I have never liked getting up late in the morning. It offends my Protestant Work Ethic. The only exception is when I am having a sound sleep – but that is a rare occasion.  Accordingly I have convinced myself that I am one of those who requires very little sleep.  As a result, if I were to linger beneath the sheets, the restraint causes enormous anxiety.  Obviously at my advanced age – and frankly having nothing of importance to do on most days – there is hardly a rush to put my feet to the floor. Nonetheless, perhaps because of historic Spartan habits, anytime after seven o’clock in the morning borders on indolence. This speedily feeds my obsessiveness – which is not necessarily a bad thing; but it is a fazed disposition. It most certainly does nothing to promote a retiring sleep.

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“I am not possessed with this common errour, to judge of others according to what I am my selfe. I am easie to beleeve things differing from my selfe. Though I be engaged to one forme, I do not tie the world unto it, as every man doth. And I beleeve and conceive a thousand manners of life, contrary to the common sorte.” —Florio, ed. 1613, p. 113

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What a magical day it has been! I don’t recall what time it was when I awoke and threw back the duvet.  But significantly it was, I am certain, after nine o’clock. Which meant I had had a good night’s sleep.  I find at my advanced age in particular it requires very little on my agenda to disturb my somnolence. For example, having to go to the doctor’s office; or get the car serviced; or in fact just about any kind of early or mid-morning convention. By comparison, though we had arranged a meeting today, it was not scheduled until 1:30pm.  Putting it past the noon hour is tantamount to an entirely new day so the prescription was of no consequence.

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The physical world is naturally undeniable; however a critical analysis would force upon oneself the equally compelling reality of thought, sentiment and emotion.  Saying that either – that is, the palpable world or the sentient world – is paramount is likely a draw especially depending upon one’s current perspective and absorption or historic precedent and preoccupation. Exhaustion of one’s appetite for either indulgence – materialism or thought – will as well predict the vista of predominance.

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We took great pleasure in afternoon conviviality with a gentleman who is in the throes of a great deal of activity. I am frankly exhausted to contemplate all that is on his table. It is nothing discomfiting or unfortunate. Quite the opposite.  Nonetheless there are burdens to be supported throughout the process of any transition. Coincidentally – while sipping my espresso – I remarked upon his interest in Canadian art.  Though my personal attraction is to contemporary – though traditional – expressions I confess a weakness for the Canadian vernacular (such as initially exemplified by the Group of Seven).  In particular the topic is reminiscent of my dealings with Heffel Gallery.

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We lunched with friends on the southern boundary of the county today, east of Westport and north of Plum Hollow. It is an unhurried drive from here to there and back. Aside from a passably good meal – and some bakery delicacies afterwards – we caught up on all that had transpired over the winter including of course brief summaries of the mid-winter explorations and related social activity and encounters. Our focus was uninterrupted by either staff or the meal, as we strategically dissolved the seasonal snowballs and re-engineered ourselves for a new beginning at the golf club.

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Dear Reader:
My apartment neighbour yesterday said mournfully, “The world is changing.” At the time I thought she was either over-reacting or merely being melodramatic.  Now however I am not so certain. Almost anything one hears or reads lately reflects a similar sentiment.  And it isn’t just the usual platitudes.

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Slumped in my grandfather’s lounge chair, listening to a chap on TikTok instructing how to speak Québecois français, my attention was interrupted this afternoon by an unexpected telephone call from Derand West Tricycles.  The caller (Jordan Childs, Store Manager) enquired whether Sean might deliver my new trike today.  I unhesitatingly replied, “Yes!”

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A couple hours more of this snowfall, then it’s wind gusts and back to springtime warmth. Already the sun is beaming through the pallid atmosphere and wintry flakes. The white upholstered landscape is remarkably beautiful. The sight of the river is almost entirely muted by the snowfall and humid sky. The deck chairs – upon which only hours ago I languished in the sunshine – are now like snowmen, serenely bound by soft but ample cuffs of white.

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It is predicted that we shall not yet escape the winter. For 12 hours, beginning at 11:00 pm tonight, we shall endure 12 – 15 cm of snow, then the wind gusts, climbing temperatures and sunshine. The prospect for springtime weather looks more favourable thereafter. And like everything else it is all happening quickly.  We jump from one vista and sensitivity to another. We may think we have control but there isn’t the time. Neither time to ponder nor time to forego.

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