New York Times November 1, 1970

New York Times

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This is a digitized version of an article from The Times’s print archive, before the start of online publication in 1996. To preserve these articles as they originally appeared, The Times does not alter, edit or update them.

Not far from home

It is assured that wherever one goes within a 15 km radius the particulars will amount to a distinction without a difference. Nonetheless the nascent human hankering provokes alteration in one’s daily habits. Living on this tiny barrier island the scope of adventure is largely north or south since the island is narrow and I can bear the deprivation of the mainland. I much prefer being surrounded by water.

The Latest Rage

I have settled upon a highly rewarding late morning potion; viz., Mariani Premium Walnuts and Greenwise Organic 100% Maple Syrup (Amber Rich Taste) - accompanied by a chilled glass mug of Starbucks Espresso Roast 100% Arabica coffee!  This and the sonorous music of Sarasota's WSMR non-commercial classical FM radio station at 89.1 and103.9.  Oh what elation! Though I will deny the spiritual persuasion of the Church of England I will nonetheless confess its philosophic wheedling - to the extent that it encourages this toxic and august lapse only after a mandatory 15 km bicycle ride. The relieving punishment accelerates the permeation of the antioxidants from the caramel syrup and the narcotic inebriation of the caffeine. It insinuates a national pride as well. The Province of Quebec is by far the largest producer of the concentrated sap - 70% of the world's output.

I couldn’t have been more superfluous...

I couldn’t have been more superfluous no matter how I tried

The morning, afternoon and sun were really in my stride

Today is tomorrow in Wellington, the egrets don't give a damn

After lounging for hours under the splendid sky, I bathed in the pool and swam!

I'm happily redundant and unjustified, these pleasures my wanton bliss

A profligate degenerate, the useless parts will hardly be amiss

In the awesome time I smugly linger like dinner by the sea

The palms and music, the espresso cup - a sacrament for me!

Going home from work...

When cycling back to the apartment late this afternoon from Bayfront Park I was oddly overtaken by the sensation of returning from the office. My day began promptly at 7:00 am.  I had an appointment to have my hair cut at nine o'clock. Afterwards I had another appointment with the chiropractor. Accordingly I wanted to ensure some nourishment before leaving the condominium. Each of these undertakings was duly accomplished. What transpired subsequently added to the day's commotion.

The Women in my Life

In some respects - and without exaggerating the matter - I  grew up and lived in a predominantly male environment. I went to an all-boys boarding school at St. Andrew's College; I prolonged those prep school coalitions into undergraduate studies at Glendon Hall where I lived in an all-male residence; I studied law at Dalhousie University where the majority of my classmates were male and I lived in the all-male Domus Legis law fraternity; while attending Osgoode Hall for the Bar Admission I was a Don at Devonshire House, an all-male residence of the University of Toronto; I practiced law first at Macdonald, Affleck and then at Galligan & Sheffield where all the lawyers were men; I belonged to the predominantly male Lanark County Bar Association; my primary social venue throughout my 40 year career in Almonte was the Mississippi Golf Club which consisted initially at least of mostly men; I belonged to the exclusively male Masonic Lodge; I was on the Board of Directors of the all-male Mississippi River Power Corporation; and my closest friends have all been male.

Sunday Sunbathing by the Pool

Picasso's Amante

I won’t be so vulgar to suggest I spent the entire day lolling about the pool in the gloriously refreshing air of unparalleled clarity and dryness. Late this morning I expiated my Sabbath guilt for not having attended worship service by conducting the statutory 15 km cycle along Gulf of Mexico Drive to Bayfront Park.  The uncommon equilibrium of the day has seemingly provoked similarly acute recollections, unrelated thoughts and images: St Andrews By-the-Sea, Key Lime pie, my late precious parents, the fortuity of life’s affairs, the comedy of the past, the undeniable purity of the present, the duties to others, the measure of truth, people I’ve known including those who are no longer whinnying among us or estranged by disaffection or disfavour or doubt or misunderstanding, roast-of-beef and Yorkshire pudding for Sunday dinner in an ivy-covered Rosedale red brick townhouse, the penetrating shards of afternoon sunshine, the fleeting white clouds, the canopy of blue above white yachts and white buoys and placid emerald palms, James Carman Mainprize and private dinner clubs, the commonness of un-bejewelled hands, a black Thunderbird with narrow red, white and green stripes on the tires alongside the football field at Trinity College School, Winston cigarettes and vodka martinis, the promise of the wind and the seasons, the blue sea and the vast horizon.

