively unimportant matters, whether spelling mistakes, obvious errors of identification, etc. This however does not relieve parties from strict compliance with statutory formalities (for example that a Will must be in writing).

Fundamental Breach

If performance is utterly substandard, the injured party is relieved from his obligations.

Substantial Performance

This is the flip-side of Fundamental Breach in that it prevents the injured party from taking unfair advantage of another whose breach occurs after a large percentage of the agreement has been performed.

Doctrine of Laches

Where there is unnecessary delay in prosecution of one’s rights or obligations the Court may decline to entertain them.

There is something to be said for having no choice in the matter. The easy targets (pardon the pun) are uniforms and the military. Rows and rows of unvarying and consistent soldiers paraded with clock-work precision having only to listen to orders and take commands, and certainly never having to worry about what to wear. Rejection of such uniformity and militaristic deportment would weaken the system. You’re either in or out; for or against. The choices are mutually exclusive. There is no room for Namby-Pamby conduct.

Beyond uniforms and the military the less persuasive arena of such blunt performance is dichotomous thinking, framing issues in terms of opposites such as yes/no, on/off, reason/passion. By way of example, if one extrapolates (another unintended pun) the discourse to bipolar behaviour the unattractiveness of opposition is instantly revealed.

There is, however, an appeal to binary thinking. It is its purity and order though lurking in the shadows is the element of hierarchy. Not so readily apparent is the component of dominance which is built-in to binary thinking, an obvious example being male/female, though it is less punishing when framed as yin/yang. Beyond the sexist environment there is also right/sinister which has its inherent ingredient of superiority, the value-laden difference between good and evil. Remember though that there can be no good without evil any more than there can be night without day. In that respect binary thinking is a device to develop language and provide a structure. We did not inherit language, we have created it.

On a clinical level the preference for binary thinking (that is, the allure of opposites) is that it facilitates resolution. From the thesis and antithesis comes the synthesis. This is the venerable tradition of dialectical thinking, though if one clings steadfastly to either/or there are no intermediate possibilities. Returning to the military vernacular for a moment, even competing battles (though designed to produce a single answer or winner) can result in a draw, a recognition that things may have to be left unreconciled and unresolved.

In the everyday world, the employment of binary thinking can allow one to withdraw from complicated personal tangles and debates. By abstracting opposite views (that is, distilling them to precise terms) the conflicts become more manageable and less obfuscated. By contrast it might be argued that the creation of such dichotomies is an attempt to avoid nuance and refinement, not to mention balance and cooperation. It is undeniable that the charm of binary thinking lies in its simplicity. On its face, at least, it eliminates a lot of discussion. Here again, however, the classification of complex information, as for example like/hate, tends to create positive and negative poles. Nonetheless, we humans are generally uncomfortable when events or ideas are unreconciled and it is expedient to harmonize our souls by discovering what is black or white. Nonetheless, the characterization of someone as evil is perhaps too unconditional because it excludes the possibility that there is some good in the person. The theoretical boundaries of words begin to collapse upon examination.

At times the use of binary opposites appears rather silly. In the Income Tax Act for example, there are references to residents and non-residents, the attempt of the draftsman of the legislation to capture the opposites. The word, however, becomes cumbersome when used in the expression “I am not a non-resident”. Such codswallop betrays the unambitious use of language. Such language is also found in expressions by which lawyers seek to avoid proscribed offence. For example, it has been said that the Courts cannot generally force someone to work; so, when a strike ensues, the application is made for a cease and desist order (which is shortened for “cease and desist from not working”). More tarradiddle!

In the end, apart from the philosophical manipulations of the subject, the frozen truth is that it is easier to handle things when they’re reduced to mutually exclusive opposites. Its avoidance of compromise compels especially motivated people to conduct their affairs with rigid accuracy where no shortfall is abided. This, of course, isn’t to say that it is easy adopting binary thinking, but it is designed to cultivate a critical division between possibilities, often resulting in the creation of a superior product. Binary thinking is the elemental machinery of thought.

