It has to be one of the raptures of traveling; that is, packing for the trip. Getting ready to go.  Preparing to leave. Commencing the last minute preparations to initiate the formal departure. One hears the repeated promise to “pack lighter this time”, an error we never manage to overcome. But packing remains by any standard the critical introduction to a journey, digging out those special secreted fashions and accessories which have faded away in the recesses of the closet from the last trip. It’s fun too just reminding oneself of the various bags one has for travel, one for the shorter part of the journey, another for when you get there, one for only documents, credit cards and keys. Some are made of canvass; others leather; some have become antique and useless. Now we might require special luggage just for a computer, tablet, smart phone and electronic watch; plus their various charging wires. And inevitably you start to rethink it all, removing this and that, or putting in an extra pair of socks. Packing is a venture of its own!

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Itemizing essentials is a crude objective. It is not one to be undertaken frivolously.  Not because it is rudimentary or possibly offensively coarse or explicit, but because the judgement is predictably raw and plain. In the result its vulgarity is not its indecency rather its basic nature. If one were to estimate what is essential the gauge would show little finesse and more blunt appeal. By its nature a list of essentials necessitates limitation and reserve, pointedly characteristics of such refinement as a good wine or a single malt whiskey.

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I can’t honestly affirm that winter is my best-loved time of year.  Though I will admit it produces some phenomenal – and singularly glaring – images. Further what I can say without irresolution is that just being alive is a huge profit!  Now let me be clear, I don’t say this merely to repeat the obvious which is that being alive is axiomatically a win. I mean to capture the broader perspective; namely, that being alive at any time, now or in the past, young or old, with or without whatever, rich or poor, healthy or decrepit, sane or bonkers, is by any other standard unimpeachable.  Just being alive is so far beyond comparison that it begs the adage, “The best things in life are free”. Free because that’s essentially the mechanics by which we get what we’ve got.

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Overlooking the wintry white fields, their avenues of frozen yellow stalks and the ivory covered river, there is a winding track upon the face of the river as though a snowmobiler rode upon the ice and snow.  But the track is too elliptical, too perfect. It is too incomplete and thus impossible to reflect a passage other than what was probably no more than the superficial effect of an undercurrent of water following the submerged perimeter of the weeds and earthen shoreline below. It is a design of an artist’s hand upon the snowy canvass, a wisp of shadow within the white, a sudden apostrophe with an abrupt and inconsequential ending.

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Across the river the water’s still
The winter soul has flown;
The skies are crystal, the air is thin,
A calm descends below.

A cry is heard within the clouds
The winter soul ascends.
On earth below, a child is born,
The frozen ‘scape amends.

Jack Thomas stirs with Nature’s gifts
The winter soul subscribes;
The chilling cold and hoary frost
Have stirred what love provides!

Captain William Hilton

Born in 1605, he became one of the first settlers to explore the area around today’s Hilton Head Island in South Carolina. Hilton was born on June 22, 1617, in Northwich, Cheshire, England. His father came to the New England colonies in 1621, with infant, William Jr. and his mother following two years later.

His explorations of the coast earned him a reputation as an intrepid seafarer who often sailed into uncharted waters. He also made regular trips to Jamaica, which allowed him to bring back exotic goods and stories from his travels. His expeditions took him all over the east coast of America and to the Caribbean.

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Today is I believe the coldest day of record so far this year. Finding something interesting to read or to listen to is not always a productive undertaking under this or any other circumstance. Just recently I cancelled our free introductory subscription to Sirius XM radio. For years we have been accustomed to listening to Sirius XM radio in the car, mostly for music and sometimes for news.  I qualify the news feature in particular because it was always the same, predictable, “feed the audience” news one learns to expect from CNN, MSNBC, FOX NEWS, BBC and NPR. Seldom did we listen to CBC in the car because we predominantly get our local national news in our residence; but when we were listening to news in the car we were usually travelling in the United States of America.

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It was by my standards early this morning that I clambered out of bed. Shortly after eight o’clock I believe.  Yes, 8:00 am precisely. I recall last evening having set the alarm. The reason?  Our housekeeper was coming today and, more pointedly, I had a yearning for bacon and eggs.  So in order to remove ourselves from the apartment and to satisfy my hankering, we agreed to go to Antrim Truck Stop in Arnprior for breakfast.  Mistakenly I imagined the place wouldn’t be busy in the middle of January in the middle of the week.  Fortunately however we arrived there early enough, just early enough, to beat the line-up at the entrance to the restaurant where (inside) a glistening tractor trailer is conspicuously stationed in deference to the trucking community which notably frequents the place (there are even private showers adjoining the rest rooms). Nonetheless the restaurant clientele this morning was mostly old fogeys such as ourselves, people with nothing better to do on a brilliantly sunny wintry morning.

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It requires but a moment of idyll reflection to initiate an equally peaceful recollection of a former friend or acquaintance with whom one has momentarily lost touch. And from that blissful allusion instantly arises the question, “I wonder how she’s doing?” or some curiosity of a similar nature. Staying in touch with family, friends and acquaintances is an important part of the human cycle.  By the same token, failing to keep in touch is as damaging as the alternative is improving. On both sides of the fence, separation or absence is something to be defeated only by staying in touch.

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Listening today to a collection of Jazz Standards it was apparent that the weather and the seasons are not an uncommon source of wistful reverie. The examples include: Blue Skies, Summer Wind, Come Rain or Come Shine, Stormy Weather, Misty, Autumn Leaves and Foggy Day. What however spurred my curiosity in particular was the seeming acceptance of climate as an inevitable consequence of one’s life; that is, there was no obvious insert surrounding removal from the musical capital.

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