It is a privilege of old age unapologetically to query the day of the week. In fact I confess a degree of smugness in doing so. It has been eons since the intelligence was mandatory. I find my perception is hindered not only by incremental memory decline but also by the added distortion of the bygone characteristics of highway traffic, church attendance and retail activity among other indicia, all of which have been (depending on your point of view) contaminated or enlivened by so-called modern kindling including such precipitous custom as working from home and on-line shopping. Living as we do in a secluded rural town, overlooking sprawling farm properties and the river, nearby an 18-hole historic golf course, surrounded by elderly people who have moved here with their Audis and BMWs from urban environments as far abroad as Toronto and the perimeter provinces of British Columbia and Nova Scotia, my temporal knowledge is predicted not by the minutia of the regular week but rather by the distinguishing marks of the seasons such as the flock of geese we overheard chattering nearby this morning as we conducted our own sidewalk confab with a riparian property owner.
Barring the interruptive exigencies of grocery shopping, personal services (mani/pedis and haircuts), medical and dental examinations, we are at leisure to devote the remainder of our collective existence to cycling, luncheons at the golf club, discovery of fresh and improved bakeries, journeys abroad and new cars. I recognize that this curriculum is a small compliment; yet it sufficiently addresses that “elephant in the room” called death. Each day is precious and as remarkable as one wishes to make it. This afternoon for example I indulged myself to drive my new car about the undulating ribbons of recently paved country roads within Lanark County. My only impediments were the brilliant sunshine and the approaching cool autumnal air.
The blue water of the river is rippled and drawn in the late afternoon sunshine by a moderate northerly wind. I haven’t any reluctance about what is to come. My sole anticipation is the changing colour of the shoreline trees. Hopefully before the first disturbing snowfall we shall be en route to Hilton Head Island for reinvigoration.