In a society such as ours which places extraordinary value on measurable belongings and undertakings, it is not surprising to discover the overflowing effects of materiality and accountability upon our emotional and spiritual well-being. It is common practice for example for an automobile manufacturer to define itself by the persona of those who drive its products. The character of the driver may, however, become a mere façade rather than capturing the true personality of the driver. There are endless incongruities between the “appearance” of a car and the person who drives it though it is equally apparent that the driver is intensely in earnest to project the image that matches the car.

The alignment of value with the things we own and the things we do does not stop at cars; it goes on to include the homes in which we live, the fashions we wear, the places we dine, the resorts to which we travel, the sports in which we participate, the booze we drink, even the friends we have. If one allows oneself to be swept up in this mosaic of associations it isn’t long before one has entirely lost sight of whom one is except by such associations. So weighty is the apparent nexus between our soul and our stuff that any severance of the connection is either unimaginable or downright irrelevant. In the result we get headed in a certain direction from which there is ostensibly no deviation. Before long the hours turn into days which turn into weeks which turn into months, which then turn into years. We are effectively hooked by eternal predilections from which we imagine there is no possible extrication, rather like being addicted to some despicable drug. Regrettably these penchants which once so enchanted us and which now define our character can turn from mere tendencies or preferences to weaknesses. Thus begins the decline.

To cut one’s self loose from these established moorings is no mean task. Setting one’s self adrift without knowing where one may travel is hardly the gear of design and management. But if one has not been separated from these tangible connotations, the adventure can be less than hospitable. It is uncharted territory to head into the unknown mist motivated only by one’s own strength and imagination, without the benefit of the advertising dynasts to tell you where you’re going. It may even occur to you that you hadn’t until now ever contemplated your own naked and uncomplicated meaning in this world.

Where the commitment to self-discovery loses some of its strength is when the application is confounded by such echoes of materialism as “the good life”. Combine that convincing observation with other adages as “life is short” and you have a cocktail (perhaps literally) designed to entrench you forever in your old habits. Additionally if pressed one may have difficulty formulating an argument which trumps the value of all that you have spent a lifetime accumulating and developing. Let’s face it, the number of people who turn their back on it all and snap their fingers at it are few and far between. This is made all the more perplexing if one has effectively been living a lie. Yet while it may be easier to avoid rocking the boat, the fact remains that until you know who you are you run the very serious risk of losing your mind. I realize that may seem to overstate the case but one need only examine the frequency of stress, strain, tight muscles and indulgences of food, booze and drugs to accept that there may indeed be something wrong with this picture.

It is one of the welcome accidents of despair that when one is driven that far, the alternatives become fewer and fewer and recovery – at whatever the price – becomes the sole object. It is then that we disengage and set off on the barque of our own doing, perhaps with a wistful eye to the past but a determined view to the future. In short it is a liberating moment in time.

It is well-known even among those who are not forensic specialists that a criminal is drawn to the scene of the crime after the fact. Something there is about the heightened adrenalin which so frequently accompanies a radical exploit that one is inexplicably summoned to revisit the place where it transpired, as though one were capable of re-enlisting the historic events, recapturing the rush. On the other hand it may be just an overwhelming desire to consume as much detail of the place as possible on the assumption that the fleeting occurrence of the original deed eclipsed those erstwhile minutiae. In its most essential context it may be no more significant than visiting the place where one was born – mere curiosity. On the balance however I am inclined to stamp the obsession as more nefarious than a thirst for knowledge.

Perhaps it is easier to gain an insight into this peculiar behaviour when one considers that re-living any moment of singularity – whether one of elation, despondency or otherwise – is not especially uncommon. A victory for example may be particularly compelling. To re-enact the moments leading up to the win (whatever the forum) can be irresistible. Often these dramatic events in our lives occur so quickly that we only attempt to slow their assimilation by rewinding them, sometimes monotonously (though always to our continuing advantage).

Generally speaking however it is not considered sound to dwell upon the past, good or bad. The absorption can nurture unhealthy preoccupations from which it may become more and more difficult to withdraw. Playing back a particularly fierce argument, for example, with one’s friend or spouse may be a dead-end street calculated only to re-open the wound and foster further unspoken odium.

