I’ve just come off a lengthy confab on the telephone with my erstwhile physician. He recently returned from overseeing his properties in Sarasota, Florida. Today he was languishing with his old dog Findlay (better known as as “Finn”) on his country estate in nearby Village of Ashton. As you can see from the “featured image”, it was late in the afternoon that we conversed. Though the sun sets earlier each day, he tells me several days are already preserved for golf in the Scottish tradition of moderately cool temperatures anticipated around 11°C.

In addition to offering – as he customarily does – helpful advice regarding treatment of arthritis and other related maladies, we touched upon his family and his upcoming ventures. I find I must always assume to know nothing about his planned travels.  It is a prediction proven to have been true countless times. For example, currently on the agenda are a trip to Egypt; then a return to Florida; then an equally significant jaunt to the South Pacific.  Perhaps by the upcoming Spring he shall have returned to Canada to nest once again temporarily chez nous. Apparently his son is an identical vagabond, having lately returned from a memorable business jaunt to China among other exotic resorts.

Because my erstwhile physician is an unqualified traveler it is no surprise that we discussed what I and my partner propose to do this year. He started by saying that he is convinced there are plans on the horizon.  I, on the other hand, was less inclined. Certainly one must confess the sway of snow. But we have such a superlative, unimpeded view – basically farmland and river – that I cannot but imagine that the scene howsoever white will be lovely. There remains too the possibility that we’ll have a green winter (as I recall we did at the beginning of COVID). Except for occasional frozen patches, I remember the streets were dry enough to permit me to bicycle. But as I said to him, the bigger complication is my arthritic ribs and diminishing spine – essentially, immobility. I have learned to accommodate the evolving prejudice here at home. For me, getting to the bathroom is exercise. As for the rest – writing and my car – they are affections preferably consummated locally – that is, my own drawing room for the writing, the subterranean basement (for the redeeming tricycle) and the Appleton Side Road for the car rides. To postulate that I would be in any better position anywhere throughout the world is a pragmatic impossibility! The dreamy travel sketches will forever impart a yearning. But I have discovered very quickly that “there ain’t no ship to take you away from yourself, you travel the suburbs of your own mind“, which defeats speculations about walking of any account.

Cruises – as much as they sanction being stationary – are still a challenge to enjoy.  Cross-country train travel is too short to amount to any significance. Caribbean jaunts are normally weekly interludes only. Regrettably, the United States of America is off the list.  We continue to hear unfavourable stories.  I am never certain how much of them to believe.

I have thought I must seek out a massage therapist to fulfill my alternate ambitions. Otherwise there isn’t much if any change on the horizon. But – and I feel I must repeat – I am in no want. It is a distinction without a difference!