The Chronicles of Narnia is a series of seven portal fantasy novels by British author C. S. Lewis. Illustrated by Pauline Baynes and originally published between 1950 and 1956, the series is set in the fictional realm of Narnia, a fantasy world of magic, mythical beasts and talking animals.

Limitation like a melting sealing wax is the incremental chronicle of my life. It is paradoxically and contemporaneously the exponential enlargement of it. I hesitate using the word “enjoy” because it is so mundane but there is no more descriptive way of saying it.  I’m quite simply enjoying life in spite of the evolving limitations (which I believe are caused primarily by arthritis or other similarly predictive consequences of aging ). In fact I am shamefully enjoying life to the point of having become overwhelmed by what I perceive to be the progressive perfection of it, the ideal conclusion of it, the wistful context of life’s finality and march towards purity and distillation. And be not mistaken, it is that purity which captures my notice.

As a practical matter we have reduced our imperatives to workable, pliant mechanisms, including not only residence and possessions but also legal, accounting and financial assignments.  Everything has in a word become fluid. Including our thinking, our contemplations and our dreams. Even my model of society is now governed by the rule of lucidity.

The transition from the erstwhile world of education, work, accumulation, expansion and involvement has necessitated its own reflection, retirement, reduction, narrowing and detachment. Perhaps it is life’s recipe for filtering. It is through the lens of such condensation that I now view the world, the uninhibited universe beyond the 9′ windows in our drawing room onto the sanctuary of the river and the fields beyond, a vista which I find so remarkable as to consider it a poetic metaphor, an ever-changing artistic expression of natural beauty and placidity.

Meanwhile our closets of clothing and drawers of accessories, our keepsakes, works of art and favourite things generally have been skilfully and acutely managed to the point of refinement. Things have been given away, discarded or abandoned to the trash. There are perhaps only a few things in the kitchen cupboards about which I haven’t an exact totality. Otherwise everything fits or has a purpose. At last the remnants of my law practice have dissolved and disappeared. Whatever remains of whatever we have is functional and desirable. And, yes, we upgrade technology regularly.

This state of spartan utilitarianism has enhanced my appreciation of what remains, partly of course because of the minimalist feature but also because I have finally got everything working the way I have always wanted. It quite amazes me how long we are unintentionally able to tolerate inconvenience and ineptitude. Strangely enough I have also learned to live with certain accommodations, like the Seth Thomas mantle clock which is now predominantly ornamental because the chimes are annoying; or the collection of plastic farm animals stored on the bookcase (an unusual and perhaps unflattering submission to something so plain and childish). There is also the amalgam of the limited living space and the unprecedented facility of sunbathing and late evening pondering on the balcony deck. As well there is the very practical advantage of proximity of hospital, medical and dental outlets, professional offices of lawyer and accountant, coffee shops and restaurants and the golf club.

It frequently occurs to me as part of my ongoing synthesis to consider and embrace the facility to wander to nearby St. Lawrence Seaway for a casual outing; or a more prolonged journey to Algonquin Provincial Park or Muskoka Lakes. Driving (another of my confessed obsessions) is easily fulfilled throughout the local countryside along well-paved roadways forming a convenient circle from here to Arnprior, Renfrew and Calabogie then back through White Lake and Pakenham Village; or drifting among Flower Station, Clydes Forks, Lavant Station, Watson’s Corners and Hopetown; or shifting southward to Perth along the Scotch Line to Westport.

This superlative summary is crowned by the knowledge too that for the past half-century I have lived and worked in the Town of Almonte. Most of my surviving friendships are here.  I relish the acquaintances in the community. My remaining immediate family is nearby. It would be hard to imagine a more perfect characterization. When I think back upon where I have lived or visited, while the memories are forever stimulating and dear, familiarity and the heartening sense of security and peacefulness of Mississippi Mills is incomparable. Ambitions to go to Bali, Vietnam, Italy, United States of America, Mexico or South America have vanished other than for short-term visits. In fact we now cultivate, instead of seasonal projects, the merits of vacation

This assembly of contractions and conclusions is my Narnia.