Tending the garden

This morning upon awakening I was smitten by an email from Mrs. Conscience (as I now call her). Mrs C is a new but in many ways an old friend. She and I have a caring relationship animated by humour (mostly on my part if I may say so) and directness (mostly on her part). In addition to my old friend being stubborn (which of course she has repeatedly denied and then embellished with threats of abandoning our acquaintance), she is always attacking my seeming disquietude (to which objection once rendered I predictably end up crawling). She commands social regulation surpassing anything the “The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness (rules for the etiquette to be observed in the street, at table, in the ball room, evening party, and morning call; with full directions for polite correspondence, dress, conversation, manly exercises and accomplishments)” by Cecil B. Hartley (1860) would ever have imagined or prescribed.

In any event, today’s performances on my part – while reinstating by admission Her Ladyship’s rightful authority and dominion – have parenthetically improved my own vassal activity. By entire fortuity I undertook an adventure today to which I owe no more direction than my innate spirit.  The gods were apparently with me!  I succeeded to insinuate myself within the corporate halls of one of the leading construction companies in the County of Lanark.  I have to say my reception was nonpareil although by no means unexpected.  It pleased me no end to meet with the grandson of the former president and nephew of the former vice-president of the corporation.  I had previously met both the grandfather and the uncle, so foregathering with the grandson so unexpectedly today completed the sphere of acquaintance.

My subsequent conversations were with the offices of two Members of Parliament of the Province of Ontario, both long-standing representatives of and for the County of Lanark.

Unrelated to this particular pursuit I received a telephone call from a gentleman with whom I had dealt in business many years before.  Coincidentally his family and my parents were neighbours so we always fashioned our connection went back a ways. He flattered me today to ask my opinion regarding some matters of concern to him.  We met this afternoon and had what I believe to be a fruitful discussion. Naturally my opinions were not legal advice (which I am no longer able to give because I no longer pay Errors & Omissions insurance) but impressed instead upon what I perceived to be the psychological nature of the enquiries. As I quipped with my friend, “You say to me: What is the answer? and I say to you: What is the question?” I baldly expressed the opinion that my friend, by circuitously talking about his dilemmas, had unwittingly evoked the deeper sentiment and potential industry behind his travails. In the end I believe he answered his own question.

The culmination of this unanticipated prior activity was a cheery exchange of emails between me and a long-standing friend.  Aside from the very entertaining narrative he shared with me about the Birks Hotel in Montréal, Québec (he only frequents the best resorts worldwide) he also sent a copy of his own garden which I thought was too magical to ignore.