Thankfully in my current state of catholic indolence, even a dismal day is now too relevant and important to bypass. Relevant because I have nothing other I would prefer to do than ponder and write about the subject (call it a hobby). And important because I know that time is running out and that there will be nothing other than these trifling ruminations to enlarge my library of accomplishment upon my death.
Being in the sphere of old age means removal from another world. Increasingly I am haunted by the impression that what I see from my ancient perspective is likely quite different from what young people are looking at notwithstanding the philosophic import of universality.
Jim Hugessen died on April 21st, 2024. He was 90 years old. Aside from having had a distinguished career as a Federal Court Judge he was a great guy. Neither my partner nor I can precisely recall when we first met Jim. At the time he was living in the grand stone home along the Mississippi River adjacent the Maclan Bridge that goes through the middle of town. The home (purchased by Rob Prior and refashioned as the “Almonte RIverside Inn”) is immediately adjacent St. Paul’s Anglican Church whence derives considerable history bearing upon Jim’s erstwhile spousal connection to the Rosamonds, the wool gatherers of eminent distinction in town.
Before AI was part of the daily chatter there were algorithms. What little I have detected about algorithms is that they’re a collection of one’s own thoughts or preferences; that is, the prescription is both predictable and familiar. Put another way, you get out of it what you put into it. Not entirely an unimaginable leap from the typewriter or gramophone.
Indeed, Dionysodorus agrees that “there is no such thing as false opinion … there is no such thing as ignorance”, and demands of Socrates to “Refute me.” Socrates responds “But how can I refute you, if, as you say, to tell a falsehood is impossible?”
There were rumours this morning as we departed the apartment to drive to the golf club for breakfast that it was snowing. I had earlier seen suggestions of same on the weather App but was undeterred. Nothing had yet materialized. I was set upon wearing my exceedingly comfortable Dillard’s Roundtree & Yorke vanilla Bermuda shorts with the expandable waistline. Snow showers in April be damn! They quickly pass. Besides the temperature was predicted to rise above freezing; and the late morning and afternoon forecast was for high winds (northerly of course) and sunshine. In any event we were going to the golf club. Our housekeeper was due to arrive within the hour. We prefer (as no doubt does she) that we’re out of the way.
Sitting at my desk this evening after another of my partner’s incomparably gratifying and balanced meals, overlooking the endlessly magificient view of the burgeoning country fields and placid upriver aspect, I am complascently reminded of the tolerable straits. Apart from the personal patina of ¾ a century, it constitutes an exceedingly pretty picture.
As I contemplate the upcoming USA presidential election in November, 2024, I find myself caught in a logical subterfuge. The deceit is a contradiction; and the contradiction is the perception that Americans are seemingly not clever enough to extricate themselves from what internationally appears to be defeat. This, I have finally concluded, is an error. In short, the Americans are in my opinion, both now and historically, too clever to lapse into defeat whether it be miscommunication with others or among themselves. There is as well reason beneath what often appears to be inexplicable absurdity.
The prescription to awaken early and begin the day is not only a productivity recommendation. It is a temporal alignment of night and day, beginning and end, up and down of the sun and moon. It has been proverbially advanced by Aristotle and Benjamin Franklin. Nor is it in my opinion strictly metaphorical. Since my teenage years I have arisen by rote and alarm at seven o’clock in the morning. That is at least until recently when I have to confess it instinctively displeases me to sleep late.
“The early morning has gold in its mouth”, a translation of the German proverb “Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund”.
Things speak to us in many different ways. It is not only through speech – though even that is so diverse a method of communication to include incalculable meanings of words, intonation, dialect, volume, delivery – not to mention the abiding influence of the appearance of the vocalist. There is too the appearance of whatever surrounds us. The way Nature speaks to us. The way a child’s beautiful face speaks to us. Then of course there is music, and musical instruments (the grand piano being my favourite), musicians and singers, and the types of music (jazz, rock, country, rap, classical, opera, schmaltz). Art of every description (oils, acrylics, pencil, water colours, wood, glass, plastic, steel, bronze, stone, paper, photography, furniture, rugs and those silly accessories like paperweights and millefiori). Literature and poetry. Dreams. Convocations (school, theatre, church, synagogue, temple, boards, clubs, fraternities and sororities). Food and appetites. Architecture. Automobiles. It is easy to become adrift on a sea of impressions and expression.