Rolling out of town late this morning in my 2024 Cadillac XT4 along the Appleton Side Road was an inexpressibly cultivated experience, civilized and discerning though not urbane and cosmopolitan. We are in the country; and, like a well bred Country Mouse I proclaim the bucolic advantage. I simply cannot imagine anything better. Now this thesis is both endearing and somewhat weird. The endearing part is that the conclusion comes conveniently late in life (suggesting a heartfelt gusto for the here and now when perhaps most suitably proportioned).  The weird part is that it marks the peak of enterprise, the culmination of it all, the polite dismissal of further attendance. The finality however does nothing but encourage me. At last I have rounded the corners; the matter is squared; there are no open holes or disturbing permutations outstanding. In a word, the picture is complete.

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It is a welcome casualty of old age that whatever transpires is assured to be of moderate interest. There is no need to go searching for things to stimulate oneself.  Indeed so assured am I of this account that I dress for the occasion.  Appearance, as casual now as it may be, is de rigueur though not so much to be voguish as merely cleaned up and presentable. In this sad condition of physical decline, preserving a routine of wear-and-wash remains an elemental imperative. This includes in the chilly weather sporting a silken scarf about the neck.

In spite of its frightfulness the tortuous state of unemployment, incapacity and decline nonetheless fail to diminish the ineluctable effluxion of time. Passage remains compelling enough to entertain, say just watching the geese floating on the river, or idly wondering about the mansion with the turret, or digesting the rich colours of the meadows and furrowed fields seen over the lip of one’s afternoon chilled coffee, or beyond the top of one’s plate of sliced green apple and 5-year old St. Albert cheddar cheese. But first let us recover the morning that preceded.

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It has taken me decades to concede that much of the undying glamour of Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudd, Porky Pig and Daffy Duck in Looney Tunes is the classical musical background to their dramatic performances. In additon the paradox of the union of classical music and cartoon characters is oddly inspirational. What better way to insinuate and improve the minds of young people? The music fully succeeds to capture and elevate the animation for both children and adults. As cartoonish as he may be, Bugs Bunny nonetheless expresses an odd sophistication, vulgar on the one hand, but discernibly clever on the other.

Bugs is an anthropomorphic gray-and-white rabbit or hare who is characterized by his flippant, insouciant personality. He is also characterized by a Brooklyn accent, his portrayal as a trickster, and his catchphrase “What’s up, doc?”. Through his popularity during the golden age of American animation, Bugs became an American cultural icon and Warner Bros.’ official mascot.

Bugs starred in more than 160 short films produced between 1940 and 1964. He has since appeared in feature films, television shows, comics, and other media. He has appeared in more films than any other cartoon character, is the ninth most-portrayed film personality in the world and has his own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

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When I returned home today around 1:30 pm following my customary purgative car wash, I seated myself at the drawing room desk prospective the meadow and river. The view was magnificent! This morning before breakfast I had moderately Rebounded for 1.42 minutes and afterwards tolerably bicycled out-of-doors for 2.86 Km. Thus comfortably seated and purged of guilt I warmed to the outlook of what had lately become an ideal afternoon ceremony.

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Death is peering over the icy stone wall. Old age is proving to be a campground for reigniting memories of the past. I am quite certain the underlying theme of the project is something grand like the philosophic clarification of incidents which transpired too unwittingly and too rapidly for me to have properly assessed them. Perhaps now is the time to do so. And – here’s a modest but irrefutable credit – the historic account will afford a record of the inane events before my memory slips.

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If the word Nutella (a brand of brown, sweetened hazelnut cocoa spread manufactured by the Italian company Ferrero) reasonates with you in the least, and if you have not already done so, then I commend you to consider the deep fried chocoate bar. And, yes, they use Mars or Snickers (the one with peanuts). This rustic treat was unfamiliar to me until today – a brisk and bright Saturday – when we visited Smash-N-Dash food truck in the parking lot of Ace Country & Garden and UPi Energy on County Road 29, Almonte.