The unusual feature of savouring a particularly emotional moment is that, unlike feasting, one can seemingly never get enough of it. It is oddly an almost insatiable appetite, all the more so by virtue of the frothiness of the original motivating cause. But just as the criminal should be forewarned about returning to the scene of the crime to avoid incrimination, so too must any one of us be chary of re-living any other unpleasantness. The result in every case is nothing but accessorial contamination.

What it takes to synthesize an experience is time and distance. Repositioning oneself in the original discourse does nothing to advance the process. It is advisable to keep in mind that the thrill (or disgust) of the initial occurrence can never be recaptured. Once the event has exhausted itself the mute button is on. To avoid getting on with things is rather like the man who tries to sleep with a pack-sack on his back; the effort is completely encumbered. At first we may be reluctant to let go of the strings which connect us to the past – whatever it is – but there will be no advancement until we do. As much as we may have been stunned by the randomness and unexpected consequence of a circumstance, re-hashing it will change nothing. I have this notion that it is far more mature to abandon nastiness and to opt instead for a livelier horizon. In a word, foreclose the scene of the crime.

Anyone with a ghost of a conscience knows in his heart that revenge is the domain reserved for criminals and Hollywood thrillers but it hasn’t any place in the lives of people who pretend for a moment to elevate themselves above the dregs of society or the fiction of cinema. Granted the subject can make for some rivetting reading and entertaining viewing (even, dare I say it, a catharsis), but it is otherwise a capitulation to moral turpitude. In the end we know we owe it to ourselves to avoid the bait.

Revenge: The action of inflicting hurt or harm on someone for a wrong suffered at their hands; a retaliatory measure.

The definition sounds simple enough and may even coincide conveniently with the “eye for an eye” theory which has the benefit of Biblical authority (Exodus 21:24). However, revenge has by contrast been described as “a boomerang – although for a time it flies in the direction in which it is hurled, it takes a sudden curve and, returning, hits your own head the heaviest blow of all” (John M. Mason). Revenge has also been depicted as “wild justice” (Francis Bacon) or “like biting a dog because the dog bit you” (Austin O’Malley). Yet there are others who are of contrary opinion: “Revenge is sweet – especially to women” (Lord Byron Don Juan); or such proverbs as “Revenge is a dish best served cold” (which has been interpreted as a persuasion to forestall vengeance until wisdom can reassert itself) and “Don’t get mad, get even” (which embodies the modern Western legal system’s goal to make the criminal “pay his debt to society“).

The trouble with pay-back – at least on the personal as opposed to the institutional level – is that it springs from bitterness which like most deep feelings of rancour, enmity and hostility does nothing but promote heartburn in the vessel that harbours it. It is sadly true for those of us intent upon destroying our enemies that they frequently are unaware of our estimable preoccupation and thus the undertaking does little more than secretly diminish ourselves. Furthermore there is the possibility that the harm we imagine to have suffered is not real or may have been unintended In matters of the heart, as in matters of commerce, there exists the conceivability of misunderstanding such that our surreptitious efforts at retribution are entirely unexpected or unimaginable by the object of our cause. Often we are so driven in our sense of social justice that the proposed punishment in revenge far exceeds the original injury. To this detractors argue that revenge is a logical fallacy of the same design as “two wrongs make a right“. As noble as the subject of revenge may have been characterized by Shakespeare (Hamlet) and others, perhaps it was best put by Confucius: “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves“.  This admonition is nonetheless lost on the likes of the Scots who, when not talking about their ineffable selves, are routinely planning the annihilation of someone else.

In the heat of the moment it is more than an inductive leap for most of us to adopt scripture which prescribes: “Do not seek revenge…love your neighbour as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18). As compelling as the philosophy may be against the enactment of revenge, more often than not we unabashedly – even audaciously – pine for it. Likely we may even go so far as to pretend we haven’t an appetite for it, but usually it persists. It takes a very special person to rise above it.

Recall the words of Francis Bacon: “The man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green“. Herein lies the palatable and pragmatic advantage of avoiding revenge; viz., it spares us our own self-inflicted misery. Some may even assuage themselves to believe that passing it over elevates us above our enemies. In a word, revenge is corrosive. Liberation from the hackles of revenge must come from within. Yet even if one seeks to avoid retribution, it is not clear that we so easily forget notwithstanding that “to be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves“.

