The emerging cornstalks flutter like feathers in the strolling wind as it sometimes streaks with impromptu gusto across the fields. The entire landscape adjacent the river is an image of green and blue, the tall trees in the distance flailing back and forth, exposing their whiteish undergarments as they writhe and rebound beneath the blue sky. The clarity of the air is my background nourishment today as we approach the Summer Solstice this evening.

The 2025 summer solstice falls on Friday, June 20, at 10:42 p.m. ET, according to NASA and the Old Farmer’s Almanac. This marks the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere, when the Earth’s tilt positions it closest to the Sun.

The word “solstice” comes from the Latin solstitium, meaning “sun stands still,” referring to the moment when the sun’s apparent path pauses before reversing direction, according to Royal Museums Greenwich.

According to the Old Farmer’s Almanac, the summer solstice doesn’t always occur on the same date. It can fall on June 20, 21, or 22, depending on the year. This is because the timing of the solstice isn’t tied to a fixed calendar date. Instead, it’s determined by the exact moment the sun reaches its northernmost point from the celestial equator during Earth’s orbit.

Likewise I am pointing my direction to the most vivid demarcation of my life. Say what you will about the past, present and future, it remains always possible in any circumstance to reiterate  – and in a moment – all that has transpired throughout a lifetime.  The tiny particles from childhood through adolescence to adulthood and retirement are easily captured in a swirling globe of remembrance. The stringency of those neurons instantly cement all that is past. Yet as mournful as one might reasonably become upon venturing into the sometimes murky cloud of the past, my logic predicts instead that I shall only profit from – not mourn – the detail. For it is axiomatic only that the measure of time is but a calculation of the present wherein we haven’t the privilege to exhaust it with futility even if we were so disposed.  Mine is instead an ambition to cultivate and colour the canvas that is before me, to embed it with immediacy and thriving energy that reflects what is at hand and before my eyes and feet as I step into the inexpressible future.

In doing so I throw aside the erstwhile inhibiting accessories of life. Though unpredictable, life like corn has a time of both growth and harvest, fulfilling the return of energy whence wherever it came. It is therefore a flight too rapid and unimaginable to be burdened with the weight of despondency. Fulfillment is as much an evocation as a summer breeze, natural and auspicious.

Embracing the sinews of life is not an obstruction; rather, it is a release. Reflecting – as is my wont – upon the images of the past, those colourful paintings in my memory, abundant with maritime flavour, I am strangely withdrawn from the past and moved to redefine the present not with imagination but reality. The summer breeze blurts onto the balcony, in and through the doorway, wafting alongside me arm as I stare into the distance. Unwittingly it seems I have escaped the conflicting emotions of the past – from love affairs to geographic and professional choices. I have no remorse. Instead I pronounce my options as the expressions they were. I haven’t the strength or capacity to carry unnecessary baggage. Nor shall I allow the harmful habits of the past to detour my ascent.

The formula – and that’s what it is – gets knotted at times by revisitations from and with other people. But they too are on a similar journey. It is not our need to animate that vernacular. Were I to prepare an outline of my life, how would I begin? Is it better to start at the beginning or at the end? And in a world of manifestly diverse enterprises, is it appropriate to designate one or the other? Or – as I prefer to speculate – it is all a matter of interpretation of the identical exploit.

Meanwhile the harnesses of life magically fall from the shoulders to the ground; specialty is a fiction in a universe of serendipity and fortune. Seen from far enough removed we are mere particles of activity, neither intelligible nor singular. It is a lesson in enquiry – a reminder that we needn’t preoccupy ourselves with needless detail – already we have inherited enough within our genes to promote all that is necessary for development. Okay, there is a certain smugness. At the end of my life I am enabled to feel the air and sit in the sun.

The wind continues to blow across the wavering cornstalks.

Today and two weeks ago, I wrote to Petro-Canada to complain that their Petro-Canada App (designed for use in paying for fuel and washing/cleaning one’s car) did not work at two different gas stations; and, that as a result – by events too tedious to recount – I suffered minor consequence (damage to my car and loss of my walking stick).

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From this comes the proverbial expression “to cut the Gordian Knot”, meaning to cut right to the heart of a matter without wasting time on external details.

There are two ways to attack a seemingly insurmountable difficulty: 1) by studied analysis; or 2) by brute force. Employing the latter may have the appearance of success but it may fail to address the root cause.

