One of those habits of mine is the celebration of choral or liturgical music on Sundays. After breakfast I drove my car to the city and listened to Sirius XM. This morning the host was playing Bach (1685 - 1750), something reminiscent of the Brandenburg Concertos, maintaining as always the classic Baroque elements which instantly betray their Northern Italian roots.
The highways into the city and the boulevards along its periphery to my mother's residence on the Rideau Canal are invariably pleasant - especially as today on a warm, sunny morning. The balmy weather did not however stimulate my physical condition which I find increasingly emulates any number of old fogeys whom I see bumbling about. But my despair wasn't sufficient to culminate my objective. My old mother and I spent an agreeable hour together, chatting about her knitting mainly. This was a matter which I subsequently followed up with my sister to ensure I am not ignoring a maternal plea for more wool. It appears that something was missing from the original account by my mother (who was forgetful). Not that that matters, it's just a question of keeping current with her needs. Regrettfully I (and her physicians) have been unable to discover a remedy for mother's perpetual hip pain. She's already taking numerous pain killers and it is the general consensus that any more would be harmful. But I know how wearing pain is, how utterly limiting it is.
Meanwhile we're preoccupied with the fulfillment of our domestic duties - primarily medical matters and some travel insurance and financial matters. Our lives have become clouded with these concerns. But we won't permit ourselves to languish until these affairs are concluded. The scope of our six-month sojourn in Canada is constantly subject to timing issues. We've only been back since April 6th last (during which we've seen doctors, neurologists, heart specialists, audiologists, dentists, dental hygienists, orthodontists, accountants, insurance agents, car dealers, financial advisers and bankers). It has been such a rigorous campaign that we are inclined to feel in limbo whenever there is nothing immediate to which to attend. I am nonetheless always quick to add that these compulsions do nothing to diminish my affection for Almonte and the surrounding area. As earnest and excited as we may be about Longboat Key we know there is nothing to surpass the appeal of our hometown and adjoining environment.
There was a time when I went to church on Sundays. It was a habit about which I was as obsessive as any other. I like to think my commitments are all-consuming. But clearly they are ephemeral to a degree. The transition is at first mildly disturbing. What takes over is not necessarily purely curmudgeonly but also formative. In some ways we've released our ties to certain customs; in other ways we've altered our behaviour to include new options. I must confess as well my personal augmentation of some of my more poignant historical preferences. It pleases me to narrow my focus while at the same time brightening the view.