Early Spring Saturday

The MacDonald family – Wendy, Caterer and Chris (son), Chef – with the assistance of Carolyn Durrante launched this morning our first breakfast of the season at the Mississippi Golf Club on the MIssissippi River in the Village of Appleton, Town of Mississippi Mills. As I confessed at the time I am flattered to have a particular breakfast named after me; viz., the “Chapman  Breakfast“. Years ago Wendy discovered it was easiest to confront my insistence upon à la carte ordering (repeatedly of the identical breakfast) just to add another tag to the list of alternatives on the menu. The celebration thus persists of my Dr. Atkins/protein diet of double order crisp bacon, sausage links, three fried eggs-over-easy, cheese slices, tomatoe slices and (exceptionally today) fresh raspberries. Allow me to observe that the breakfast is nonpareil. It is a peerless breakast such as this which invoked the obiter concerning the engraving on my monument stone, “He loved bacon!

The golf club has been blessed to have continued contractual relationship with MacDonald Catering.  Wendy knows the ropes.  She has handled large congregations in the club house for many years. In addition her staff is consistently pleasant.  The outdoor patio service overlooking the links and the nearby River is a delight throughout the season and constitutes an unending source of communion for us, our families and friends.

Afterwards I gathered myself for a brief bicycle ride. It was not my guilt that prompted my athleticism – though shamefully I haven’t bicycled for the past five days (during which I was preoccupied with meetings in Ottawa and Almonte). Rather it was the mere allure of exercise which today succeeded to get me on a short roll about the neighbourhood. “For a bit of fresh air“, as they say!

I did however have trouble getting going.  In fact before I had so much as pedalled ten feet I encountered John and Janice in the parking garage whence I was about to deliver my bicycle with carcass in toe. They are residents who came from the Village of Clayton.  We are of an age. As a result we shared intelligence regarding our upcoming residential changes and their prospective planning – both to cover changing circumstances. As I expressed to John (who I believe enjoys entitlement in the United Church of Canada), “God willing we should live so long as to need it!

At last I pressed myself into my inert bicycle and proclaimed my departure. But the moment I mounted the winding exit from the subterranian garage I came upon another resident who appeared to be shifting things about the trunk of his vehicle. He explained he had just returned from Florida. This naturally spirited an expanded conversation of escape from the Canadian winter. We both went on at some length before surrendering the alliance.

Once again I mounted my Electra bicycle, activated the Apple Watch for Outdoor Cycling and pushed off.  I headed straight along Jamieson Street, up the hill.  At the crest of the hill I was beaconed by a remote voice which I knew could only be that of my erstwhile assistant, Mrs. Jennifer Thomson.  Mrs. T (as I was wont to address her; and she likewise me as Mr. C) resides on Jamieson Street. Interestingly we both formerly lived nearby one another on the other side of Town. By further coincidence Mrs. T and I began our legal career together in the former law office of Raymond A. Jamieson QC (after whom Jamieson Street is named) at 74 Mill Street, Almonte in  March, 1978. We undoubtedly suffered endless difficulties in the beginning but I distinctly recall that Mrs. T’s attention to detail (including in particular grammar) nourished the overall dedication to quality and pride of workmanship. Our bafflegab was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. T’s son Kenny whom I have known practically since his birth in 1975. As I expressed to him today, he has (for reasons I cannot now recall) a mystical reputation as an artist of sort. He lives on the Wolf Grove Road towards Union Hall in the home of a former Almonte woodworker named Phil Johnson. Kenny’s choice of automobile disclosed an uncommon sensibility. He is clearly a man of many parts.

Finally I rode unhindered on my bicycle throughout the neighbourhood.  It was but a short ride. The object today was balance only, whatever was sufficient to satisfy and to purge as necessary.