No doubt, my dear Reader, you have noted that the legend of this particular monologue is not a question. It is an exclamation. Mind you, I suppose that, upon even modest analysis, it is self-evident that our 3-hour luncheon today (precisely from 11:30 am – 2:30 pm) is rationale enough for the idle ejaculation. What made it all the more timely (or, should I say, ill-timed) was that our confab at table, though hardly rambunctious, was ripe with pleasantries, whimsical barbs, insightful swipes, comic assertions, wry recollections and heartfelt reactions. And coincidentally it was a birthday celebration. That alone constitutes a serendipitous reference to the fleeting allusion.
Without indulging in useless detail, suffice it to say that when you haven’t any intention other than tranquil engagement and beneficent communication, time unequivocally speeds by the regular measure of the clock.
There are endless possibilities regarding the passage of time. Curiously we touched upon another less popular credential; namely, death. In particular I remarked that the guest of honour and I (both members of the Craft) are accustomed to the ritual that, “Nature teaches us how to die”. The adage is palatable because it is not obstructive, rather cooperative. Arguably it is too an invitation to do everything possible until such time as one is led by the hand elsewhere to the unforeseen. As my late father so meaningfully commented upon the ultimate destiny: We are removed into space. I have always rather liked the metaphor because it identifies another voyage, not a termination but a translation. Most favourably, it concludes the annoyance of the dreaded effluxion of time.
My euphoria today was kindled by a revival of habit. Within the past several months I have had to confront matters which are offensive to my routine behaviour. This discredit applied to anything which disturbed my custom. As small a compliment as it is (and ironically it was another topic to which we alluded over lunch today), recovery of my trifling patterns and grooves has straightened my being. This too may be a reflection upon the passage of time. I now find it increasingly tolerable to succumb to a curmudgeonly reaction to things. We unanimously concurred that youth is in a state of global realignment – currently distinguished by distraction from nefarious combustibles and alcoholic beverages, to name but two of the more remarkable distortions.
Finally I cannot overlook the further coincidental reference to travel. The birthday boy and his lady are accomplished wanderers. Next upon their calendar is a month in the State of Bhutan. Serendipitously upon returning home (from my statutory afternoon hike, that is), I opened my Country Life magazine and read an article by Jonathan Self entitled, “Birthday tricks and treats”, the first line of which reads:
“In Bhutan, they don’t celebrate individual birthdays at all; rather, every time January 1 rolls around, the entire population, at a single stroke, becomes a year older.”
Bhutan, a small independent kingdom in southern Asia, on the south-eastern slopes of the Himalayas, north of India; population 775,000 (estimated 2015); capital, Thimphu; languages, Dzongkha (official), Nepali.
Self added, “I intend to live forever. So far, so good.” He then quoted Plautus (no idea who he is) – “Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words.” Sounds sensible to me, the consummate Hedonist that I unabashedly am!