Greetings from the United States of America

Greetings, Socialist Canadians! Greetings, Liberal Politeness Enthusiasts! From the alabaster gated community of Longboat Key amid Fanfare for the Common Man, Greetings One and All!

And the tiny geckos reel across the sidewalk.  The low slung black Bentley cabriolet a noiseless tributary on Gulf of Mexico Drive. The shimmering clay roofs against the azure western sky and the stately wavering palms.

Gratitude to the Town of Longboat Key for preserving the sidewalk patina and manicured Sea Grape bushes! A small wooden sign on the golf course, "No Fishing Private Property". Publix is secreted like a clubhouse against Sarasota Bay.

Rogue Adventure

Minutia was not only the substance of both my educational and professional life, it was  - and continues to be - the subsistence of my restoration, refinement and restitution. I live for detail! An odd corollary of this search for the finer points - or what some have mockingly called trivia - is a complete absorption in my immediate surroundings. We translate this "condition" to pragmatic - and dare I say instructive - rarefaction.  When for example we stayed at the Carlyle Hotel on the Upper East Side of New York City we confined our entire furlough to the hotel for breakfast, lunch, dinner and the cabaret. Each event was in a separate and unique venue, one with white linen and silver service; another cast in a pub-style character; the other a nightclub atmosphere. We may have dwindled briefly on Madison Avenue to purchase a millefiori but for the most part it was entirely agreeable to remain within the Hotel which significantly opened in 1930 and was the popular platform of pianist Bobby Short and singer Elaine Stritch.

No more than a whimsy

The condition precedent to today's morning animation entailed as it customarily does on the heels of a cup of strong black coffee, sliced green Granny apple, a wedge of Brie cheese and a bowl of steel cut oats a bicycle ride along Gulf of Mexico Drive to Bayfront Park. It is a jaunt which thanks to Mr. Apple's watch I can report with authority was a total of 15.92 kms.  While at the Park I lingered upon the bench overlooking Sarasota Bay. During my respite I met Lincoln a tiny and exceedingly friendly Havanese, the national dog of Cuba developed from the now extinct Blanquito de la Habana (itself descended from the also now extinct Bichón Tenerife, a cross-breed with the Bichon types including the Poodle).

Quid Pro Quo

Everything in life it seems involves a trade-off in one measure or another.  It's a corollary to the stern caution that we can't have it all, that there are choices to be made. Frequently the decision to do one thing instead of another invokes an undesirable compromise. We may for example be obliged to give up something in order to gain another. Whatever the bias it nonetheless remains that the exchange is "something for something". The indignity which often attaches to the meaning is balanced by the feature that barter involves reciprocity, again reminiscent of that other popular adage that "life is a two-way street". Admittedly the aphorism captures what is occasionally considered unfair accommodation. The colourful details surrounding this Latin maxim thus vary from "give and take" to "one hand washes the other". The implication is thus not always favourable.

Getting in Focus

Serendipitously more than one event has fallen into focus within the last 24 hours. Unreservedly this constitutes an uptick.  Clarity is not always a welcome receipt but in this instance the fortuity is unanimously desirable. The scope is not only personal but more widespread, including the favourable local weather and extending as far abroad as remote friends.  In one case for example it was gleefully reported that chemotherapy works! Considering the understandable depth of that account, most of what followed, while agreeable, was of less significant import. Its corporate effect however was spaciously uplifting.

Relaxing by the pool...

Robert Krieger's life is quickly falling apart.

He’s been fired from his job, split with his sexy girlfriend, and has a controlling overbearing mother he feels obligated to call at least once a week. As a result, he’s developed a distressing anxiety disorder.

