Parsimony

I adore talking about money. But make no mistake, not because I ever had or now have lots of it. Certainly I worked for what of it I was lucky to earn. But the motivation was always the work not the money. It is an intrigue or peril I have fancifully addressed throughout my lifetime.  At times with respect; at others with disdain. Almost everything I have bought I have sold.  Nor had I any hesitation or regret in doing so. The gambit was never more distinctive than sitting down to a fine meal or casting off used clothing. There is however one scope of the immersion I have never fully comprehended; that is the meaning of parsimony. Compared to the vulgarity of expenditure it is a delicacy which I admit has until now escaped me entirely. I say this with the dubious reluctance of an epicurean at heart. Yet I cannot but admire the puritan.

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A casual Saturday afternoon

Last night I slept well. The alarm startled me at 8:00 am. Wafting from the kitchen was the aroma of homemade soup. The cool coastal air brightened the toothsome appeal. His Lordship habitually arises early to permit him peacefully to earmark his culinary skills which lately have focused upon the Mediterranean diet. The drifting delectation this morning was a suitable introduction to the savoury breakfast at Lowcountry Produce; viz., avocado toast. In the interest of limpidity I will however disclose that I preceded the modest plate with a freshly made glazed doughnut. My sugar addiction shamelessly thrives upon the sybaritism.

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Connecting

We had a sobering moment over breakfast this morning at Lowcountry Produce & Market. Our server Dena shared with us intelligence from which we are normally insulated. In the process of casual banter equivalent to one’s health and the weather, we asked Dena whether Nancy (whom we had met years ago but lately had seen in the back room) was the sister of the owner of the store. Dena at first struggled with a reply then disclosed that she had only worked there for the past several months.  When I asked where she was from, thinking she may have been an interloper drawn to this idyllic island by the same allure that attracted us,  to my surprise she said she had lived on the island all her life but because of progressive gentrification (not her words) had been obliged as a single mother of young children to move abroad, even beyond nearby Beaufort and further outbound (over an hour’s distance entailing having to awaken no later than 5:30 am to get to work on the island).  She later advised upon my added curiosity that she works at the restaurant 3 days a week; also she does housework at 3 local villas and dog walking. When I asked if she had thought of GoFundMe she hesitatingly shared that she had used that vehicle to assist to pay the funerals of her father and brother (who died of fentanyl poisoning the day after their father). Otherwise it was apparent to me that she was adamant about making her own way, with or without child support from her estranged husband. She repeatedly asked to send me her résumé.

Dena went on to say that prior to leaving the island (where her rent jumped from $1,600/mo to $3,000/mo) and moving to a trailer along interstate 95, she had attended town hall meetings to promote zoning limitations and affordable housing but to no avail.

Almost a decade ago we learned of this problem affecting low income workers in the local service industries. Coincidentally this morning I received from a Canadian acquaintance an article from the Guardian which echoed the identical problem on nearby Daufuskie Island (specifically addressing the native Gullah Geechee population). Ultimately the tale of declining affordability for the lower classes is universal. As commensurately with that elongation is the upper classes enjoyment of more privilege and increased removal from and blindness of the impending peril of inarguable contribution to society by those at risk.

At no time have I overheard the vacuous wish or expectation of those at risk to become rich or indulgent; instead there is an abiding desire to calculate a meaningful existence (where one has always lived) for the benefit of family (in Dena’s instance, to enable her children to attend the same high school she did).  The dream is far from preposterous though sadly for her just as ethereal and divine. Upon saying goodbye to her, Dena lapsed into a spiritual monologue to the Almighty for gratitude for what she perceived to be our heartening exchange.

From my jaundiced (and unapologetically pragmatic) view of Dena and her circumstances (being irreligious as I am), she derives notable accreditation from her obvious willingness to work; and, her equally notable use of the proper noun of address (“gentlemen” rather than “you guys”) when speaking to us at table.  More than once she expressed her wish to share with me her résumé which, though initially I resisted the need before recognizing the related imperative of qualification surpassing my own limited perception of her abilities, I acquiesced and messaged a text to her accordingly.

