Thinking of home

The reminiscence of our home territory in the Town of Mississippi Mills in the County of Lanark and Province of Ontario is neither doleful nor saccharin. But until today it most certainly hasn’t been either regular or frequent. We moved our principal residence in Almonte on the morning of Wednesday, November 2nd last to a new apartment across town then immediately left for Key Largo, Florida where we are now secluded until the remainder of the winter. As you might imagine our personal possessions were jettisoned into the new apartment and effectively abandoned in their crates unopened. There is a good deal to do upon our return home at the end of April.

While I unequivocally continue to enjoy the turquoise sea, the warm air and blue skies of Key Largo, I diverted myself to reflect this morning upon the rural hamlet of Almonte on the Mississippi River, including a detailed examination of the floor plan of our new apartment in order to determine the preferred location of my Gibbard mahogany desk, whether towards the drawing room windows with the upriver view or against the adjoining wall where it will rest out of the afternoon sunlight.

Curiously there was another recall this morning. Though I am far from magnanimous or socially engaged I nonetheless found myself thinking about our neighbours to the north. Some of our friends have travelled to Portugal; likely (based upon historic activity) another to Cuba; others to Anna Maria Island; one has ventured to Fort Lauderdale and West Palm Beach; others to Longboat Key; some to Bonita Springs; still others are planning sojourns to the east coast of Florida from St. Augustine and southward.

Many others of our friends and family have for the moment chosen to remain in situ. The pleasures, conveniences and comforts of home are frankly hard to dispute. We are especially aware of the attack upon accommodation when wintering abroad for the season. Familiarity exacts a price. Sometimes just staying at home isn’t a bad way to spend the winter.

There are younger members within our home orbit who are confined by the rigours of study and employment.  One we know is committed to instruction. Once again the obligation of work or learning is not to be minimized when compared to the psyche arising from sitting by a pool under a blazing yellow orb. Eventually every circumstance acquires its own commonality no matter how celebrated the venture may be.

Meanwhile my friend Moishe Smith died days ago at Boca Raton, Florida. I attended his funeral on-line this morning at Hulse Playfair & McGarry, Ottawa. It was remarked, as I have often done myself, about his failure to have achieved the looming success of age 75. Both Moishe and I have yet to reach that pinnacle. The milestone doesn’t however diminish the strength and value of life even approaching it. Like so many of my longstanding friendships and acquaintances, my fraternity with Moishe goes back many years (near 1975 if not slightly before). He and those with whom we were aligned at the time shared happy moments together. Moishe’s effervescence and masterly humour always succeeded to buoy any foregathering.