Materialism is a subject inciting variable opinions all of which naturally begin with the salient ingredient of stuff.  Yet as tangible as those accoutrements, kit, tackle or apparatus may be, they very often signify a far greater meaning.  Materialism is after all a subject ripe with legendary persuasions stemming from the pyramids of the Egyptian pharaohs through the Bourbon dynasty of Louis XIV at Versailles past the stately country houses of England to the splendidour of wealth by the Americans in Newport, Rhode Island and Palm Beach, Florida.  Materialism suggests both a vulgar and an enviable attribution, immoderation and exhibition, statement and status, candidness and bluntness, shallowness and success. The variety of interpretation embraces even the more inscrutable definitions of art and rudimentary analytical theory.

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This time of year – the infamous Ides of March – predict what are invariably bungling interventions upon the projected springtime and summer seasons.

The Ides of March is the day on the Roman calendar marked as the Idus, roughly the midpoint of a month, of Martius, corresponding to 15 March on the Gregorian calendar. It was marked by several major religious observances. In 44 BC, it became notorious as the date of the assassination of Julius Caesar, which made the Ides of March a turning point in Roman history.

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So often the introductory assertion, “Don’t get me wrong…” in fact predicts just the opposite intention, “You’re damn right I think so!” Seemingly we’re provoked initially to shield or outright hide our predominant disposition by characterizing it as some less direct offensive. At a minimum the initial statement, “Don’t get me wrong!” Is a caution to what follows, a hint at qualification. The last thing it is however is mistaken. In that sense at least the statement is undisguised.

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As I write this autobiographic account I am 75 years old and complacently seated at my desk overlooking farm lands and the Mississippi River as it flows smoothly down from the Village of Appleton on the southeast side of Almonte to the Village of Blakeney on the northwest side of town amidst names such as Galbraith, Corkery, Union Hall, Rosetta, Clayton, Bennie’s Corners and the Mill of Kintail. I’ve had some time to gather my thoughts about what it is that distinguishes Lanark County. It was almost half a century ago in June of 1976 at 27 years of age, alone and with my Yellow Labrador puppy Lanny (whose purebred name was Lanark Drummond Beckwith of Rosedale) that, to the astonishment of some of my family, erstwhile friends and acquaintances in the city, I moved to Almonte from Ottawa where in 1973 – 1974 I had completed my Articles with Messrs. Macdonald, Affleck, Barrs., &c., 100 Sparks Street upon graduating from Dalhousie law school in Halifax, NS.  I was called to the Bar at Osgoode Hall, Toronto in March of 1975; and then subsequently practiced law briefly with Macdonald, Affleck, including not insignificantly appearances (or what now might rightfully be called my “15 minutes of fame” when I actually stood and addressed the bench) in the Federal Court of Canada (Appeal Division) and the Supreme Court of Canada on behalf of West Coast Transmission Co. Ltd. in its inventive challenge of Marshall Crowe as Chairman of the National Energy Board relating to possible bias in matters surrounding the McKenzie Valley Pipeline Hearings. It was a distinction never to be repeated on my part.  I believe of the 50 lawyers in the court room at the time I was the only one with a stuff gown; the rest had all taken silk. To my credit, however, of those Queen’s Counsellors I was only one lawyer among perhaps eight others who said more than, “My Lords, I respectfully agree with my learned friend Mr. Soloway”.  In accomplishing even that abbreviated commendation, the rustle of their silk gowns as they stood obsequiously from their black leathered wooden chairs was mystical.

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It was almost a year ago – June 3rd, 2023 – that Johnnie departed forever. I learned of his failing health and pneumonic death from his longtime friend and childhood schoolmate Lynn. Since then I have had the opportunity to converse via email with Lynn on several occasions as she resolvedly prepares to fulfill Johnnie’s last wish foregathering; and, during the same period my partner and I have reflected upon the times we and Johnnie spent together.  Today I was again prompted to think upon the past by the unusual circumstance of seeing a new model vehicle at my car dealership.  I was there to have routine maintenance done on my vehicle; and, while sitting in the showroom fiddling on my iPhone I was obliged to confront what had the appearance of a remake of the erstwhile Hummer.

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Some time ago, I can’t remember quite when exactly, my erstwhile physician asked if we might collect him at the airport upon his return to Canada. He had been away for a very extensive period of time, first crossing over South America and Tierra del Fuego all the way down to Antarctica. Then he returned through South America en route to Australia where he lingered for some time with his daughter, her husband and two grandchildren. Thereafter it was a skip over the South Pacific to Cape Town, South Africa. And it is most recently from that exotic venue that he has arrived back on terra firma in Canada through Newark, United States of America.

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Arranging an appointment at Reid Bros Motor Sales in response to a manufacturer’s recall notice was for me equivalent to accepting an invitation to a welcome social event. While I won’t pretend to cherish the receipt of a recall notice, the overwhelming dissatisfaction is to endure mechanical impurity. Knowing that absolution awaits is by far the more desirable peril! For days I had lived in anticipation of fulfillment of the purgation and deliverance. Last evening for example I tactfully ensured that my alarm was set well in advance of the predicted departure time to guarantee arrival when scheduled.  So enthused was I by the possibilities that I had already formulated in my mind discussing with the Service Advisor (Alex or Phil) whether it were opportune to change the oil in addition to the customary ceremony of checking the tire air pressure. The prospects positively abounded!

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Considering the panoply of distractions at hand at almost any moment of the day, and acknowledging the coincidental acquaintance of the word with a set of arms or suit of armour or even the less formidable association with trappings, regalia and apparatus, I am moved to comment upon the strength of two features of my own life; namely, my lineage and my preferences.  I suspect there is nothing but the most remote connection between them – and it is certainly not for that reason that I mention them – but I am prompted to my past and my present circumstances by the innate vital stimulation which these two singular resources afford me whatever I may conjecture about their bond and howsoever I might wish to characterize their hallmarks. It is, to speak candidly and again without intending to elicit any creative appeal, not unlike staring at a work of art and capturing what it is about it that appeals to one.

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Since it is incontrovertibly and contemporaneously a dreadful and a delicate subject, deciding what to do in the face of imminent death is not for the pusillanimous.  There is a further caution. The event is indiscriminate; by which I mean, it could happen to you!  Just to be clear, death is thoughtless, random, confused, uncritical, aimless, chaotic, casual and haphazard. One might even say desultory. Or capricious.

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The wind is pressing the water upriver creating tiny uncommon markings of shadowy waves upon what is normally a placid undercurrent downriver in the opposite direction.  Above the blemished reflection there is not a cloud in the sky.  It is a cold, clear day beneath a dome of dry, blue stratosphere. The aspect from our second-storey windows is dynamic and heartening like the projection from the bow of a great ship. The distant tawny furrows glisten in the angled auburn sunlight.

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