The featured image is an edited version of a photograph recently sent to me by a chap who lives in New Zealand.  He and his partner were on a “winter” trip there from their place near Wellington, NZ. I’m not sure where they were exactly.  It hardly matters. I most assuredly wouldn’t know the place. Anyone who lives within shouting distance of the Tasman Sea and the Cook Islands is already singular enough!

These folks aren’t the only ones who, having once lived in Canada, have removed themselves to another part of the planet.  We have acquaintances who, for example, now live in Australia. And recently I was informed of people who hope to make the transition to the south of France. Indeed it would not surprise me to learn that, among the youth today, there is increasing ambition to “go abroad” wherever that may be. I give today’s youth the distinction of venture over mundanity.

For my part, the interest is the obverse. Initially I fashioned the insular progression as merely exhaustion of what we had already seen or done. And while I continue to maintain that hypothesis in part, with increasing age I am transitioning from the romantic to the pragmatic view that the machinery of travel has simply worn down.  That of course means me.  I’m caput! Only recently, after returning from a four-hour jaunt to my sister’s and her husband’s cottage, I expressed how relieved I was to return home. And it wasn’t just the injury of travel; I was visibly run down.  The truth is, everything now is an effort. The result naturally is that movement of any capacity is a reckoning. And the judgement is that the attraction of long-distance vehicular travel, cross-country train rides, exotic boat cruises, trans-Atlantic flights or summer cottage visits is enormously condensed.

I won’t say the possibilities are outright dismissed, but much consideration is required before reaching a decision.  For the time being we’ve concluded – without necessity or force of application – that we’re staying here this winter. And the thought of one of those 10-day or 2-week ventures is also off the table. What is required is the motivation to do it. If – as I occasionally do – I reflect upon the places we’ve visited, the images of them are delightful; but the thought of maintaining the same pace now as I did then is preposterous. One overlooks the manifest influence of the internal machinery. It has been years since I’ve even shopped at a grocery store, much less a mall. Walking about a popular part of a town or city is the last thing I wish to do; even if it were in search of a restaurant or to overlook the sea. And 20 miles on a bicycle on a beach is unthinkable! The regrettable fact is that I have difficulty getting from the car to the apartment.

I am quick to interject that this restraining obstruction doesn’t limit something I’ve always enjoyed doing – and that is cycling. Driving my car, cycling and literature/music are all I require at this juncture. Even were the automobile to become out of the question, already I have my eye on other mechanical devices for roaming about town. My idea of “keep it moving” is admittedly far less spirited than that of my erstwhile physician who regularly urges me to do so – usually punctuating the athletic affirmation after having returned from a bicycle tour on the continent; but, for the moment I fulfill my objective – which is to expiate the guilt of perpetual indolence.

I have to face the fact too that driving long distances may not be a wise thing to do – for the safety of everyone. But if we were to fly instead, I’d insist upon transporting my vehicle because it is so much a part of my routine. All that quickly becomes an exercise, especially now when by contrast I am discovering so many restful nuances of local pleasure (not to mention succumbing to that deep-seated and assuaging love of home). Merely being on home territory – perhaps more so now than ever in view of the repeated reports of mistreatment of foreigners – is an indisputable alliance.  I haven’t the intention of tolerating subservient political enquiry or being made to feel off the chart by some perverse logic. Long ago I passed that galaxy. I do not however have the inclination to prove a point. Moderation is my alternative project.

For the record today is my partner’s 72nd birthday. We lunched with old friends in the southern part of the county. There was much gossip, hilarity and chatting, relieved by interludes in the pool on a hot summer day. Coincidentally I learned that a former friend and client of mine has, upon the death of his mother, acquired the family mansion in Carleton Place on Lake Avenue  Apparently the place is under renovation. The wheel continues to turn, highlighting Carleton Place once again from its remote and unwitting introduction to me in my youth. It makes me wonder whether there were not some mystery at play when I attended law school in Nova Scotia and contemplated staying there instead of returning to Upper Canada whence – over the past half century – I have derived a wealth of sometimes unforeseen but always long lasting affiliations. Anyway…that was the nature of the foregathering today; viz., reuniting and stimulating.  And the homemade birthday cake! Our hosts are inexpressibly generous and kind.