When will it all end?

I paused today as though amid the mirth of adolescence along the sidewalk on a shaded part of Spring Street below the big maple tree now burnished with autumn to chat with Robbie, a man whose mettle is corrupted by the acid of time but who nonetheless shines with all the more brilliance and lustre. He is the reincarnation of my youth, those happy days when life was “easy under the apple boughs”. We both wistfully recalled some distant memories.

Dylan Thomas 1914 –1953

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

We oddly pondered “When will it all end?” As I suspect you will agree the more important question is, “What shall we do before it all ends?”  The other question “When will it all end?” is preposterous because, no matter what the answer, our preoccupation can and should be always the same. It’s not a question of alternatives. There is nothing else we can usefully accomplish or contribute. That it will all end is self-evident.  But the other question “What shall we do before it all ends?” is highly personal (perhaps even dynamic), entirely empirical (there is nothing either prospective or imaginary about the enterprise though it may be purely whimsical), timeless, thankfully anything but predictable and possibly both gratifying and entertaining. If we engage ourselves as we ought to do in fulfilling that particular cause, we haven’t time to mutter inconsequential verbiage about the end of the world.

Notwithstanding the logic of what I have just reiterated there are those who insist upon creating a fabric of mysticism governing what they shall otherwise do before it all ends – and perhaps even after it all ends. There really is no discernible scope to the impropriety of knowledge inaccessible to the intellect. While I haven’t any objection to such an undertaking, I am frankly more inclined to adopt the less fictional approach to life (though I am the first to accept my adoration of detail and mathematical unions). Robbie and I concluded our confab with a definitive high five, departing in opposite directions but still upon the same path, embellished with a measure of both high spirits and gloom.

There are naturally those who are specific about what they shall do before it all ends. Following are some suggestions:

  • Get rid of stuff.  With so many people in need, one wonders what the obstacle is to fulfillment of this relieving ambition.  Noticeably however is that children and grandchildren seldom have an interest in the acquisition. Accepting this limitation frequently provokes prolonged inquisition about what attracted you in the first place.  But the prevarication only contributes to going on with the effort, like looking at old photographs.
  • Travel. This is common initially for two reasons: one, see the world before it all ends; and, two, get away from winter. While both are laudable, one should keep in mind that in the end (speaking of which), there is no place like home. Home asserts its own pragmatism in later life because of its familiarity and convenience. Eventually the romance is from your own view.
  • Automobile. As vulgar as it may sound, retirement is often occasion to get that car you’ve always wanted.  It may be an expensive model; it may be a sport model; it may be an antique. But it is always assured to afford the anticipated diversion.
  • Cooking. This is a developing hobby.  It may well involve a tour to Europe to study culinary talents in Italy or France.
  • Hobbies. Among the possibilities are painting or drawing, coin or stamp collection, writing an autobiography, playing an instrument, bird watching, ancestral research, model trains, photography, gardening, kayaking or anything else by which to express oneself.
  • Reading, reading, reading. I have always struggled with this endorsement (it’s not a true alternative). It constitutes one of the most memorable mandates of my late acquaintance Louis de la Chesnaye Audette, QC, OC who, though an adherent of the epicurean lifestyle, preserved this bidding as paramount. My battle with reading is naturally curious after having spent a lifetime devoted to words. It is not so much a contest with words as a rivalry. The competition is ruled by the limitation of time throughout the day. I have always committed myself to routine habits and customs, each of which absorbs a wedge of the compass within which I rotate equally and repetitively.
  • Boating, Flying, Ballooning. Though I can’t say the allure exists within me to do those things, I know of people for whom they are exceedingly attractive.  I am reminded once again of the Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B by JP Donleavy, specifically Uncle Edouard, who instructs his nephew Balthazar in the worldly life of an elegant roué. I might also have thought to include mountain climbing, scuba diving and bungee jumping.