These days drifting is the closest I come to any purpose. It is what I’ve heard called that magic feeling, “Nowhere to go, nothing to do!” Yet within this aimless ambition there persists rumination about such modern thinking as changing the face of retail through on-line work-from-home and door-to-door delivery. In the case of grocery delivery, the pandemic has acquainted the aging population with a relieving option. Telephonic medical consultation is no doubt proving to be a matter of further intense consideration. The global feature of today’s anxiety is at the very least a reminder that the realities of humanity are inescapable over any border.

The untold customs and habits of summertime ventures, gatherings and resorts will suffer an unprecedented blow this year due to the pandemic limitations. The mere alteration of the time-line is sufficient to broadside experiences. As people aimlessly drift about, waiting for some sign of recovery of the former “normal“, the flimsy skeleton of routine begins to disintegrate and evaporate. It renders an odd buoyancy because the removal of outings of any description from our behaviour patterns results in heightening what remains – which in this instance is often the painful recognition of unemployment or declining business. This process is usually limited to those who have recently retired.  For others it is the envelopment of a shroud.

Stirring one’s artistic or other neglected talents hasn’t quite the flavour of a jaunt to the south of France. The apprehension lingers, “Then what?” Products of every description are on hold.  Even getting a license plate is a matter of deferral.

It is occasion for escaping as well the dietary punishment normally aligned to butter tarts, Nanaimo bars and date squares. Over the past winter too many people seem to have lost weight.  Now is time to recover the girth and feed the urge with the benefit of psychological impunity.

Not every exploration is equally relieving. This afternoon for example I directed the nose of my Aviator to the Ottawa River Parkway.  It is under major construction.  Only the easterly corridor was open for vehicles.  The parks along the River were closed. When I made it to the junction of Wellington Street with the bridge to Québec I was uncertain whether traffic there was permitted.  There appeared to be open roads in that direction but I chose instead to go deeper into the heart of Ottawa which I discovered is similarly subject to demolition and construction.  Even the northern side of Elgin Street in closed for southern traffic only.  By the time I succeeded to regain the Queensway I was already relishing the prospect of driving through Lanark and Renfrew County towards Arnprior and Calabogie.