It may surprise you to learn that mechanism is a theory that all social phenomena can be explained by the existence of deterministic mechanism. It is the philosophical doctrine that human actions are ultimately determined by causes regarded as external to the will.

Some philosophers have taken determinism to imply that individual human beings have no free will and cannot be held morally responsible for their actions.

This in my opinion is a conclusion far surpassing the gears and apparatus of conventional social interaction. It is however illustrative of the wealth of philosophic rubbish surrounding the thesis. It is an ideal debating resolution, permitting as it does incalculable theorems impossible to affirm or deny contrived on multiple levels of dispute.

Nomological determinism is the most common form of causal determinism and is generally synonymous with physical determinism. This is the notion that the past and the present dictate the future entirely and necessarily by rigid natural laws and that every occurrence inevitably results from prior events.

This latter proposition admittedly has a hint of appeal.  Nonetheless I cling to the pretence that each of us has limitless capacity to control or “determine” the direction we shall pursue. Oddly enough it was this contemplation which arose during a social gathering we enjoyed last evening with another resident of our apartment building.

Based upon the terms of the invitation, the foregathering was putatively to enjoy a summer evening’s prospect of the nearby river and the intervening meadow.  As it turned out the weather was not favourable, somewhat damp and drizzly, so we hadn’t the anticipated advantage of the setting sun glancing its yellow rays along the river’s path.  While we lingered momentarily on the balcony overlooking the upriver domaine, we soon retired to the drawing room where ensued our further conversation.

Amusingly to me the conversation from beginning to end was replete with factual depth and intellectual prosperity. Not once did we lapse into the vernacular of either the weather or one’s health, both of which were patently irrelevant to the more gripping communication surrounding important events in our respective lives. It isn’t often that one is treated to the benefit of a stimulating dialogue. Whether the details rendered for our collective contemplation were sufficient to characterize the inevitable results is a matter of some interest only.  In the meantime the components of one’s past do not fail to spread upon the whole a detectable film of colour.

During this morning’s tricycle outing (exercise is far too generous a term for it), I was hailed alongside the road.  The eager correspondent apologized for interrupting my labour then abruptly asked about the apartment building where we’re living. She clearly had intentions in mind. When she inquired specifically whether we regretted not having a meeting room, I replied that my preferred socializing is doing precisely what I was doing; namely, zipping about the neighbourhood and chatting with people along the way. The bitter truth of course is that I don’t get out much. Socializing diminishes incrementally with advancing age. People’s interests and associations quickly fade. And sadly in the process some have died. I confess to having succumbed to my primary interests only which, as I say, foremost include tricycling (walking and bicycling are right out), reading and writing, and driving my faithful automobile. It is a perishingly limited agenda. Though honestly I can’t imagine doing anything further in my current state of retirement and ambivalence.

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When I entered undergraduate studies at Glendon Hall, Toronto in 1967 I was invited that Christmas to join friends in Kingston, Jamaica.  I went there with my newly acquainted colleague Bill Rutledge from Lakefield College School. One day that Christmas while driving to the home of Rolf Grant (the father of David Grant, one of my acquaintances from St. Andrew’s College) I saw that he was tending his garden. At the same time walking along the street at the front of the property was a Rastafarian gentleman.  Reportedly (as we were later told by Mr. Grant in his drawing room) the Rastafarian gentleman gestured to Mr. Grant and (in a distinctive native dialect and sound) said, “K’eer it good, Boss, fo’ soon it will be mine!”

Rastafari relating to a religious movement of Jamaican origin holding that Black people are the chosen people, that Emperor Haile Selassie of Ethiopia was the Messiah, and that Black people will eventually return to their Africa.

Communal meetings are known as “groundations”, and are typified by music, chanting, discussions, and the smoking of cannabis, the latter regarded as a sacrament with beneficial properties. Rastas emphasise what they regard as living “naturally”, adhering to dietary requirements, wearing their hair in dreadlocks, and following patriarchal gender roles. In the 1960s and 1970s, it gained increased respectability within Jamaica and greater visibility abroad through the popularity of Rastafari-inspired reggae musicians, most notably Bob Marley.

Today – 57 years later – I have the undeniable privilege to account (by virtue of my age alone) that this morning while tricycling my rudimentary 4Kms up and down along the river, I encountered an elderly woman caring for her garden. In fact only recently I was told by her that her garden is flourishing following the removal of a large hedge immediately adjacent. This morning the brilliant sunshine streamed upon her garden and I invited her to pose for a deserving photograph which she gleefully (in her truly inimitable way) agreed to do.

Hearkening back for a moment (if I may) to the Rastafarian gentleman’s articulation, firstly it’s a bit gruff. I mean to say, it’s not as though the message were not loud and clear. Paradoxically I believe that in spite of its poetic and prophetic flavour, I find it offensive for the very reason I have read the Rastafarian religion emerged; viz., the British and the Church of England. British colonialism for all its value nonetheless rent a dreadful legacy. And these rising religious fictions of so-called improving merit are likewise disturbing. This is not to say there isn’t work to be done ; but diaspora (such as the emigration of Anglo-Saxons primarily to the Byzantine Empire after the Norman Conquest of England) is not in my opinion the goal.

The Norman Conquest (or the Conquest) was the 11th-century invasion and occupation of England by an army made up of thousands of Norman, French, Flemish, and Breton troops, all led by the Duke of Normandy, later styled William the Conqueror.

