To the quip about sausage and law (the two things one mustn’t watch being made) I’d like to add a third surveillance prohibition; and that is, moving. Essentially, keep out of the way! The “packers” are at the apartment now. It’s after 4:00 o’clock in the afternoon. They’ve been there since 9:00 o’clock this morning. Luckily for me, as chance would have it, I had an early morning appointment in Ottawa so I was on the road before they arrived. Although I have kept in touch remotely, I frankly have no precise idea what they are doing. There have been reverberations about dishes and the particularity of wrapping each piece before putting it into a box. The paintings are reportedly being housed in independent sleeves. Certain small pieces of furniture have been wrapped “as is” to avoid removing the sparse contents of the drawers. More alluring is the advice that the new console has coincidentally arrived this morning from North Carolina.

My meeting in the city this morning was concluded shortly after 9:00 am.  However I spent at least another ½ hour gabbing with the Principal, touching primarily upon his daughter’s recent ineffable wedding in Scottsdale, AZ and also sadly upon his 10-year old grandson’s current attendance at the Children’s Hospital in Toronto in preparation for chemotherapy. To mild astonishment we further conversed about the Catholic Church and religion generally.  More than a few sparks emitted. We abruptly agreed an alternate social spirituality is pervasive. I thereafter headed back to Almonte but profited by my location in Ottawa to stop at Farm Boy for some provisions. Apart from apples, bananas and blueberries everything else is in a box or a bottle; or, “prepared” food.  I was getting stuff for our 5-day sojourn at the Mill Street Apartments where the less we have to do in the kitchen, the better.

After loading the groceries into the car (which is already jammed with our Key Largo belongings), I drove to Almonte.  I interrupted the progress of my travels by calling Management at the scene of the crime.  He reported that all was proceeding though more time than initially anticipated will be required to complete the task. I asked what if anything I might do and was told nothing.  This did not disappoint.  Accordingly I continued tout droit which meant I was in line with the tranquil Village of Pakenham along the meandering Mississippi River. When there I found a convenient parking spot nearby the Centennial Restaurant then hobbled with my stick into the oasis for something to eat. It was by this time approaching noon and I hadn’t eaten so much as an apple since 5:00 o’clock in the morning.

The ownership of the restaurant has a history of the Stuart family, the well known local philanthropists who were initially inspired to create the restaurant as a hitherto unavailable local amenity. That was over forty years ago. The current owner’s name is Omar.  To me he represents the widespread frequency of restaurateurs who hail from another country. That commercial inclination is I find always veiled by a curiosity regarding the undisclosed number of university degrees and professional qualification the owner has while cleaning the kitchen countertops (similar to the inquisitiveness often arising about cab drivers in cities). Whatever his status or qualifications he appears to take pleasure in his business; he spoke cheerily with several of the patrons. More remarkable to me was that as the restaurant began filling with people over the noon hour, a full table of gentlemen arrived.  They were all from Almonte.  I know Almonte and the Village of Pakenham are not far apart but I hadn’t the expectation, so close to home, that so many of my confederates were from the same place as I. We naturally exchanged the customary niceties.

The next stop was the Mill St Apartments. For most of the morning the cool ambient temperature ensured that my cargo of groceries (which in fairness were already stored in one of those thermal bags) was well maintained.  Once again upon arrival at the Mill St Apartments my contribution was supervisory at best.  I did however hobble up the long staircase to the apartment to have a snapshot view of where we’re hanging our hat for the next five days. The long balcony with its southwestern prospect affords an incomparable place for sunbathing in the late afternoon autumnal sunshine.

The Mill Street Apartment has by contrast to the heartwarming sunshine and inviting downtown location made me feel like a hapless transient in the first of several upcoming accommodations (including residential, short-term board, hotels and winter lodges), not altogether an especially comfortable feeling for one such as I who rather prefers a broader dormancy and constant familiarity. Nonetheless inexorably we have adapted to nomadic being.  I will however acknowledge that in summary of moving, the current number of transitions (and the associated increments of progress) are uncommonly taxing. But then by compensation I ask myself, “What had you intended to do otherwise?”