Today’s unanticipated familiarity translated an otherwise mystical ceremony to one of more bracing detail. Dissolving the map of servitude to knowledge is however informative.  My immediate reaction is, as usual in the face of controversy, logic and cooperation.  I continue to maintain this model of conduct.  I don’t for example accept any intended development which amounts to shooting oneself in the foot.  Affordable housing for local contributors is so patently requisite that I am astonished the business community on this tiny island with whom those people mingle and work hasn’t the foresight to recognize. If continuously ignored I have no doubt the ramifications will eventually subdue the disregard. To me it is no more more conspicuous rationality than confessing a car needs gas; and, that the proximity of the two is both convenient and desirable for mutual benefit.

Meanwhile Dena has relented her unfavourable employment applications by bending to the favour of her church.  Not being myself an advocate for other than the rich, I am unaware of the continuing limitations of social injustice. Nor have I anything more than the distinction of trite charitable contribution to our local hospital, parkland improvement and my erstwhile boarding school. I do however have the ability to recognize firmness and assiduity in others. I wish her well; and, I am inclined for whatever inscrutable reasoning of my own to imagine that she will succeed.

The Momentum Continues…luncheon at Sea Shack

Luncheon at Sea Shack, Executive Park Drive has been an immutable custom throughout our 13-year history on Hilton Head Island. Most recently I recall having congregated at table inside because one of the guests was stodgy about submitting to such pedestrian enterprise as Sea Shack (which categorically lives up to its intended social vernacular of austerity, modesty and originality). But today we were alone and the sun shone brilliantly. We therefore sat as we normally do outside at one of the several picnic tables under the towering sea pines.

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The all new Grander Older Potty (GOP)

Latest breaking news* from FOGS NEWS Hosts Jussed Watturd and Dame Peeino:

Tired of the spew of sewage from the latest golden toilet on rat infested Fifth Avenue? Consider the all new Grander Older Potty (GOP) complete with genuine Old West saloon style swinging doors so they look the same whether you’re coming or going (no one has to know your business). Gone are the days of having to deal with the masses going up and down elevators; the all new GOP is set in the open air far from the contaminated public where in privacy without having to worry about the annoying sounds of wind or smell of content you can secretly conduct your affairs in the ambiance of real men just the way God Almighty intended.

The all new Grander Older Potty (GOP) comes with solid oak doors and matching seats. No more slippery golden seats. And instead of paper towels there are brand spanking new sheets of the Washington Post or genuine country dried leaf bags at your disposal.

In the all new GOP you needn’t worry about being separated from like minded men. The all new Grander Older Potty is built to accommodate multiple evacuations of similar ilk.  And don’t be alarmed at the possibility of women using the men’s GOP. Every entrance is protected by an official gun-slinging Sheriff to protect your right to privacy and integrity without exposure to the vulgar truth.  In the all new Grander Older Party (GOP) it’s back to the days when men were men and you didn’t have to worry about being caught with your pants down.

Like the former GOP each newer Grander Older Potty  is entirely collapsible and mobile allowing for easy shifting and relocation, whether from Dump Tower or Mar-Go-Aloto.  And no need to concern yourself with having to wash your hands of anything. The all new GOP is bacteria free; every moment of shiftless encounter is immediately purified of any lingering contamination so no one will know where you sat or stand. The all new Grander Older Potty is designed with your mind in mind. The public has no business knowing your business! Remember our motto: “Nothin’!”

* Copyright All productions of The Outhouse Connection® are the sole proprietorship of the contributors and authors CVXVIII Orlando, Florida USA 379366-452

The Perfect Life

Mid-morning today I tricycled nearby our cottage at Lands End, Sea Pines on Hilton Head Island. Initially I deplored that I hadn’t any longer the capacity I once had to cycle on the beach. To overcome or compensate this hurdle I turned onto laneways I hadn’t previously explored (no doubt as a consequence of my haste to get onto the beach). While the beach is primarily passable for 12 miles (most favourably at low tide) our residency at the southern toe of the island exposes us to less volatile wave action as a result of which the sand tends to pile and retain water more than it does directly on the ocean unencumbered by the the obstructing curve of the land. Consequently if I wish to access the beach further northward I am obliged to navigate paths and eventually climbs and dips onto the beach. This would be all very well if I had the ability to walk my trike along the narrow pathways and down the soft sandy boundary of the beach head onto the flat surface. But I do not. Handling a tricycle on foot is cumbersome. Granted I have on two occasions succeeded to get onto the beach. But not without unenviable effort; nor might I add, without regret. The beach is undoubtedly magnificent but I have scoped it many times in the past and as a result the discoveries I made today were all the more persuasive. This admission together with my confession of advanced age and associated decomposition has further and finally convinced me of the merit and sustainability of a new view of the island.  And the universe in general (being as I am a firm believer in the germane evolution of thought).

