It isn’t often I receive such an ample response to my narratives as the one below written by Suzanne. Quite apart from the delightful nature of her account, I am flabbergasted by her ability to perform with the combination of such memory and acuity at the age of 92 years. And when I say perform I don’t just mean writing. On a computer. Hers is get-up-and-go! Physically too she is a wonder, slim, great posture, mobile. And, yes, she drives.
There has been a media and internet gush of predictable words from Trump and everyone around him. Trump’s criminal conviction on May 30th, 2024 may even rank with the World Series for universality. The Democrats appear to be keeping their cards to their chest, avoiding gleefully responding to the case. Nor is the complacency entirely without motive; there lingers the threat that somehow Trump will miraculously translate this disgrace and indiscretion into a cause célèbre useful to his election as president of the United States of America. This makes me ask myself, “Am I the only one who sees this?”
No matter where on earth one finds oneself It is an inexpressible delight to awaken in the morning to the start of a new sunshiny day. Of course we all know we need rain. But a blue sky with puffs of white clouds are so immediately stimulating and encouraging. Trouble evaporates. Obligation too. The pleasure this morning was further augmented by having hit the hay last night at 11:00 pm which is early enough to allow the statutory 8-hours without threat of abusing the morning, late enough to encourage a prompt dormancy. And apparently I profited from both; namely, I fell asleep without any lingering or disruptive anxieties, and I awoke precisely as the grandfather clock clanged eight o’clock fully rested and ready to greet the day.
Sir:
As a remote Canadian observer from Canada I am daily distressed by the acceleration of anger between Americans. It seems so vengeful, so calculated, so useless. Its repeated abrasion has succeeded only to dampen the pain of the injury. It has become akin a high school debate where winning alone is the imperative. Unfortunately we’re not dealing with a simple resolution such as “Little Red Riding Hood is a sexual myth” wherein the winner of the debate is irrelevant. What’s missing in these unending lobbies from one side to the other is any attempt to clarify why exactly the Americans are arguing in the first place. Nor is it enough simply to blame billionaires. They need a working economy and happy workers more than anyone. And of course Trump is a puppet. We all are, just different strings.
I don’t know about you but I’ve lately found that there’s an overwhelming amount of influence (guidance and pressure) upon my life that I hadn’t hitherto fully discerned or acknowledged. I mean to say, getting where one is is not as simple as recounting the details of one’s scholarly achievements or movements about the planet. The increasingly obvious fact to me is that there have been many circumstances and people, background and pathways, which were often hidden from view but which have unknowingly directed and swayed me. No doubt this private epiphany of mine is laughable to those of you who have a more critical analysis of your curriculum vitae or official record of what it is that made you what you are. I guess I’m just so stubborn and intent upon getting my own way that I mistakenly (or should I say, arrogantly) assumed I had fully succeeded to do so without the unknown persuasion of others or the irreversible import of cultural and social dynamics.
The piffling subject of car repair is however not without its substance and unwitting avenues of inspiration. Weeks ago I discovered the massage, lumbar and back bolster adjustments of the driver’s seat of my car were not functioning. At eight o’clock this morning as scheduled I delivered the car to Alex Zimmerling, Service Advisor, Reid Bros GM dealership in Arnprior. Alex is always a pleasure; his dry wit being paramount. He gave me a Chevrolet Equinox to drive in the meantime – which I am happy to say I do not like particularly well but only because it would have disappointed me to bring to light something I liked better than my XT4.
It isn’t every day that we have to go to the city. I say “have to” because as a rural cave dweller approaching a near half-century (Almonte since 1976 to be precise) I have come to view the world beyond the Irish boundary of Corkery as uninviting. It is an irreverence which increases each time I go there not because I dislike the city in particular but because I find the commotion within its embroiled circumstance overwhelming.
Corkery is a dispersed rural community in West Carleton-March Ward in the western part of Ottawa, Canada. It is located about 9 km southwest of Carp, in the former Township of West Carleton. Corkery was founded by approximately 100 Irish families from County Cork immigrating to the region in the early 19th century, locally known as the “Peter Robinson settlers”. The first church in the village was built in 1837, although some reports put it at 1824 which would make it the second-oldest Catholic church in the Ottawa region.Construction began in 1864 on a stone church meant to replace the wooden structure. On February 26, 1865 the church was completed and consecrated as St. Michael’s Catholic Parish. The parish operated in debt for nearly two decades, until Rev. Patrick Corkery became minister in 1884, and spent the next twenty years improving and renovating the church.
When I arrived in Almonte in June of 1976 I rented a house from Rev. and Mrs. George Bickley who then resided in the manse of St. Paul’s Anglican Church where Rev. Bickley was the minister. The first house I bought in 1978 was a very small house. Otherwise there are few remarkable features of it I now recall. One however lingers. That was a handmade bespoke stained glass window. It too was relatively small, say 1½ feet square, with an ancient pine frame. The glasswork was made by Robert Pauly who I believe then had the further distinction of living in the Village of Clayton. I do not remember how I was introduced to the artist but I clearly recollect that in addition to appreciating his talent I enjoyed dealing with him. He stood out as they say. He was animated and up-lifting. The small window was located slightly above eye-level on the eastern exterior wall of the living room. As you might well conclude, it invited the early morning sunshine and profited in due course from the exuberance of the thriving stained glass. The little window (it was almost a porthole) opened and closed, with a brass hinge to secure it.
May 25, 2024
Almonte, Ontario
Interested to know…
Toss it out, acquit, hang or send him to jail—what does your legal mind say to you, Bill?
I would so love to be in the jury room to hear the debates that will probably go on and teflon Donald likely will slip thru the noose once more but from my monitoring of trial thru transcripts, I would find him guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt but then I wouldn’t get picked as an impartial jury member!
Karen H.
Many are pledged to the golf club upon its advent in the late springtime. Especially so on a glorious day such as today when at four o’clock this morning I recall having seen sunlight already appearing from behind the bedroom roller shades. Today May 25th marks the celebratory opening and clubhouse luncheon. My partner, I and my erstwhile physician chose instead to start the day with breakfast at 8:30 am overlooking the first tee.