As chance would have it, Lakefield College School has this upon its website:

We respectfully acknowledge that Lakefield College School is located on the Treaty 20 Michi Saagiig territory and in the traditional territory of the Michi Saagiig and Chippewa Nations, collectively known as the Williams Treaties First Nations, which include: Curve Lake, Hiawatha, Alderville, Scugog Island, Rama, Beausoleil, and Georgina Island First Nations. Lakefield College School respectfully acknowledges that the Williams Treaties First Nations are the stewards and caretakers of these lands and waters in perpetuity and that they continue to maintain this responsibility to ensure their health and integrity for generations to come.

I do of course acknowledge the convenience of diaspora; but its seeming facility does not convince me of its utility. A more potent assembly of reasons for the collection of people would in my opinion by the upset of resilience and the promotion of collaboration.  I mean, what are we saving it for? Noah’s Ark? Pardon the pun, but that ship has sailed!

Meanwhile in my admitted state of indolence and smug satisfaction I am content to collect these trivia to animate myself and my reckless memories.  The bald truth is that, of late, I have been the happiest I can recall for years. Certainly it helps, as today, to have a dome of unblemished azure sky, a temperature reminiscent of the warmest childhood summer’s, the benefit of regular rainfall, cornstalk to the sky, fields of green soya bean leaves forming a wavering carpet to the riverbank; the view of the shimmering river in the distance; and the comfort of a chilled afternoon espresso coffee with slices of the most aged cheddar cheese from St. Albert.

Let’s be frank. Conflicts arise. And when they do and it comes to resolutions, it’s a marshy water out there!  But as remarked by an extraordinarily cultivated gentleman whom I knew, “Manners are there for when you need them (and amusingly he added, only then).” And while it has been observed that “manners maketh the man“, I contend we already have within us the requisite knowledge.

To my thinking when it comes to the Rules of Conduct there is no better or more convenient leader than oneself. This is so because the governance of one’s personal conduct is rooted not in alternative fuzzy external behaviour codes (such as that promoted by legends of reprisal, righteousness, contradiction, posturing, popularity or even religion) rather one’s actions and responses are controlled by elemental nutritions that foment clearly and often with an astonishing propriety within oneself. In short we know what we should do in spite of what we might wish to do. The irony is that if we do what we’d like to do instead of what we know we should do, we end being hopelessly displeased with ourselves and may even regret our misconduct. That despondent complication then leads to further disruption quite apart from the original complaint. It is thus that a minor bruise or a graze becomes an open wound or a suppurate cut.  The key to success is to act properly from the outset and before the onset. It will spare both you and others unnecessary grief.

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Heraldry has forever intrigued me. The colour. The majesty. My nostalgic passion is so intense I cannot but fear it is dangerous or illicit. I suspect no matter who you are, there is a heraldic symbol for the family name. Early in my life – though pointedly most likely following the advent of technology enabling internet searches – I discovered a heraldic symbol of my own. It was not something to have painfully pursued in a real book or encyclopedia. I employed the discovery when commissioning a signet ring through Birks, Ottawa.  To my entire astonishment I subsequently learned that the engraving of the crest was done by Chapman Bros. Ltd., Jewellers, 261 Yonge St (downtown Yonge east), Toronto. The building (now a listed heritage building) was constructed in 1910. The architect was Benjamin Chapman; the builder W. F. Lewis.  The jewellery business began in 1874. To my knowledge I have no affiliation with that branch of the family. Nonetheless I succeed to extract familial worth from the name alone.

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The Chronicles of Narnia is a series of seven portal fantasy novels by British author C. S. Lewis. Illustrated by Pauline Baynes and originally published between 1950 and 1956, the series is set in the fictional realm of Narnia, a fantasy world of magic, mythical beasts and talking animals.

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TikTok, whose mainland Chinese counterpart is Douyin, is a short-form video hosting service owned by Chinese internet company ByteDance. It hosts user-submitted videos, which can range in duration from three seconds to 60 minutes. It can be accessed with a smartphone app.

Since its launch, TikTok has become one of the world’s most popular social media platforms, using recommendation algorithms to connect content creators with new audiences. In April 2020, TikTok surpassed two billion mobile downloads worldwide. Cloudflare ranked TikTok the most popular website of 2021, surpassing Google. The popularity of TikTok has allowed viral trends in food and music to take off and increase the platform’s cultural impact worldwide.

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One of the advantages of living in Riverfront Estates, and having lived on the other side of town on the other side of the river in a similar 3-storey apartment residential community called Jamieson Mills for ten years until two years ago, is that one is regularly assured to encounter elderly people; that is, those who are “over the hill”, those who are not uncommonly called with moderate affection and hidden allusion to conservatism “old fogeys”, widows and widowers, farmers, country gentlemen, ladies of the “horsey crowd”, perpetual gardeners, kayakers, cross-country skiers, inveterate travellers, retired people prominently, golfers naturally. people who are undeniably attune to the wonder of life and the prospect of adventure at any opportunity.

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While waiting today for a courier delivery (which agonizingly I appear to have missed by only minutes yesterday morning) I have thought to divert myself from the peril by reading “PRE-EMPTIVE COMMERCIAL REMEDIES” recently (or about to be) published through LexisNexis® by my longstanding friend Michael G. Tweedie B.A. (Hons), M.A., M. Litt., M.L.S., LL.B.

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A chrysalis (Latin: chrysallis, from Ancient Greek: χρυσαλλίς, chrysallís, plural: chrysalides, also known as an aurelia) or nympha is the pupal stage of butterflies. The term is derived from the metallic–gold coloration found in the pupae of many butterflies, referred to by the Ancient Greek term χρυσός(chrysós) for gold.

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