I suppose too that part of the allure of these newly awakened avenues of passage was their novelty and convenience. I cannot help but sense the metaphor of being so unwittingly persuaded to seduce oneself by what is immediately at hand.  This is not to suggest I hadn’t devoted myself to worthwhile exercise; or, that I hadn’t undertaken any industry is these new found arena. By account I completed 20.21 Kms  This athleticism (surpassing my current daily average of 4 Kms) is in part due to the exceptional comfort I derive from the Atlas model of tricycle with its high handlebars and seat permitting easy leg extension. Yesterday I thought it was my imagination that my neuropathic legs felt much improved.

The full story concludes with the poignant observation that this is the perfect life.  I haven’t any foolishness about fame or fortune.  Those credentials have never figured in my view from the bow. Instead I have with noticeable assiduity and conviction directed myself to mining whatever resources are readily apparent and achievable.

Threading and insinuating this shameful self-satisfaction is the equally ready acknowledgment of my fortuitous history (even though marked by a number of catastrophic life-threatening moments). But what matters naturally is the ineffable domain called the “present “. It is a paradox of change and immutability.

I haven’t the data to support a universal application of this formula.  It clearly embraces that additional.ingredient called luck (a thesis strongly advanced by my literary hero Thomas Hardy from whom I can think of no greater advocacy). On the strength of that learned proposition I am swiftly drawn to the moment, sitting in the late afternoon sunshine on the  deck overlooking the cove at high tide.

My defence of this smugness  – we’re one preferred – is that it would constitute inviolable arrogance to contradict the fortune. I redress any impertinence by disclosing my perhaps flavourless ambition to do whatever I can to contribute.  That contribution is of course essentially committed to others as opposed to life in general. Just as it is my favour to relish these elementary features I have mentioned, so too is it my advantage and opportunity to enlarge as best I can the lives of others whom I have the privilege to acquaint. The success of my performance is no more guaranteed than the gifts or happenstance I’ve been given. Nor is there anything beyond effort I can do to assure the result. The get and give are upon identical terms.  There is no entitlement. Accordingly for the time being at least – which, let’s face it, is a small confinement – it’s the perfect life!

 

Distraction

Political election is all about competition.  It shouldn’t therefore surprise any one of us that what I call “debating tactics” are used on the floor of government to win the cause.  And make no mistake, the cause is winning.  Election represents not only a job but also a pension (if you’re there long enough for entitlement) and privilege (influential acquaintances, spectacular dining rooms on Parliament Hill or Capitol Hill, club membership and generally a cozy state of being). Election instantly puts the winner in a cage from which variation is lethal. This too is manifestly clear as it should be within the context of debate.  You cannot argue against your own side’s interpretation of the resolution, whether government or opposition.

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Exercise

Talk about exercise!  Whew!  Early this morning as I clinically sliced and chomped my way through the first half of an English muffin greedily laden with butter and peanut butter, I hadn’t any idea of the physical trial that was to follow. Indeed afterwards, having rinsed my hands and brushed my teeth, I opted instead of tricycling to get the car washed. It was a reckoning of minutes under cover of the Spanish Moss along familiar winding pathways past the handsome horses in pasture and back home.  When at last I mounted my squeaky trike I hadn’t intended to accomplish anything more beneficial than a round about Lands End. But mischief and profit overtook me.  Soon I was sailing by Tower Beach Club.

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Navigating volatility and the AI theme

Among the ancients (of whom I am one) the stock market is today of exceptional gravity. Today marks the first business day following America’s imposition of extraordinary tariffs upon its primary international business partners.  Though the anticipated war of negotiations and like-minded reciprocity has yet to unfold, speaking for myself I am already resolved in my determination.

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Images

Several years ago when wintering on Longboat Key, in the apartment we had rented there hung on the wall a painting I admired very much.  It was typical of those one sees in coastal resorts; that is, a beach chair over which swayed a large colourful umbrella. I was tempted to telephone the landlord to enquire whether I might purchase it.  But then the Covid scare arose and we were advised by the Canadian government to return home immediately.  The travel urgency trumped the artistic purpose.

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