By coincidence I am listening to Ludovico Einaudi’s “Petricor” from his “Elements” album. I say it is fortuitous because its very pensive nature coincides delightfully with our afternoon drive into the country today. We once again abandoned our digs upon the scheduled visit of our housekeeper whom we’re quite certain can bear the deprivation of our presence while she attends to things. Normally we would have had some debate about where to go, in what direction to head and what to do. But COVID-19 has pretty much diluted that. And because the weather was inclement the landscape was universally grey and uninviting.

This did not diminish the need for a car wash.  Admittedly the “Season Pass” from Petro-Canada encourages my spendthrift habit; but many years ago before the card was retailed I as routinely washed the car at whatever the expense. To me it’s one of those imperatives which is incontrovertible on any level (though it helps not to live on a dirt road).

We pulled away from the gas station and directed ourselves to the hinterland of Renfrew County. Commensurately we lapsed into an introspective and sometimes philosophic skull session. Sitting in the car, side by side, having nothing else to do – not even the diversion of mapping unknown territory – was an opportunity for us to canvass and confront thoughts which are normally reserved as “understood” or, what was more likely, the chance to step aside briefly from the unsettling mania of the media to examine briefly our own microscopic universe. Having one-quarter of a century of almost constant togetherness has succeeded to entitle us to an ample fodder for conversation.

As is so frequently the case in similar matters we fairly soon exhausted the impulse to prosecute the intimate subject – though it was no reflection upon its importance to us both. The landscape of expansive farmland and the vast horizon overtook our notice. Getting old is not for the timorous!