It requires very little interruption for me to feel extraordinarily removed from the centre of the pendulum that is life.  Just lately for example I was swung far afield by an automotive disturbance, one which for me was especially compelling because, aside from touching upon my “things”, it evoked an element of repentance. I wrongfully imagined “I should have known better”.  And then, in what I am shamefully learning is my inimitable way under pressure of even the most moderate degree, I extrapolated to unknown situations by assuming that existing trends of defeat and destruction will continue. Such I suppose is the unenviable condition of an anxious person.

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When my parents, sister and I lived in Washington DC around 1957 our maid Dinah gave me a snow globe for Christmas one year. It was at a time when I enthused about tropical fish.  I had at least two aquariums (one large, one small) in which I cultivated a community of fish in the large tank and bred fish (mostly Guppies) in the small tank. The snow globe which Dina gave me had what appeared to be floating gold fish each moored by a thread to the bottom; and naturally when I shook the globe it caused a storm of snow-like particles to erupt about the entirety.

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“Marvel at nothing” – that is perhaps the one and only thing that can make a man happy and keep him so.

When I graduated from prep school at St. Andrew’s College in 1967 I was obliged to undertake a choice of studies which I would pursue in completion of my undergraduate Bachelor of Arts degree at Glendon Hall. For reasons which have never been entirely apparent (other than it was a decision which reflected what at the time was my earnest inquiry) I chose Philosophy as my so-called “major”.  It was, I can tell you, a resolve which met with a succinct rebuttal from my father who, upon hearing of my fixity of purpose, said only, “Well, it’s your bed; you make it, you sleep in it!”  Without engaging in futile analysis about whether or not he were correct (he had wanted me to study Economics instead), I will however observe that quite by accident I subsequently discovered when attending law school that a knowledge of deductive reasoning (characterized by or based on the inference of particular instances from a general law) was certainly not foreign to the appreciation of the constitution and legal codes, nor for that matter contract or tort law.

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Though it hardly bears repeating, there are instances in life which are very upsetting. Moreso because for a moment at least they appear irreparable; and most certainly by any analysis the events leading up to the misfortune are irreversible whatever the consequence. Normally the consequence of any misfortune is readily apparent; that is, the misfortune isn’t merely a misunderstanding (which is a matter entirely of another less damaging category).  Misfortune varies from being what is called a problem to what is more dramatically characterized as a setback or a stroke of bad luck, perhaps even a disaster, tragedy or sorrow, or at worst a calamity.

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Surely there is nothing that transcends the soporific indulgence and rapture of an afternoon nap. It is one of life’s tiny but incomparable pleasures, always astonishingly assured to leave the petitioner fully recovered and unwittingly strengthened. It is to my mind the most uplifting dither one can possibly accomplish with the least and most sparing effort required. It is aimless, natural, unprovoked and innately sublime. It hasn’t the brevity of a catnap nor the sixth-hour culture of a siesta. It is a midday luxury peculiarly distinct from and never to be confused with ordinary sleep.

And that’s the thing, it isn’t mere dormancy. It isn’t the imperative suspension of physical functions. It isn’t a biological necessity. Rather it comes across as an unmerited luxury. More often than not it is entirely unscheduled and unpredicted, seldom a submission which can be planned. And it is an undertaking far from being guaranteed even if intended by any measure or purpose at all.

Catching a glimpse of one who is napping is assured to disclose a thoroughly absent mind, one who appears to have been temporarily suspended in a moment of complete vacuity, released from the worries of the world, lost in the bliss and sunk in the abyss of emptiness, thoughtlessness and distant ambition. Indeed the afternoon nap at its zenith is most often unpremeditated which of course is the reason for a good deal of the fun. And once having recovered from the brief interlude – and it always is astonishingly condensed – amazingly one is able to carry on as though having only been frozen for a second in the exact posture previously imposed or adopted. The afternoon nap is an apostrophe of social behaviour, a grammatically correct courtesy. Seldom is any but the incline of the head disturbed in the least, while the complex adjuncts of the body remain immobile and torpid as though one were listening acutely to a gripping narrative or podcast.

A snow storm is forecast.

Discussion: Snow associated with a major winter storm is expected to arrive this afternoon and continue into Wednesday morning. Snow will likely change to ice pellets or freezing rain tonight. Several hours of freezing rain are possible particularly in the Ottawa Valley. The amount of snow will depend on how quickly precipitation changes to ice pellets or freezing rain although some locations may receive 10 to 20 cm of snow.

Already the snow has begun to angle heavily in the sky. The sky has turned grey and tenebrous. Fortuitously I didn’t get out of bed until late this morning. I have since enjoyed a marvellous brunch of lox and eggs followed by a stimulating chilled espresso.

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Be not mistaken! Old age can be a ball!  Maybe not jumping on tables. But every other feature of the jamboree is unequivocally sustained. After having surpassed ¾ a century there is nothing I have lately done to improve my life more than old age. Oh yes, from what I wistfully recall I have numerous fond reminiscences of youth. But always at a cost. Now I go to bed whenever I wish after having done whatever I want. And next morning I awaken at any time as well – and nothing to regret, nothing to forget, nothing to abet. Arising from the lair is a feat of endurance not a recovery from indolence.

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A diaphanous almost frivolous ornament of snow falls uninhibited and straight down from the pallid sky.  Its tiny wispy particles slowly augment the existing layers of snow that overnight covered the ground and mounted the railings of the balcony and the tops of fences. The blinding white snow fills the cracks and rows between whatever is beneath its nearly imperceptible and airy obstruction. The gradual camouflage of the fields and the river continues unabated and unaltered apart from the occasional angular draft of wind that temporarily creates a shallow pillar of snow before its permeative amplitude is restored.

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Whew!  I am just now rewinding and realigning my personal mechanism following what for the past several hours has been a singularly frenetic business. I am ashamed to say the tumult involves nothing either serious or especially unusual. It is probably only a reflection of my wackadoo nature. But the confusion succeeded to tip my equilibrium. It started about eight o’clock this evening; and it is now pushing eleven o’clock.  During that period we have metaphorically bumped into one another and jumped over one another and untold obstacles as we sought to organize and quell what unexpectedly arose late in the day. The disturbances (there were basically two) arose from, one, Johnnie’s anticipated memorial celebration; and, two, the current affairs of my partner’s nephew.

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The 18th century heaped confusion over the date of Twelfth Night. There has always been some uncertainty about it, as, depending on whether or not December 25 or 26 is considered to be the first day of Christmas, Twelfth Night can be January 5, the eve of Epiphany, or Twelfth Day, January 6, which marks the coming of the Magi (the three wise men). The shift to the Gregorian calendar and the subsequent loss of 11 days complicated matters, as it meant that the old Christmas day became Twelfth Night — so much so that some celebrate old Twelfth Night on January 17. However, today, most regard Twelfth Night to be the evening of January 6 and the day in which, according to superstition, all decorations must be removed.

VIcky LIddell, Country Life

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