Just one of those days!

The buoyancy of life, though undeniably mercurial, is by compensating contrast reciprocal. There are good days and bad days, ups and downs. And while there is never any guarantee, there are nonetheless those singularly pleasant days that inexplicably colour the canvas of life’s easel. Today is just one of those days, a good day, a healthy harvest of ample proportion; and, a warm sunny day to boot. The fortuity of the day is naturally its unanticipated delight, an unfolding of epic proportions. It is an alternately persuasive rendition to what only as recently as yesterday was considered an entirely uneventful and speculative focus.  There is taunting heat under a blazing sun followed by a relieving light breeze devoid of humidity. There is as well the enduring image of dedicated gardeners bent over their flower beds like common labourers, plucking spoiled blossoms to preserve the idyllic perfection of the midsummer day.

We hadn’t this morning any expectation of such strength to our routine cycle outing but it was quickly apparent that we’d struck upon an ideal day. Our passage along the normal route was effortless (perhaps due to the wind at our backs, a feature which upon our return cooled our exertion). Those whom we greeted along the way were succinct but generous. There was an overall commonality of purpose, the uplifting accent of improving exercise on a refreshing summer morn. The bark of the dogs was invitational not confrontational. The totality conspired to elevate the enterprise and to prolong its expression. Perhaps another round about the neighbourhood? The enchantment was a captivating tonic.

Following this morning’s purgative undertaking, I pursued what are no more distinguished than other of my unexceptional habits. I too am an old dog with but old and possibly flavourless customs. Like Alfred J. Prufrock I have to ask.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot

Yet in spite of the proximate cause my psychology abounds in seemingly limitless delectation. Nor is any box of chocolates required to complete the set. My devotion to quality and limitation has equipped me with the elements I characterize important. Throughout my life I have tripped from art galleries to furniture stores; from museums to symphonies and play houses; from jewellers to antique dealers; from crystal to porcelain; from silver to plate; from platinum to gold; from Heintzman to Steinway; from Persian to Indian rugs; from mahogany floors to recovered pine planks; from brick to stone; from fireplace to insert; and – perhaps most significantly – from house to apartment. It lightens to burden of life to eliminate what is unnecessary. By the same purpose, it stimulates what remains.

I won’t say I’m getting ready to leave; but I will confess I am preparing myself for just one of those days. And while I’m waiting I thought I’d have a look around.