No doubt it is an illness of the obsessive mind to dwell incessantly upon a summary of things as though it were the mechanic to understand the whole, assembling pieces of the universal puzzle, arranging things in random order, to make sense of whatever has been. Riding on my bicycle this morning under the shade of the towering grape trees into the balmy air and yellow sunshine, feeling the burnish upon my face, glimpsing the ribbon of emerald sea on the other side of the road, it was with utter thankfulness that I gazed upon what is here and where we are. There is little other than fortuity to explain it all.
More quickly than I had anticipated I have arrived at a point in my life where the question of what really matters is no longer just philosophic. My appetite has changed – and so too has my diet. What I consume by way of experience and emotional sources has altered. Weighing the people, the things and the events of the past is a collection of memories and evolution. Occasionally I contemplate going back, reversing what was said or done, pretending to revive what has vanished. But the moment is not right, at least for my part, though it may otherwise transpire. Some things are better left apart.
By the pool I overheard her say that she doesn’t cook, that she “only makes reservations“. It struck me oddly. What sort of woman doesn’t cook? For that matter, what sort of man doesn’t cook? The debate was not of the quality of the performance. It made me think she was disguising something, perhaps just a hackneyed and indirect attempt at superiority. Her diamond rings were admittedly intriguing. There was substance there. We chatted afterwards. Like most of us she has reluctantly concluded that nothing matters but human relations – no matter how intimate or obscure or casual. And, yes, Grey Goose vodka is good but her favourite is Dan Aykroyd’s Crystal Head vodka – a preference I can’t but imagine is more for the Milan-based glass manufacturer Bruni Glass.
This brief conversation was not the only one of curiosity today. My first exchange when I arrived at the pool was with another long-time resident who shared with me that he is embroiled in endless conflict with immediate family over historical business partnership and current proprietary co-ownership. I told him that his difficulties echoed those of a friend who is persistently battling with the Canadian government and Canada Revenue Agency in particular. It made me wonder why the chap didn’t simply do whatever was necessary to “throw in the towel” so to speak, to get it all behind him and out of mind. I didn’t however volunteer this gratuitous advice. People my age – which he is – don’t like being told what to do.
Of a more palatable discussion was the one with a fellow interloper who had lost her pink reading glasses. We quizzed the conundrum. I quit by saying, “You’ll find them!” And she did. My experience with lost articles is that customarily they are merely misplaced – not eternally buried.