The signature mist off the ocean breathes softness over the morning activity, allowing a faint gleam of radiance to filter through the haze. No one wears a raincoat. The air is refreshingly cool and damp, intrusive only in the way that requires a tissue to clear one’s spectacles. I wear a long-sleeve Tommy Bahama silk jersey beneath a woolen Viyella cardigan, complemented by a silk scarf to ward off the coastal breeze. I have not relinquished my short pants for long ones. That much exalted privilege is beyond the preserve of childhood. Short pants eliminate the obstruction of length unequivocally even though all my casual long pants have been measured to what some might mockingly label “flood pant” status. Besides my neuropathic legs haven’t any sensation of weather. Like the rest of me, they exist in the realm of convenient and incontrovertible platitudes.
Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 drifts through the car, lending a soothing atmosphere. Reclined in my seat, I await the collection of groceries. I am the driver – nothing more, nothing less. It is the welcome status to which I have been reduced. Once again I successfully excuse my indolence by invoking my advanced age. Decades of thoughtless behavior are catching up to me – indeed, they already have. No matter. Mine is not a desperate hope for eternity but rather the quiet gratification of each passing moment. Gratitude sustains me, and I am content to leave the future well enough alone.
My technological amusement with ChatGPT lingers (though with the customary reserve prompted more by inherent immutability than learned resolve). The chat (research) function is largely a polished rendition of what already exists on the internet – albeit cultivated with remarkable politeness reminiscent of the sentient supercomputer “Hal 9000” in the 1968 film Space Odyssey. At least the plagiarism is acknowledged, sometimes even citing sources (Stanford University, in one instance). The storytelling function, while less clinical, is predictable, often echoing a narrow set of programmed themes. As a writer, this limitation only enhances the value of engaging with life’s daily expressions – those fleeting moments that sparkle with individuality, untouched by algorithmic patterns.
Last evening, I drank far too much coffee. Sleep eluded me until six o’clock this morning, and even then, it was fleeting. We had planned an early morning grocery run, so I showered, dressed in fresh clothes, and prepared for the adventure.
It is mid-week on the island. We approach the middle of the month as well. Soon we shall approach the middle of our stay here and return to Canada to confront what amendments we already anticipate. Bell Canada punctuated the order of the day by confirming, “We received your recent pre-authorized payment of $228.26. Your remaining account balance for this billing period is $0.00.” And Buick Canada reports, “As Canadians, we pride ourselves on our ability to handle whatever winter throws at us – cheerfully, even. But that doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate the finer things. Luxury and style are never out of season. And you’ll find plenty of both in the 2025 Buick lineup.” The accompanying imagery featured a strikingly thin woman with an almost confrontational air, wearing what appears to be an oversized business suit belonging to her father. The posture is perhaps vitalized by what follows:
Canadian five‑time Olympic medalist and three‑time World Champion ice dancer Tessa Virtue wears a lot of hats these days. She’s a fierce advocate for female empowerment, an executive advisor, a fashion icon, devoted mom, and more.
The obvious detour of Buick Canada’s clientele to such attributes contrasts with what I feel is emerging from the United States of America where the process of Make America Great Again is notable for its reversal of digestible themes to what existed before the so-called “woke” obsession of social injustice and discrimination. The American Buick site shows only the finger of a woman pointing to a button in the car. Say what you will, I cannot imagine that the difference is unintended. Just as Trump speaks to his audience in the most mundane vernacular (to which reportedly they most intelligibly relate) it is likewise understandable that retailers should do the same.
Never having been an advocate of civil rights, and never having promoted the entitlement for myself, I have instead adopted the theory that change will evolve but slowly and without pressure. Clearly half the American populace is fatigued by what the news media have publicized endlessly for its pecuniary advantage. While it is possible to identify “progress” in society based upon specific battles, the push-back and suffering resulting from that method of change is questionable. The same people who were on balance convinced to alter social injustice and discrimination could have been motivated to do so without the equivalent of war. War is throughout the globe too often the resort of the weak minded on both sides of an argument. Never has war proven to be anything but loss. In the end it is the same people who remain to alter the pathway over the debris of challenge.
The comfort of humanity to sustain modification is limited. So too are those of humanity with greater intelligence than others; that is, limited. But that limited intelligence will eventually out. But it is a matter in my opinion of gradual absorption not revolutionary empowerment. In spite of whatever book burning, historical denial or any other reality which plagues humanity, the insinuation of the truth will transpire one way or another. Gulliver’s Travels is far more than a fairy tale.