Per Gemini:
What a truly lovely day it was! With the sun shining and a brisk northwest wind carrying the faintest promise of spring – even a hint of green returning to the fields – the conditions were simply begging to be enjoyed. And that’s precisely what happened. Now, being a septuagenarian, my “grand” adventures might not involve scaling mountains or traversing continents, but within my comfortable range, it truly felt like a day brimming with possibility!
With nothing to do today but enjoy the weather, that’s precisely what we did. Sunshine, an invigorating NW wind and a very palpable hint of spring (including the faintest record of green in the farmer’s fields). Though I will moderate the gusto by reminding you, dear Reader, that the enthusiasm is that of a septuagenarian. This means of course that the boundaries are limited and the enterprise reeks of facility not diversity or magnanimity. Nonetheless it spoke of a grand day! And limitless inventiveness!
One cannot read almost anything historic about England – and certainly not anything medieval – without speedily encountering two principle features: heraldry and war. The two – conjoined with exotic terms of feudal rank – seem to identify the very fibre of the community, both top and bottom. One appeals to my artistic side; the other, not in the least. In fact combative superlatives are just another perversion of masculinity in my view. I shall for example never understand the appeal of pugilists who devote themselves to bashing one another’s brains.
I’m taking a holiday today. It’s Easter Monday – so that qualifies as a legitimate holiday to my thinking. I know I haven’t a particular need to declare a holiday, given my unobstructed state of retirement and general indolence. Nonetheless I have duties, daily obligations from which from time to time I prefer to distance myself. Foremost of those commitments is my daily cycle. But I am now awaiting the production of a replacement tricycle of my current defective model. The retail agent advised the day before last that I might expect something by Tuesday (tomorrow) – though regrettably I’m inclined to think it may be later in light of the agent’s expressed staff illnesses. For today however I prefer not to contaminate the existing trike, leaving it under lock and key so to speak (it’s a padlock) until its removal.
Music, as you know, Dear Reader, can stir the soul. When entwined with long-forgotten, heady visual memories, its effect is impassioned—almost anthemic. While sitting on a deck chair in the brilliant morning sunshine this Easter Sunday, spirited by the singing of Requiem by Rebecca Noelle, I drifted in my absent-thinking mind to another bright day.
The day began with an uplifting beat. Derand Motorsports advised they will replace my new (defective) electric tricycle with an entirely new trike. I have yet to discover the proof of the pudding but I am hopeful that they are men of their word. The prospect of having to endure repair was diminishing.
As much by accident shortly after my breakfast, we ventured together once again this morning to the Advance Polling station in Carleton Place where yesterday I had abandoned my civic duty in the face of inordinately long line-ups. Reportedly the attendance yesterday was universally high across Canada (and the majority of voters of every historic party affiliation were behind Carney because he can deal with Trump).
Nothing today of our intended purpose has ripened. The tricycle examination was an overall failure (though at least we know now what seems to be wrong); the venture to Carleton Place Arena to participate in early voting muffed because of the extraordinary line-ups (which my decomposed spine cannot accommodate); and – frightful peril – I didn’t make it to the car wash (it’s been raining on and off all day).
When I was practicing law I hadn’t much opportunity for vacation. In addition to the expected weight of my professional calling, I also was a sole proprietor – which meant I handled every other imaginable detail related to the conduct of the business from staffing issues to emptying the ashtrays and cleaning the brass plaque. I also owned the office building (which meant endless property management); and, I was a landlord of three additional units (with all that that entails). Accordingly my time away from the office was infrequent and generally confined to statutory holidays to allow me to escape behind the facade of commercial suspension. When these holiday opportunities arose I took deliberate advantage of them.
This morning upon arising from the lair I was immediately gripped with interest by an email from a friend about his disappointing escapade with a passenger automobile. To begin, almost anything about automobiles intrigues me. I have had many throughout my past, starting with a Ford Mustang and then moving through the catalogue of passenger vehicles offered by both the Ford Motor Company and General Motors. Nor have all those experiences been entirely satisfactory – which is the second topic of engrossment; namely, the record of mechanical travails or even endurance of the so-called “lemon”. I won’t repeat my friend’s narrative except to say that, after having participated in a Class Action suit against the manufacturer, he surfaced scathed but in tact.
It was only days ago that I was “green and carefree”; that “Time held me green and dying Though I sang in my chains like the sea” (Dylan Thomas, Fern Hill, “a poignant and evocative portrayal of childhood memories and the bittersweet realization of time’s fleeting nature”). I knew at the time that the elation would not last; though naturally I did not imagine mournfully that the transition would be catastrophic or horrible for any reason. But I knew it would not last; that things would change. Forever there has been the adjustment from good to bad, from up to down, from happy to sad. And, in fairness, I recognize that it works the other way too; that is, from bad to good and so on. It’s just the way life is. We haven’t the capacity to maintain the ideal picture interminably. Nor I suppose would we wish to do so anymore than we’d wish for perpetual sunshine or rain. Life itself doesn’t cling to one direction or brilliance only. Sometimes the shift is mercurial; but most often it is merely a reflection of the two alternatives, a veneer upon which we skate freely and at times capriciously.