A subsequent reiteration of this topic to a neighbour lead peculiarly to a discourse (don't ask me how) upon the merits of life by the Atlantic Ocean in the Province of Nova Scotia. I never fail to become entranced by the sea. The ocean will forever preserve in my imagination what I misguidedly suggested to my religious friend is the nexus of humanity - our purported evolution as a wriggling bag-like creature from the salty depths. Somehow we escaped a Darwinian analysis of this source of human consciousness. But the mystery of ships and mariners survived.
The routine attendance upon my physician did for the second time in almost as many weeks elicit some potentially startling results (the first of which was the diagnosis of Lyme disease - and I am happy to report the equally astounding prescription of antibiotics). The latest manifestation is approval of medicinal marijuana for my neuropathy. Connecting with the Tweed Main Street web site (the undeniably hip product supplier) and communing with the pharmacist about the preferred choices of cannabis is enlivening to say the least! The strains of weed have such names as Houndstooth, Strangelove, Boaty McBoatface, Golden Lemons, Moonbeam and Brackely Beach Waves. It is impossible not to smirk. The industry is already willingly promoting both the physical and emotional advantages of the plant ("the helpful effects of THC"). I have ordered two bottles of oil which should arrive (in a sealed unmarked package naturally) within the next two days. Coincidentally on the weekend we lunched with a younger gentleman who is a current subscriber (he suffered a painful accident causing severe pain). According to him the drug is a "life saver", a recommendation which repeatedly appears in the reviews of the various products on the web site. The only disappointment I've encountered so far is that it may not be possible to import the drug into the United States during our winter sojourns. That salt-box by the sea in Nova Scotia is starting to sound more endearing!
My elderly mother will shortly turn 92 years of age. As often as she complains that her life is uneventful, the truth is that she hasn't either the energy or the inclination to do much apart from reading her morning newspaper, knitting scarves, reading and watching television. I am barely able to encourage her to go for a stroll in the garden on a sunny day. Against her protestations I am organizing a small birthday gathering in the lounge of her residence. My conjecture is that the affair will be sufficiently modest and accessible to be acceptable to her. We wouldn't want to ignore the celebrity of turning 92 years of age; but neither is there any point in overdoing it. When I spoke to her this morning about my proposal it seemed to fit well with her.
Though I had predicted the receipt of the intelligence earlier today, it wasn't until this evening that my car dealership notified me that my new vehicle had arrived. As I had requested we have arranged to meet tomorrow morning to permit me to scrutinize the vehicle and to take it for a test drive. I will collect it officially (and pay for it) the following day if all goes well. Though the frequency of my new car purchases has enabled me to maintain a semblance of sobriety, the occasion is admittedly always enticing. I regret to acknowledge that the pep of my life has been reduced to the vacuous matter of cars.