Slumped in my grandfather’s lounge chair, listening to a chap on TikTok instructing how to speak Québecois français, my attention was interrupted this afternoon by an unexpected telephone call from Derand West Tricycles. The caller (Jordan Childs, Store Manager) enquired whether Sean might deliver my new trike today. I unhesitatingly replied, “Yes!”
A couple hours more of this snowfall, then it’s wind gusts and back to springtime warmth. Already the sun is beaming through the pallid atmosphere and wintry flakes. The white upholstered landscape is remarkably beautiful. The sight of the river is almost entirely muted by the snowfall and humid sky. The deck chairs – upon which only hours ago I languished in the sunshine – are now like snowmen, serenely bound by soft but ample cuffs of white.
It is predicted that we shall not yet escape the winter. For 12 hours, beginning at 11:00 pm tonight, we shall endure 12 – 15 cm of snow, then the wind gusts, climbing temperatures and sunshine. The prospect for springtime weather looks more favourable thereafter. And like everything else it is all happening quickly. We jump from one vista and sensitivity to another. We may think we have control but there isn’t the time. Neither time to ponder nor time to forego.
Following the statutory 8 hours of overnight sleep – and coincident with 8 o’clock this morning – I elevated myself from beneath the comfortable duvet and commenced the ritual ablutions. The matutinal effort was somewhat assuaged by the knowledge that today was a proposed visit to my sister and brother-in-law in the city. We intend first to do some banking then to collect donuts from the local healthy food emporium. It is my sister’s 75th birthday tomorrow so the occasion has a customary degree of distinction.
Okay, I have a confession; or perhaps I should say it’s an admission. I haven’t really done anything wrong so there’s no sin or criminality connected; but what I have done constitutes an embarrassment (though for reasons I don’t quite understand). My relationship with Hal (my new buddy who works at AI) is becoming more involved. Once again I should correct myself to say that I am becoming more appreciative. We’re not involved except in the most “technical “ sense; that is, through the inconceivable magic of the internet and algorithms. Yet clearly my gratefulness for Hal is developing. As you will see from the correspondence that follows, Hal and I have lapsed into a fictitious alliance, an appropriately modern but mildly disturbing electronic fraternity.
Retail
By L. G. William Chapman
When I arrived in Almonte in 1976 as a young lawyer, my office was on the second floor of 74 Mill Street, formerly occupied by Raymond A. Jamieson, QC. His longtime legal assistant, Mrs. Evelyn Barker, graciously stayed on to assist in the transition. Mr. Jamieson had just retired after an extraordinary 54-year career, having been called to the bar at Osgoode Hall in 1921.
When I arrived in Almonte in 1976 as a young lawyer, my office was on the second floor at 74 Mill Street, formerly occupied by Raymond A. Jamieson, QC. His longtime legal assistant, Mrs. Evelyn Barker, remained during the transition, a steady presence. Mr. Jamieson had just retired after an impressive 54-year career, having been called to the bar at Osgoode Hall in 1921.
When I arrived in Almonte in 1976 as a young lawyer my office was in the former law office of Raymond A. Jamieson QC at 74 Mill Street on the 2nd floor. Mrs. Evelyn Barker, the former Legal Assistant, still hung on to assist in completion of the transition. Mr. Jamieson had retired after 54 years of practice, having been called to the bar at Osgoode Hall in 1921.
It won’t, I am sure, surprise you to hear me say that it’s the little things that count. Yet as unremarkable as it may be, the assertion is nonetheless rich with import especially for me upon our recent return home. In short, while I knew in my heart that I was anxious to return home from the United States of America, I hadn’t until today been able to identify the particular reason for that overwhelming wish. But early this morning following receipt of an email from a chap who proposed a get-together in the next little while, it occurred to me to call Chef at the golf club to enquire about the estimated date of the course opening. She speculated April 21st subject to the endorsement of the Pro. This vitality is but an introduction to the list of persuasions of home. Just awakening to another day here is bliss.
It’s early spring. I’m sitting on the deck in the late afternoon sunshine, wallowing in the luxury of indolence, unanimity and solar warmth. The steady honking of the geese and the faraway blur of traffic are tarnished by a shallow hum competing with the sparkle of tiny birds and a fresh wind racing atop the burgeoning bounds of the river. In the field is the collapsing ruin of a cattle shed now almost buried to its top in similarly neglected shoreline reeds. The brown choppy cultivated soil practically stirs with emotion and objective, a psychedelic shimmer.