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“Such as your thoughts and ordinary reflections are,’ Marcus Aurelius says, ‘such will your mind be in time.’ Every page of the book shows that he knew thought would surely lead to action. He trains his soul in right principles so that when the time comes, it may be guided by them. To wait until the emergency is to be too late.”

Excerpt From
Meditations: Modern English Edition
Marcus Aurelius

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“A great boy in our school, having a little short cassock, by force took a longer from another that was not  so tall as he, and gave him his own in exchange: whereupon I, being appointed judge of the controversy, gave judgment, that I thought it best each should keep the coat he had, for that they both of them were better fitted with that of one another than with their own: upon which my master told me, I had done ill, in that I had only considered the fitness of the garments, whereas I ought to have considered the justice of the thing, which required that no one should have anything forcibly taken from him that is his own”.

Excerpt From
The Essays of Montaigne — Complete
Michel de Montaigne

Assuming as I do that the purpose of life is not merely the accumulation of capital and the exhibition of wealth, one must on occasion ponder the success of our elders and leaders to instruct their juniors and subordinates. I speak of course of that process commonly called education – not for the utilitarian purpose of arranging subalterns in the military, rather for the object of instructing the young in morality, jurisprudence, restraint and empathy. The refinement of knowledge does at times enable the appreciation of beauty as well.

“History is my particular game as to matter of reading, or else poetry, for which I have particular kindness and esteem: for, as Cleanthes said, as the voice, forced through the narrow passage of a trumpet, comes out more forcible and shrill: so, methinks, a sentence pressed within the harmony of verse darts out more briskly upon the understanding, and strikes my ear and apprehension with a smarter and more pleasing effect.”

Idem

While I am a fan of the trades for their revealing and axiomatic purpose, Instruction of the seemingly impractical nature mentioned aforehand is however critical to the emancipation of the mind. While much disparagement has been said of pedantry by contrast, it is inescapable that our less than pragmatic motives in life require guidance and experimentation if we are to capture other than its vulgar side. At times we will enhance the meaning by employment of the metaphors of profit and loss to make the point – albeit for a more obscure or Delphic purpose.

By progression I am learning that the substance of life is remarkably clear in spite of its equally unfathomable and oft times nebulous significance. The Stoic truths constructed from ideals of logic, monistic physics and naturalistic ethics encourage “living a well reasoned life”. It is however not an education which in recent centuries of Western society has gained either a popularity or a universality of application. Instruction in logic – to take but one example – is valuable to us all. From its study we are informed of the necessity (when contemplating the avenues of conduct and conclusion) to reason from an opening premise before proceeding to a further narrower premise and then the final deduction. The most esoteric elements of law are founded upon the plainest of principles, including “Nemo dat quod non habet” – No one gives what he does not have; or, “Res ipsa loguitur” – The thing speaks for itself. From these broad truths we may apply specifics.

The complication of education is diminished by the fascination of the experience. There is no reason we should not instruct our youth in a manner of practical application for common good – the ultimate goal of which is to afford “living a well reasoned life”.

This afternoon while driving along the Appleton Side Road – beneath the azure sky and brilliant sunshine – I pondered these gripping principles. The failure to have properly educated our current leaders has affected us all. Nor should we have expected otherwise. The fall-back resort to competitiveness – whether exemplified in sports or scholastic achievement – has unwittingly enabled the bully and aggressive vengeance, the performance of which by our elders is nothing but embarrassment and disappointment – aside from the violations. Our refusal to be intolerant of this intimidation is of no help. We either legitimize the learning or ignore it. The dilemma is not far removed from the painful difference affecting government service based on experience and merit or money and votes (the latter coincidentally illustrative of the Chinese model).

Harmony is an artistic compatibility akin to sympathy, friendship and like-mindedness. It it seldom a pursuit; instead it is a simultaneous narrative invoking subtle congruity. Last evening – leisurely sitting on the balcony while relishing the enchantment of the Northern Hemisphere’s approaching maximum declination to the sun on the Summer Solstice –  I heard someone call out, “Hello! Hello!” Recovering from my trifling endeavours or rampant thoughtfulness, I listened, then heard it again, “Hello! Hello!” Looking about – both up, down and along – I focused on a woman on a nearby parallel balcony.  I waved in reply.  She said, “I’ve just moved here.” to which I responded, “Come visit us next door!”  “Now?”, she asked.  “Yes, now.  Come ahead!”  At which I then lifted myself and moved towards the screen door into the drawing room as evidence of my invitation.

