The meadow beyond

It is at times thorny to know where to go, whether straight ahead, up or down, left or right, in or out or around a winding curve beyond which there is no end in sight. Do we engage at our risk and peril? Or were it better to remain rooted to the spot. But at what place?  The one whence we came or the one whither we go? There’s no map to tell us the direction or distance of our travel or when to stop or start. Like the precipitous and shifting skies above us, there are no time limits or boundaries or mandates. Certainly there are cautionary urges and impulses; signals on the horizon; and guide books, everything from apocalyptic and biblical to modern and green, spiritual and psychological plus the gauzy dreams in our head.

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Foul mouthed Frank

“Sir George Jeffreys, Chief Justice of the Court of King’s Bench, was a man of quick and vigorous parts, but constitutionally prone to insolence and to the angry passions. When just emerging from boyhood he had risen into practice at the Old Bailey bar, a bar where advocates have always used a license of tongue unknown in Westminster Hall. Here, during many years his chief business was to examine and cross-examine the most hardened miscreants of a great capital. Daily conflicts with prostitutes and thieves called out and exercised his powers so effectually that he became the most consummate bully ever known in his profession. Tenderness for others and respect for himself were feelings alike unknown to him. He acquired a boundless command of the rhetoric in which the vulgar express hatred and contempt. The profusion of maledictions and vituperative epithets which composed his vocabulary could hardly have been rivalled in the fishmarket or the beargarden. His countenance and his voice must always have been unamiable. But these natural advantages,—for such he seems to have thought them,—he had improved to such a degree that there were few who, in his paroxysms of rage, could see or hear him without emotion. Impudence and ferocity sate upon his brow. The glare of his eyes had a fascination for the unhappy victim on whom they were fixed. Yet his brow and his eye were less terrible than the savage lines of his mouth. His yell of fury, as was said by one who had often heard it, sounded like the thunder of the judgment day. These qualifications he carried, while still a young man, from the bar to the bench. ”

Excerpt From
The History of England, from the Accession of James II — Volume 1
Thomas Babington Macaulay

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A change of clothes

For the past decade we have routinely wintered on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina or various places in Florida (from Daytona Beach Shores to Key Largo).  As a result most of my clothing is for warmer climes than Canada in the winter. And as a further result I am struggling to adjust to long pants, heavier shoes, long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, hats, coats and gloves. My racoon hat has long ago gone out of fashion.

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Ring on my finger

An unanticipated casualty of weight loss is the reduction of one’s ring size. The reduction though minimal is however especially noticeable on the little finger where I sport my so-called “pinky” ring.  The ring was never tight; but my moderate weight loss (20 pounds) combined with the load of the ring  (40.2 grams) has precipitated a dislocation. The disturbance is so sensitive that it shifts with the change of the weather.  On days when the clouds cover the sky and there is humidity in the air – as opposed to days when the air is clear and dry  – there is less annoyance.  Recognizing the alteration I could only think to go to the local hardware store to search for a rubber “O”-ring which might usefully compensate the increased space between ring and finger. It is not an ideal remedy and requires almost as much attention as not having it at all. Today the difficulty has evaporated as the threat of rain (or snow) increases. The brownie, Nanaimo bar and chocolate/peanut butter cookie I had last evening after dinner in muted anticipation of today’s relieving event (related below) may also have had something to do with it!

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Guardian: Denis left home.

Part of Cadillac’s safety features is a service called OnStar.

OnStar Corporation is a subsidiary of General Motors that provides subscription-based communications, in-vehicle security, emergency services, turn-by-turn navigation, and remote diagnostics systems throughout the United States, Canada, China, Mexico, Europe, Brazil, Colombia, Argentina and the Gulf Cooperation Council countries.

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Along the St. Lawrence River

We drew open the blinds this morning to reveal a dazzling sunny day. Crisp and clear. It was without question a happy chance for the proverbial Sunday drive. Nor did we shilly-shally about launching the exploration. Initially we headed to Westport on the Upper Rideau Lake then southeasterly to Gananoque. But our more compelling direction was along the Ivy Lea Parkway adjoining the St. Lawrence River (above where it drains into Lake Ontario) en route northerly through Rockport and Mallorytown past Brockville and Blue Church to Fort Wellington at Prescott then back to Ottawa all the while having traced the Canada/United States of America border separating the Province of Ontario and New York State.

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A soft day

With religious resoluteness I retired to bed at ten o’clock last evening. But sleep was not to be had. Instead for the next hour I rolled back and forth, attempting, by stretching my left leg and reversing the extensions of my toes, to extricate myself from the convulsions of the muscles and the paralysis of my feet. Apparently the tricycle ride earlier that day had been more adventurous than I appreciated. The now immoveable and desensitized muscles of my left calf (below my new knee) were tightened and strained by the exuberance. At last admitting defeat I succumbed to the provocation and got out of bed. The soporific exercise was for the moment complete.

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There’s always an alternative

If you’re like most of us, there are events in your life which didn’t pan out quite the way you expected or would have preferred. Depending upon the severity of the decomposition, it may or may not be unsettling. It may also be possible in some circumstances to rewrite the chronology of construction to captivate what was intended at the outset. This is generally called, trying it again.  But it is not always a ready option for a wide variety of reasons such as the penalty of doing so (expense or inconvenience); and some things, even if reversible, become more tarsome to undertake a project to do so.  In short, moving backwards, reversing things isn’t always the best or appropriate answer.

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November song

As I drove home earlier today in my little Cadillac SUV crossover from the Village of Appleton to the Town of Almonte I abruptly caught myself imagining I were in Disneyland, so affecting was the scene before my eyes.

A crossover, crossover SUV, or crossover utility vehicle (CUV) is a type of automobile with an increased ride height that is built on unibody chassis construction shared with passenger cars, as opposed to traditional sport utility vehicles (SUV), which are built on a body-on-frame chassis construction similar to pickup trucks.

I was driving without purpose along the empty county road into a light and glistening snow squall.  The frivolous crystals of wispy white snow evaporated and disappeared from sight as they fell from the sky above towards the ground below. It was a flurry of activity which marked the beginning of November and the start of what I expect will be winter and its predictable snow.

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