If nothing else one must weigh the advantages and disadvantages. The actions and behaviour of some people are perhaps intolerable but to indulge ourselves in the weaknesses of others may only prolong what is implacable vengeance.

The logbook of existence for many people is scarcely enviable. Rather it is a balance sheet with uncommon liabilities. In brief, life is hard.

The accomplishment of getting out of bed in the morning is a victory won with only waning pride. It merely sets in motion the lurching disappointment which already reigned through much of the night when frustratingly trying to smother one’s orbiting dreams in the pillows. Once standing disarrayed and staring into the mirror, one lamentably murmurs, “How long can I keep doing this?”.

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No doubt you have overheard it promoted to someone who has recently suffered a loss or set-back that they should do something to take their mind off it. Very often the politic proposal is to do something which is for the benefit of others rather than oneself. This is clearly a device designed to distract the injured party from his or her own misfortune. Strangely enough it unremarkably unfolds that industry directed to the betterment of others vastly uplifts oneself.

There are of course exceptions, those who are steadfastly dedicated to their own vexation and who are extremely reluctant to divert themselves from the preoccupation. Generally speaking however the subterfuge works even though it smacks of nothing more artful than putting on a happy face. Besides one can appreciate the return on the capital investment. Putting others before oneself, acknowledging that there are so many others whose condition is far worse than one’s own, and merely distancing oneself from the knots of one’s own sometimes stodgy existence is easily more profitable than cultivating an unhappy circumstance. This is not to say that the task is undaunted but there is a good chance it will provide at least temporary relief, by which time the strength of the original incident may have subsided. And even if not, there is seldom anything lost in so altruistic a venture.

Along this line of self-imposed deceit are other prescriptions such as learning to “rise above it”. This too is mildly Machiavellian though once again oddly successful. This is an especially cerebral misrepresentation, more in the nature of a private act of deliberation than an overt act of public kindness. Nonetheless almost by virtue of its enigmatic lineament it appears to vitalize one’s resolve. There is additionally something terribly civilized about it as well, stoic in a word, right up there with the “stiff upper lip”! One can readily enlarge upon the tact by vouching for its conspicuous maturity, capturing as it does a good deal of the philosophical element, the randomness of life and so on. In short it purveys every hint of sophistication, dare I even say Sophistry? This particular device has a leg up on the less empowering adage that “it could happen to any one of us” which when you think of it is hardly relieving and instead seems to convey some entitlement to adversity.

A more passive remedy for one’s personal troubles is – if you’ll forgive the temporary lapse into the vernacular – the adoption of something approaching “Don’t let the bastards get you down!”. In spite of its aggressive tone, it is of course little more than snapping one’s fingers at the dragon, a mere “Pshaw!” in the face of the devil himself. The dissimulation here is the pretense to be unmoved by seemingly insurmountable obstacles. While it may put too fine a spin on it, if your calamity is ostensibly at the hands of others, you might even consider going the extra mile by proclaiming that it is the privilege of the masses to mock their betters! This particular arrogance really rubs their collective noses in it while indirectly avoiding the decided indiscretion of having to stand on others to make yourself taller. It’s almost a trivial concession which has the effect of deflating the opposition, certainly a dismissive act of the most extraordinary order!
Some measures are more generic, things like “Into every life some rain must fall!”. This I find has the poetic bent to it, though as a result it is equally dispiriting in my opinion. Ever it was that resort to poetry so often accompanies a heightened level of despondency. Waxing poetic with one’s eyes uplifted and distantly focused on the stars was never my idea of getting through a rough spot; rather it appeared more like caving under the weight of it.

I suppose I could go on recounting those many other exhortations which often flow so freely from the mouths of others, those innumerable proverbs which are invariably designed to separate you from the poignancy of your own bad luck. Yet it probably matters very little in the end how one packages the condensed saying. What does matter is that – by deceit, logic, arrogance, poetry or otherwise – one manages to insulate the problem and isolate oneself from it. It may seem a glaring oversight on my part to have failed to mention the possibility of confronting the problem head-on and dealing with it, but that can be such a consuming undertaking, very often at the risk of devouring oneself in the process. In any event, what I am talking about here is merely a bit of taradiddle, a little white lie just to get one through the initial difficulty. There will always be time to go right deep down into life’s misery.