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We are fast approaching the Summer Solstice (also called Midsummer; the Longest Day; the Shortest Night; Estival solstice). When I awoke from my deep sleep shortly after five o’clock this morning, the glaring sunshine was already framing the borders of the window blinds. Today is Saturday, what promises to be an ideal summer day, an azure sky, wisps of white clouds on the horizon and moderately warm temperatures.

I continue to be haunted by an adage I see repeated on Vita Mahjong (“an Exclusive Puzzle Game of Tile Matching, a relaxing yet mentally engaging gaming experience particularly focused on older adults”) to the effect that the meaning of life derives from the detail of what is at hand. I find this to be a compelling observation, certainly one more potent than “Don’t worry, Be happy!” although even Aristotle reportedly said “Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence.” The dedication to detail is something to which I have always been drawn, no doubt a reflection of my obsessiveness. But more importantly than the psychological analysis is its alignment with practicality and immediacy.

When considering the scope of human happiness, there are limitless prescriptions: existentialism, nihilism, transcendentalism, romanticism, Platonism, etc. I am more bound by the blunt and less idyllic scribes such as Betrand Russell who famously said for example, “There are two motives for reading a book; one, that you enjoy it; the other, that you can boast about it.” The practicality of living surpasses the oddity of numerology or the ponderous philosophy of Wittgenstein: “If I am inclined to suppose that a mouse has come into being by spontaneous combustion out of grey rags and dust, I shall do well to investigate them to see how it may have got there and so on; but if I am convinced that a mouse cannot come into being by spontaneous combustion out of grey rags and dust, then this investigation will perhaps be superfluous.” Less you think his deeply considered though is entirely unsound, consider this:

The Greek philosopher Aristotle (384–322 BC) was one of the earliest recorded scholars to articulate the theory of spontaneous generation, the notion that life can arise from nonliving matter. Aristotle proposed that life arose from nonliving material if the material contained pneuma (“vital heat”). As evidence, he noted several instances of the appearance of animals from environments previously devoid of such animals, such as the seemingly sudden appearance of fish in a new puddle of water.

Abstract theory may amuse some; but I can never escape the preponderance of meaning in what is at hand.  Nor increasingly am I able to convince myself of the necessity of other than doing so; namely, I confront a logical subterfuge whenever I extend the bounds of my curiosity beyond my environment. Fiction, for example, does not attract me. I am however remarkably more absorbed in conversation of local matters with an acquaintance or friend. And – as you, dear Reader, may already surmise from my repetitive behaviour – I am smitten by the beauty of what is at my front door, my so-called “view up river and across the fields”. Honestly, when I contrast what I see at this moment with what I have seen on the coastlines of the North Atlantic or North Pacific Oceans, or the streets of Paris and Stockholm, the slopes of the Rocky Mountains or the beaches of the Caribbean, and when I ponder the meaning and delight arising therefrom, I am unable to resist the conclusion that the definition and blend of the present detail is inexpressible and incomparable. I acknowledge the truth that one must first leave home to discover its worth; but nonetheless the voyage is not perpetual except on home territory.

June 15, 2025

Toronto, 0ntario

Greetings Lads!
I came across a favourite recipe from my days of living on a farm in the wilds of Zululand, South Africa and thought it might give you a giggle!

Safari Stew
Rinse and pat dry 1 medium to large elephant
Add:
1500 chopped onions
1 truckload chopped carrots
1 truckload diced potatoes
3000 peeled tomatoes (fresh or canned)
10 barrels of elephant stock
50 buckets of minced garlic
And don’t forget the secret ingredient: 25 smoked warthogs
Finally, for that special touch of extra flavour, add 1 bay leaf
Season to taste with salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce, then let simmer for 2 days.
Feeds 2000 – it was a big farm!

On a less frivolous note:  I was delighted to read your thoughts on travel because you have grasped what I feel is an important realization at our stage of life: that home is where the heart is when achieving a sense of perfect harmony with your bucolic surroundings.  This is a gift.   Whether or not you find yourself on the road again will be a matter of choice as opposed to yearning.  Too many people fail to recognize that while travelling per se, may feel like an act of fulfillment thanks to that dreaded concept of the bucket list, the recognition of balance between the familiar and the sublime is so often right on our doorstep.  Even I, despite plans for exotic winter get-aways, know that I have found my idyllic mind-set when it comes to time and place:  I am definitely in a place of tranquility that molds my perception of time, stripped entirely of any frenetic pace.  Life can be so full of repose – and in my mind, the best journey takes you home.
And, so we drift along, smiling, peaceful and gratefully alive.
Night, night.
Fi

Elderly people have a lot in common – matters beyond their health and the weather.  Lately – within my confined orbit of association – everything is about change and movement. It is a topic of perpetual animation and exploration. One cannot disregard the latest frequency of moves by acquaintances and friends in and out of the apartment building, to and from local towns. Nor is it possible to escape the insinuation of repeated conversation about travel both locally and abroad. The gusto of this binary contemplation does however force the premiere question, “Do you wish to move?”

