The Times

I am starting to think my amateur preoccupation with recording what I do and think is a repercussion of the fugacious nature of life, the sudden evaporation of events and the prevailing taste and smell of the present. Plainly it's a competition, the sole consequence of which is an obdurate march forward. Revisiting my historical records is seldom more than a divertissement. No matter. Like most things in life it's the act of performance not particularly the sequel which is the real narrative. Otherwise I submerge myself in the poignancy and perfume of the present, including even as today the rich scent of dung amid the fields of verdant corn stalks wavering in the late afternoon breeze near the Village of Appleton.

After a week's absence from bicycling we recovered our creditable routine this morning before noon. To be forthright about the matter, it felt good to do something remotely athletic with the carcass.  There was naturally the mildly painful outcome, a near crippling paralysis which momentarily eclipsed the stalwart enthusiasm. It is but a reflection of my confessed mercurial emotions, perhaps a psychological disease akin to bipolar disorder.  After a short commitment to the History of Law in Canada and the resulting lapse into a sleep so deep I awoke unaware of my present circumstances, I was much refreshed as though the contaminations in my body had magically distilled. The newly aroused gusto provoked my appetite for productivity - which in my pedestrian and habitual vernacular translates into a car wash. I did at least expand the triviality by endorsing the idea of a more adventurous detailing. Tops Car Wash on Richmond Road in Ottawa won my choice. It is not a place I have been to more than once but I recognized it as a dedicated outfit with the proper resources of staff and machinery. Nor was I disappointed.

To celebrate the accomplishment I sailed with the windows down and the landau open to a nearby designer coffee emporium where they serve a very agreeable triple espresso and a bit extra water.  I sat outside at a small round table in the shade of a tree, playing on my iPhone and relishing the dry, warm summer air in the mottled light.  My nirvana was subsequently overtaken by the chance preparation of my evening meal, a concoction of fresh raw vegetables, exotic  beans of some description, baby potatoes laced with Dijon mustard, some cheese, lemon juice, a trace of olive oil, a dribble of Balsamic vinegar, coarse salt and ground pepper.