And so it begins...

It isn't often I become excited about the start of anything.  Most events are now predictable to the point of calculation. Being probable tends to equate to unsurprising. What galvanized me today wasn't the novelty of what needed doing.  Rather it was the relief at putting the agenda in gear. As unpleasant as a project may be I have always preferred to address the matter than to defer it. Today marked the beginning of a series of scheduled appointments, almost all of which start early in the morning, each of which follows one after the other (not by design, just the way things transpired), some of which number two in the same day, all of which are so-called "time sensitive" and which in turn carry the weight of collateral and repercussion. The bulk of the enterprises are condensed within the next four days - paradoxically prior to Easter (though I am not certain why I consider that self-contradictory) - and the remainder dwindle over the two weeks following.

Armed with this particular government I fairly bounced from bed at fifteen minutes past five o'clock this morning to commence my dutiful march to the raw scaffold of obligation. It never occurred to me to have even a cup of coffee or an apple or an orange before swinging into motion on the highway to Ottawa for the eight o'clock rendezvous. Each of the offices with which I have meetings has adopted the latest technological custom of sending a detailed text message or email in advance of the appointment as a reminder, replete with the scathing results of failure to cancel or appear. It is quite impossible to escape the urgency and necessity of the commitments, the combined effect of which obviously overshadows every other element of one's life. Nor is it the comic rendition of things to do, books to write!  It is unmitigated work, attention and burden.  Its only boon is possible fulfillment - which is what I derive from the evolution notwithstanding the initial paralysis.

As I sat this morning in the office of my first informant listening to the sometimes incomprehensible sequence of foreseeable events my mobile phone rang.  It was another of my scheduled conveners. The interruption (which by the way I unhesitatingly answered since I am determined not to contaminate the flow) succeeded to elevate me from the superfluous gradations of the project at hand.  The person with whom I was currently speaking in their office was deft enough to recognize that the nicety of full and complete information was satisfactorily overtaken by my reliance upon her skilful knowledge instead. It was about getting down to business. Quite frankly this instant absorption on my part advanced both the personal and commercial nature of the exercise. I wasn't long thereafter in arranging for the fall of the ax.

Upon leaving the professional offices - it was now after 9:30 am - I was buoyed by the return of my native instincts which naturally included putting on the feed bag.  I knew there was formerly an acceptable diner nearby. I zippered up my jacket, tucked the brochure of documents given me under my right arm, and walked as uprightly as possible (considering my degeneration) to the place. It was still there: Wilf & Ada's From Scratch Diner.  It was late enough on Monday morning to escape the madness of hurrying clients. The people already sitting there were clearly intent upon communication.  I spied a small corner table, removed my coat and sat looking into the narrow innards of the tiny restaurant. The young waiter suffered the usual dismay upon hearing my à la carte breakfast order of two eggs-over-easy, two orders of bacon, two orders of sausage, cheddar cheese, no potatoes, no bread, black coffee.  I regained his custom by assuring him my race horse figure was no accident. Guffaw!

The meal was superb!  Not only from scratch but undeniably domestic products, cooked to perfection and tastefully decorated (as much as is possible with bacon and eggs).  I told the waiter so; and later I told the cook.  I left one satisfied customer.