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I’ve been in this predicament before – so many things to honour after another day of unparalleled and unanticipated favourable outcomes. Where to begin?

For starters – that is, a moment ago – while reclining on the balcony chair overlooking the maturing corn fields and the glistening river, I dared not stare directly upwards into the Summer Solstice from which descended the sharp (almost imperceptible) tapered bolts of radiance. My feet were comfortably and barely poised upon new black Crocs (Made in Mexico), judiciously chosen in Size 11 (to accommodate the alternative of woollen socks in the fall and winter). Meanwhile the interior rivulets of bumps afforded a welcome relief from neuropathy in my feet. This unpredicted beneficence arose casually this morning as we drove into the city to have the car washed. By further chance the retail shop (Tootsies Shoe Market) was located practically adjacent Petro-Canada in Bells Corners – in the same mall where my late mother (who would have been 99 today) once shopped for groceries nearby her cherished and bespoke home built by her and my late father around 1966.

And I needed relief from weakness of another nature – but equally peripheral.  After returning from our morning venture, I immediately dislodged my Pronto tricycle from its subterranean cage then effortlessly streamed along the river to nearby tranquil road extensions, round about and directed back to home.  But – again, first things first – there was a clatter at the back of my trike.  A hurried examination disclosed the separation of a screw from the right rear fender; the nut bolt was missing (and perhaps a washer). Of course without a particle of reservation I instantly called His Lordship for assistance and advice.  Soon – in keeping with his acclaimed reliability – he arrived with adjustable screw driver. But no bolt or washer.  So, off to Levi Hardware where, with the assistance of the youngest son of my late first client – we secured two small boxes containing independent bolts and washers. But when we restored ourselves in the basement to attack the problem, we met coincidentally with Renato who confirmed the suspicion that a needle nose plier was required to attach the bolt and washer to the screw. A moment’s lapse. Then with acute dexterity the two aligned their skills to coordinate the union of the pieces.  Success!

But I am ahead of myself.  The morning began purposively early at 7:00 am, showering and dressing for the journey to Recess Café in Portland past Perth and near Westport. Guided by Google Maps we took the route through Smiths Falls to get there but returned via Westport and Perth which we found to be a less hurried and more bucolic passage.

Recess Café

Now to the nexus of the matter! This morning’s breakfast at Recess Café was nonpareil. In a word, we’d go back! From the moment of our cordial welcome, the experience was exactly as one would hope. Our summer-student server could not have been more kind.  Her evident intelligence was the welcome layer of communication. She informed us (upon our inquiry) that she and her family have been cottaging in the area for many years.  She is presently studying at the University of Waterloo.

The University of Waterloo (UWaterloo, UW, or Waterloo) is a public research university located in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada. The main campus is on 404 hectares (998 acres) of land adjacent to uptown Waterloo and Waterloo Park. The university also operates three satellite campuses and four affiliated university colleges. The university offers academic programs administered by six faculties and thirteen faculty-based schools. Waterloo operates the largest post-secondary co-operative education program in the world, with over 20,000 undergraduate students enrolled in the university’s co-op program. Waterloo is a member of the U15, a group of research-intensive universities in Canada.

A final note of gratitude. I continue to play with my new Oticon hearing aids (left and right). The experimentation includes fussing with the App on my iPhone. Once again with the assistance of His Lordship, I determined that there is in fact a mild orchestral theme upon peremptorily inserting each of the hearing aids. There is admittedly adjustment required to the balance of treble and bass – as well as to the unaccustomed clarity of sound. On balance there is improvement of sound and exceedingly tolerable fit of the devices.

And across the road from Recess Café there is a cemetery.  I have always been amused to investigate a cemetery – especially in the country where the ancestry is often easier to trace and commingle with local descendants. The juxtaposition of the living pleasures and the recorded past is a muted lesson to us all.