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TImepieces have always attracted me whether wrist watches, pocket watches, mantle clocks, carriage clocks, grandfather clocks or Ship’s Bells. This morning, as is my habit, I inspected my collection of wrist watches secreted in my bedroom dresser drawer. Inadvertently I discovered that the Bulova pocket watch (quartz movement) had stopped. The battery needed to be replaced. If memory serves, I bought that watch on-line in 2018 when wintering on Daytona Beach Shores. It was at the time an unusual purchase because since my retirement from the practice of law in 2014 I hadn’t worn a waistcoat; which is to say, I no longer dressed for the office.  By then my current apparel was, as it is now, distinctly casual and decidedly estranged from what was once of ardent sartorial appeal.  Nonetheless the allure of the pocket watch hadn’t fully escaped me.  Many years previously I had inherited two pocket watches from my paternal grandfather.  One, a gold Pochelon et frères with 9K gold watch chain and (formerly) Masonic fob and (latterly) a swivel bloodstone fob with circular gold wreath (which I gave to my goddaughter); the other, a massive sterling silver piece with key for winding (which I sold to “Baker Bob” who operated his business immediately adjoining my own on the town square in Almonte at Little Bridge Street). The singular feature of the Bulova pocket watch was that the attached chain had at its open end a springloaded clip rather than the usual bar (which would have been inserted into and hidden behind a waistcoat button hole).  The clip was clearly an accommodation of casual attire, enabling one to attach the chain to the waistline of one’s pants, with the watch descending into the pant pocket or hung into the small watch pocket instead of the waistcoat welt pocket. As a result my focus changed from appearance to performance. I suspect this upstart usage preceded my acquisition of an Apple Watch which since I have routinely used when bicycling (and which therefore trumps the enjoyment of other watches of any character). I will however report that the Apple Watch speaks to me primarily with a purely functional resonance from which I am inevitably redrawn to the historic chronographs.

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A mariner’s cap also called a skipper’s cap, sailor’s cap or fiddler’s cap, is a peaked cap, usually made from black or navy blue wool felt, but also from corduroy or blue denim. Originally popular with seafarers, it is often associated with sailing and maritime settings, especially fishing, yachting and recreational sailing. It has sometimes become a fashion item in the West, for example being worn by John Lennon in the mid-1960s.

Other principal components are the crown, band, and insignia, typically a cap badge and embroidery in proportion to rank. Piping is also often found, typically in contrast to the crown colour, which is usually white for navy, blue for air force, and green for army. The band is typically a dark, contrasting colour, often black, but may be patterned or striped.

In the Canadian Forces, the peaked cap (French: casquette de service) is the primary headgear for men’s Royal Canadian Navy service dress. Royal Navy Officers were first issued peaked caps in 1825 as a less formal alternative to the bicorne hat.

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Mr. Mark Hedges
Editor-in-Chief
Country Life
London, England

Dear Sir:

Forgive me for seeming pedantic but I understand there is conflicting etymology and usage of the term “chip off the old block” and “chip of the block”. The former captures what this old fogey considers purely the popular vernacular (and I say this with an undisguised element of asperity) while the latter connotes a more literary bent without the excuse of device.

I think it is important for us ancients to address these trifling issues or otherwise young people might deliberately be left to fall – such as when mistakenly referring to a restauranteur rather than restaurateur (an inaccuracy which makes me wince). Once again a simple matter of etymology.  I feel there must be limits beyond usage and popularity to sustain accuracy. That in my experience is much more better!

Bill (Chapman)

PS Love the magazine. Keep up the good work. I marvel at your creativity and industry.

It was first used in 1621 in Robert Sanderson’s Sermons, where it says, “Am not I a child of the same Adam … a chip of the same block, with him?” At this time, the phrase referred to two people from the same familial line.

Circumscribed and stimulated as I am today by the least fanciful resources – nothing more enchanting than a lonely morning tricycle ride about the neighbourhood buffeted by a fresh northerly wind clapping upon the face of the river, or a prosaic drive along a dry country road beneath a chalky bluish sky, or dreamily listening to the soothing sounds of Artie Shaw, Water Music Suite Alla Hornpipe and Henry Purcell, or the unvaried delectation of a crisp green apple and a sharp cheddar cheese – the imaginative expedients and vitality are nonetheless remarkable!

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