In the past few days I’ve encountered people in the throes of organizing holiday decorations. Some were carrying bags of conspicuously glistening accessories from the trunk of their car; others sorting through neglected paraphernalia in their basement lockers; some even proudly carried a wreath of real fir and pine. Already there are those who have ornamented their apartment door with a holiday trapping.

While we haven’t any especial ambition to do likewise, I confess nonetheless that it lifts my spirits to watch the ritual unfolding of festive activity. For now however we willingly confine our exhibition of holiday decorations to the Teddy Bear that I perpetually store in the console drawer and the spooky court jester that I got from my mother’s estate.

In the days when we were already at this time of the year in the southern United States, the need to decorate was zero. But even when we maintained the household on Laura Crescent and the condo in the By Ward Market, holiday decoration was almost non existent. In my office I probably hung a wreath on the inside of the main office door from the front hallway (not the building door) where it would be seen by those in the reception area. I recall that putting the decorations away in the New Year was always a highly abbreviated undertaking, exercised with a huffing settlement.

Now we have instead the comforting prospect of view across a windswept field upriver to the Village of Appleton. Every day the aspect is different, metaphorically reflecting the alternate states of my own personality. One thing I can say unequivocally is that the panorama, the changing colours, the flocks of geese are all stimulating.

Admittedly I have recalled many times the sandy version of winter in the subtropical climates. But the realization has increasingly emanated that that is a bygone era. Not only have we surpassed the novelty of the experience, we have confessed the diminution of every other ingredient that once may have exerted our eagerness. Instead we have resolved – whether by logic or instinct – to limit ourselves to domestic immediacy.

Meanwhile there are those – all of whom continue to be mobile – who have planned lavish cruises about the Caribbean, along the coasts of Africa and South America. I commend them for their industry. But for whatever reason I am content to dissolve my wintertime angst by other means. Lest this were to sound unforgivably unadventurous, I am quick to note that my current preoccupations are primarily motivated by fundamentals. I have outstanding medical and dental issues which can only be fully addressed with the expiation of time (depending upon surgeons and natural healing). Being beyond the realm of insurable exposure is not a risk I am about the assume by any line of possibly specious argument. More importantly I have unraveled a scope of native activity which appeals to me far more urgently.

You will forgive me, dear Reader, if I prefer to indulge my personal peculiarities in private. This is not meant to disappoint or disguise; rather, to acknowledge the irrelevance of my trifling self-absorption. If I were to capitulate to my silly brown study (être plongé dans ses pensées) it amounts to proof of little more than satisfaction. There is no other standard of either convenience or acceptability. In the end these modest daydreams or pressing neuroses are but estimates of the existential necessity for performance.