It is hardly enlightened to observe that – especially in Western society – most people have a deep affection for the things they own. Materialism seems to be part and parcel of life in the so-called modern world. The automobile in particular has long been acknowledged as exemplary of this fundamental disposition. But the affiliation goes far beyond what is at its worst mere unilateral idolatry. The ownership of a car, to continue the metaphor, can set up fairly significant barriers between oneself and other human beings. While it might at first be speculated that only those who enjoy the ownership (or lease) of the recognized high-end automobiles are likely to turn their respective noses well into the air, the truth is that there are as many divisions of ownership class as there are automobiles. Each brand carries with it its own entitlements (and causes for segregation). So, for example, the operator of an energy-saving small machine is just as probable to sneer at gas-guzzling SUVs. Likewise the owners of practical and economic cars are no doubt ill-disposed towards the owners of excessive and opulent ones (my preference, by the way). Then there’s the German vs. North American thing; propane vs. fuel, and so on. There’s simply no end to the forces which drive automobile owners apart and consequently provide ample fodder for indexing and honking horns when perturbed by a bit of bad driving on the part of another.

But picture my embarrassment to discover that this controversy had somehow made its way into the realm of bicycles. After all, even admitting (as is true) that there are cheap and very expensive bicycles out there, I never imagined that the brethren of the saddle would tarnish the fraternity by allowing a bit of metal to come between them. Yet it is so! Recently, as is my wont, I have taken to the country roads in an endeavour to engage in some healthy out-of-doors exercise on my bicycle. Now, I must explain immediately that my bicycle is not one of those racing bikes. Oh, no! Those days are long gone! At the age of sixty years, and having been on the operating table once already for open-heart surgery, my interest in speed and sleek has been replaced by high handle bars, balloon tires and (if you’ll forgive me for lapsing into the vernacular) a fat-ass seat (not mine, I mean, but the saddle). There was, however, a time when I thought nothing of spending an entire day on my bicycle climbing the hills in the Gâtineau Park, sporting clipped shoes, silk-like pants and a lock and chain about my waist. Now (though I wear a helmet to avoid being thought completely uncool) I tend to look rather more like a tourist from Florida on an early morning expiation along the beach before settling back into lunch and a mid-day cocktail . Nevertheless, I would never have thought that either my bike or my appearance would have alienated me from the world of which I have been a part for so many years. Wrong! Let me now catch sight of a cyclist on one of those racing machines coming towards me on the highway (I always ride against the traffic because my Fat Frank tires – that’s truly what they’re called – enable me to take to the gravel when a car flies by), and I can guarantee that the fashionably clad fellow (perpetually wearing dark sunglasses and the deadpan visage of a sheep) won’t so much as acknowledge my existence as he sails past. For the longest time I made what turned out to be the undignified effort to say a cheery hello, never succeeding in any correspondence. Now, adulterated and bent as I am by past experience, I pretend to out-do their snobbish ignorance by doing the same (though I suspect they only interpret my avoidance as deference).

The other side of the coin is, as you might expect, that when the on-coming cyclist is someone who is clearly doing the cycling for the enjoyment (and not the punishment, as seems to characterize the racers) and is more often than not clad in something anyone of us could find in a bottom drawer at home, the reception and communication is a great deal more enthusiastic. Birds of a feather, and all that, I suppose. Those of us who ride clumsy old bikes, or what were once called cruisers, relate to one another instantly, and – more to the point – charitably. As a result, I’ve given up being concerned about my fellow creatures, at least when they’re wearing skin-tight one-piece multi-coloured outfits and riding bicycles with wheels the width of my thumb. Regrettably, however, I am unable entirely to abandon the pretense of not having even noticed them. Seeing through people takes years of practice, and having been removed from the urban scene for thirty-three years I find it difficult to adopt that unpleasant posture. I am soothed in my commitment only to think that I didn’t even glance at them as they whizzed past!