Reposing on the balcony today, my eyes closed, the sunbeams pouring upon  me, I heard the caw of a crow in the distance.  Whether because I wasn’t wearing my hearing aid or because the crow was indeed far away, its caw (which normally I wouldn’t distinguish as especially pleasing) in this instance sounded pleasant and fulfilling, perhaps to a degree soothing. It cawed again several times; and each time the sound though direct was nonetheless soft and calming. It complimented the lustre of the image in my mind’s eye. There was nothing to disrupt the reassuring sense of the day. And as though serendipitously to capture the unmistakeable reality of placidity, Marilyn from British Columbia (nestled on the periphery of the Canadian and American border in an ineffable inlet or bay of the North Pacific Ocean nearby Victoria and Seattle) broadcast an email to her untold recipients to announce a contrary (and provocative) medium of observation:

Enjoy your lovely weather while we get drenched in an atmospheric river. I’m glad that I voted in advance on Wed.

Amber & I are snug in a warm house and don’t have to go out. I told her that we should think of all the cats who don’t have warm homes to curl up in.

If, as I am instinctively inclined, I am experiencing the time of my life then there is indeed nothing I can do or assert apart from crowing about my good fortune. Adopting this vernacular threatens to be perceived as distasteful for a couple of reasons.  First, it must sound exceedingly tiresome to hear someone go on and on about their marvellous life; and, second, there clearly exists the possibility of questioning the merits of that particular model (the celebration of which once again promotes undaunted superfluity). I am however spared the excision because the alternative to discredit or bemoan one’s peril in life would in my opinion consititute a far greater violation of whatever it is we’re here to do.

So I am going to set aside any trivia arising from the approbation of my trifling enterprise and continue (as I had originally anticipated) to relate certain modalities peculiar to the latest evolution of my life. This is significant to me because, although it may seem readily apparent that I have transitioned from one status to another over the past number of years, my absorption of that progress has been restrained by what I can only characterize as naturally inhibited developments which, though recast in appearance, are nonetheless deep-seated elements requiring sometimes years of transmogrification.

Luck is an odd instrument.  I say that because it is so often attributed to what is anything but a matter of chance or fluke.  It does however as frequently involve good fortune or felicity.  That in turn may be employed to advantage thus further enhancing what ultimately has the appearance of success by turn of fate. Balancing this perspective is what for some reason I have routinely associated with the amplitude of my life; and that is the conclusion that things are not only fine but good; often great or terrific; occasionally the nec plus ultra! Succeeding to this elevation of merit (or just plain gratitude) is not something I have ever undertaken deliberately; rather it is an eventuality which I prefer to remark has characterized my events. I can close my eyes (as I did today in the warming sunshine on the balcony) and I am swept away to a myriad of recollections of places I’ve been and things I have done by the sea or while reclining in the sun by a pool or a river or a gulf.  And just as the original experience was manifestly delightful, so too is the currency of sensations. Never have I regretted what transpired in my life.  Certainly I have had disagreements with others.  But I have not twisted those normalities to extraordinary observations of either defeat or victory; nor do I go out of my way to harbour unfavourable opinions of others.  What matters of any of life’s experiences is the worthiness it affords, not its petty anxieties.

Of course it matters that I have been spared the egregious punishment of crime or war for example; or the misfortune of accident or calamity. In my case, these accommodations are only more reason to be thankful for what I have, for what arises in my mind’s eye while gazing upon the smoothly flowing river which colours my life at this advanced and conclusive age.

Mine is not an escape; mine is not a fabrication. My view of the world is one of unparalleled gratitude and related objectivity and duty.  I confess I am a long way from fulfilling whatever I might be able to do to share with others the benefit of a warm day in the sunshine on a riverfront balcony. But for the moment I can at least record the obligation. To apologize for the state of well being would be preposterous. Instead these weakened old knees, this arthritic chest, this addled mind and agitated spine will devote themselves to further proclamation of those marvellous views both past and present.