There are many ways to look at life. For some the scrutiny is purely analytic, a matter of dealing with things whatever their nature, a combination of investigation and logic, what might be called almost scientific. There are others who are satisfied to look out the window and gaze upon the scenery that lays before them, dispelling any immediate preoccupation with what is going on. Depending upon the view, this may be other than purely metaphoric; that is, the particular manner of looking at the world may be sufficiently diverting that one needn’t escape the look or ponder it fancifully or figuratively such as I for example recall having done in my first year at law school when looking out the kitchen window of Domus Legis onto the pouring rain and the nearby splintered rooftops one gloomy Saturday night.

A prospect I hadn’t anticipated however is packing to go to a hospital for melanoma cancer surgery. Within my entire lifetime memory packing – except when going to school – has never been required other than when going to a resort. Packing is something I associate with a cottage or a beach (and mainly a beach).  I most certainly do not think of packing as precedent to a hospital visit.

What I had initially dismissed with a wave of the hand as just another “day surgery” has become a major outing. And it is by no coincidence that the common feature to my changed way of looking at life is the weather, itself a peculiarity at this time of year when often we have been absent. I admit to having no adverse provocation when watching the snowy fields and upriver canvass, but when the translation is to snowstorms and freezing rain, my perception is instantly altered.

Not to be defeated in any manner by Nature, we have opted to accelerate our projected 1½-hour road journey to Pembroke by a couple of days.  The object is to by-pass the impending threat of travel in inclement weather. We have (jokingly) disguised the acceleration not as a submissive strategy rather as a “holiday” at a spa (the hotel has a pool, sauna and hot tub). Though even imagining putting one’s bathing trunks into a suitcase in sub-zero weather is for me an intellectual challenge!

But I am sustained in the pursuit because the hotel also has a grand piano.  And it is tuned and in good order. I know this to be so because I played it when we first booked our overnight several weeks ago. In addition to the convenience of an adjoining restaurant, I am also inspired by the pleasantness of the staff each time we’ve dealt with them, whether in person or on the telephone.  They’re always polite and friendly, with an added buoyancy contributing to a near familial character.

So you can see, dear Reader, that we have succeeded to refine the view from here to differentiate it from a paramedic necessity. Gone is the monotony of medical trivia, the sole dominion of the physicians. As one might rightfully suspect, I have doctored this particular view of the world, my way of looking at life, by importing a bit of logic as well as some poetry.  The logic is the blunt admission – or perhaps I should say more generously, the recognition – that in view of the early arrangement of surgery following my diagnosis in October, I would not have been in a position to travel at this time in any event.  And – because of the serendipity of Mr. Trump’s unwitting persuasion – we have broadened our look upon life to include what we believe to be a temporary dilution or attenuation of our historic zigzagging. And don’t get me started about my front tooth extraction!

All this is to say, once again we have proof that life is what you make it. I am further propelled in this insightful regard by having survived this afternoon a moderately disquieting drive to and from nearby Stittsville.  As luck would have it my Petro-Canada wash card expired yesterday. But there was no reason to reanimate the card by purchasing another 3-month subscription because washing a car in this weather is a complete fiction.  The slushy, salted roads make for poor vehicular cosmetics.  The car is perfectly ruined within seconds of exiting the wash cycle. And, besides, the driving is inappropriately cautious because of ice and snow. In all, it is a monstrous vernacular from which to extricate one’s soul.

And yet, I did it. I have succeeded to turn this entire misadventure on its head! Not the least of my antiseptic is the recently developed penetration that domesticity has its remarkable pillars. I venture to say this accreditation commutes viably with old age, decline and decomposition. The current filter and avenue of life is such that I cannot overlook its rhythm and correspondence.