The first time I went grocery shopping I was 21 years old.  I recall it distinctly because it was not something I had done before. Until then, apart from investigating Belgium chocoates at Holt Renfrew, I had escaped the peril of larder provision by having lived either at home, in a boarding school during prep school or in a men’s residence while persuing undergraduate studies. After that however things changed. When I got to law school in Halifax, Nova Scotia I lived on Seymour Street in Domus Legis while attending my first year of studies.  I shared a room with George Horan. There was a common kitchen located at the end of the hallway for use by us and the other two residents (who had individual rooms). Significantly there was no Great Hall nearby for meals.  Instead a grocery store on Spring Garden Road was close by the basement pub we frequented in the Lord Nelson Hotel.

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Though I am pressed to recount in any detail what I may have done today, it is a credit to the achievement that I am left feeling overall so wholesome. Perhaps it was that I succumbed – initially at least – to some improving restraint.  Stoicism is, as I am certain you know, a favourable activity, so inspiring, so motivating.

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As unfathomable as it sounds it is possible to miss seeing something even when it’s right before your eyes.  Unwittingly – and shamefully – we can allow the most extraordinary event pass before us, seemingly sight unseen. The devil in the mix is not lack of intellect or educational ignorance; the sadder and greater truth is prompted by far less pitiful credentials. By a preponderance of images which we have created for ourselves (and often for those around us) we have succeeded to eclipse much of the brightness and allure of what we should have otherwise been instantly aware. We have to a degree inadvertently blinded ourselves.

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Today is the 4th of April, 2024. It is a period to which I would normally attribute flowery thoughts of springtime and the wistful advent of summer. However we’re presently having to abide a minor snow storm. I doubt the snow or the storm will last much longer because the Weather App on my iPhone 15 indicates that within the next two hours the temperature will climb above freezing and the sky will begin to clear. An abstract view of North America indicates that we’re on the edge of a vast storm throughout the northeast surrounding Boston, Toronto, Montréal, Québec City and New Brunswick. From three o’clock today the weather forecast is temperate. I venture to say that today marks the last we’ll see of winter this season. I specifically mention three o’clock today because I have a long-awaited appointment with my trusted optometrist in Carleton Place at 3:15 pm. In addition to having my eyes tested I’m planning to get my Shuron Ronwinne with Cable Temples (“granny” glasses) fitted with an updated prescription. This will constitute a throw-back to my past in undergraduate studies at Glendon Hall, Toronto where I was introduced to the seamless efficiency of rimless glasses and cable temples. Or it may have been at Osgoode Hall.  I don’t recall. It was a long time ago.

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Strangely the gloomy weather is not unwelcome. The caliginous atmosphere instantly popularizes woeful rainy day music and provokes the limitations which on a sunny day have already evaporated. For example there was no hesitation this morning to undertake my tricycling in the garage instead of labouring to project myself up the concrete ramp from the subterranean depth to ground level alongside the Mississippi River. In the process of expiating my athletic guilt (in a round about way, shall I say) I stopped to chat with two fellows, one of whom is only now moving into his new apartment. He is a former resident of a nearby home (which of course he adored).  Interestingly he mentioned it was only recently that he became aware of the apartment building.  I echoed his observation because this place tends to be inconspicuous. Reportedly he undertook the rental contract of the apartment sight unseen whilst wintering in Florida.

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With the endless battle on social media for “Likes” it’s difficult to become distracted instead by what is perhaps the less beguiling engagement of pure intelligence.

Social media are interactive technologies that facilitate the creation, sharing and aggregation of content, ideas, interests, and other forms of expression through virtual communities and networks.

Social media outlets differ from traditional media (e.g. print magazinesand newspapers, TV, and radio broadcasting) in many ways, including quality, reach, frequency, usability, relevancy, and permanence. Additionally, social media outlets operate in a dialogic transmission system (i.e., many sources to many receivers) while traditional media outlets operate under a monologic transmission model (i.e., one source to many receivers). For instance, a newspaper is delivered to many subscribers, and a radio station broadcasts the same programs to an entire city.

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Today is a day of double distinction.  For one, it is April 1st. So there’s all the hype surrounding April Fool’s Day and the time after which you can no longer pull a prank. And today is also Monday. More specifically it is a holiday Monday or what in this instance is popularly celebrated as Easter Monday.

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Years ago I heard a quip which I have never forgotten, “Two ways to travel, First Class and with kids!” The injunction has stayed with me. I believe it began at the George V in Paris just off Avenue des Champs-Élysées when I was about 14 years old. It was late summer. We had voyaged to Le Havre, France from Montréal, Québec on the S.S. Arkadia a Greek line. Apart from an Irish Roman Catholic priest my family comprised the only other First Class passengers.  My mother (a Roman Catholic whose parents refused to attend her wedding because she married a Protestant) and the priest spent the early evenings together over cocktails. I amused myself into the late evenings by frequenting the First Class lounge overlooking the bow of the ship where I was assured to find an ample choice of sweets and other delicacies.

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Whether or not it is a hangover from the days of carrying a sword by one’s side that gentlemen are fond of sporting a stick when walking, the custom is of some legitimate continued interest to those in need of a stick.  The stick affords balance; and, it is something to lean on. It may also constitute an element of sartorial pleasure but that once fetching limit is now thankfully mostly redundant. Some men simply prefer to carry an umbrella which ostensibly forms two purposes (although the customary twisting about of the ‘brolley for show and as an expression of rhythm is a not uncommon).

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Whether the potion is a drug to induce love or a powder to dry a wound or a concoction to turn metal to gold, we all have our extraordinary elixirs. And given the opportunity, we know when and how to use them. The elixirs are our personal concentrates with which we stimulate ourselves. What delights me in particular about the assembly of elixirs before me is exactly their convenience and accessibility. The detection of the brews is a matter only of reasonable clarity of thought and willingness to translate and transform. In essence the tools and tonics are not only at hand but are capable of endless rhythm and alteration. Some may prefer to call it imagination.  It is thought with an eye and inventiveness.

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