Robert lends money to an acquaintance across the hall in his building, a small-time drug dealer named Skids. When Skids is later assaulted by enforcers working for an inner-city drug gang, the Dragons, he hands Robert a package to hold for him until he either asks for it back, or dies.

Lonely but determined to find a new girlfriend, while jogging one morning Robert meets the beautiful and willowy Lindsay Marriott, whom he awkwardly begins to romance. Not long afterward, he finds himself in a bloody one-man war with the Dragons, who believe Robert possesses money Skids owes them.

Robert is soon juggling an increasing array of anxiety-heightening issues, which together conspire to wreak havoc on his fragile sanity.

Gritty and violent, ODDBALL IN 3G (by Marc Berlin) is a psychological thriller that’s also surprisingly funny.

Passing Time

Hi Bill

… thought you would appreciate this info. What a time this is!

Divorce is easier… burial of 90 year old parents is easier… this one not so much!

Hope you are enjoying the sunny south, my ducks on the bay are getting grumpy as the water is beginning to freeze. We’ve had our first significant snowfall - pretty… but chilly!

J

A Day at the Circus!

What began innocently enough this morning soon descended into an Epicurean spectacle! The initial plan was no more sensual than a drive in the country, a proposal to identify a local optometrist's clinic in anticipation of scheduling a visit later this week to verify that my recent Toric lens implants are functioning properly. Having quickly located the venue - and assured the parking lot was equally convenient and manageable - the investigative event dissolved into something far more hedonistic. We decided to go to Anna Maria Island to put on the nosebag at Rod & Reel. Of especial allure were the onion rings succinctly described - and quite legitimately - as "Really Good".

Apologia

Vindication can on occasion suffer the belittling appearance of a self-serving argument rather than a mere explanation. It can on the other hand be perceived more charitably as the difference between an apology and a justification. Even the most prestigious expression of human conduct is at times subject to clarification.

"The Church of England bore everywhere upon it the signs of human imperfection; it was the outcome of revolution and of compromise, of the exigencies of politicians and the caprices of princes, of the prejudices of theologians and the necessities of the State."

Giles Lytton Strachey “Eminent Victorians”

Complexion for the Connection

Some things are just distasteful! We all live in this country together. That is why we have to get to know one another. This is not much of an issue in the average rural white community in Canada. Nor is it commonly table conversation in a gated community on a barrier island in Florida. What I do know however is that any time I have got  close to another person - whatever our differences - I come away not only better informed but also convinced how similar we are. It’s a start. But it can’t be overlooked that there are some differences which exist; and that sometimes they really matter.

Tiptoe through the tulips!

The steady dedication to one's personal preferences has long been recited with cautionary reservation. The risk of disclosing or exposing oneself to the potential humiliation or narrowness of such privacy invariably predominates. The enterprise has as well an undeniable element of isolationism which admittedly conflicts with normal social interaction. By contrast the well known source of Tiny Tim's rendition of the idiosyncratic adventure involves another, to all appearances a romantic liaison, though it hardly detracts from the indisputable peculiarity of the undertaking.

And if I kiss you in the garden

In the moonlight, will you pardon me?

And tip-toe through the tulips with me

Songwriter:  Al Dubin/Joseph A. Burke

The King has no clothes!

Even without knowing the outcome of either the Congressional impeachment of the President of the United States or the deciding vote of the Republican controlled Senate, Trump has already suffered the superlative indignity. This is a collective, predictable and irreversible assault upon his fantasy-book march to monarchy.  He has had to endure the iconic demeaning constitutional ritual equating him with other discredited low-level or lascivious figures - a far cry from the royalty he has so frantically sought and mimicked. His impeachment (the 4th in American history) is certain to remain his sole and defining characteristic, an abrupt and distasteful compendium of his already notorious pattern of misbehaviour. Whatever else is said about Trump either now or in the future will rapidly dissolve to this public and political embarrassment.

A normal Tuesday...

Group Captain C. G. Wm. Chapman, dec'd April 8, 2014

Apparently I smell of the sea. And not in a good way, more fishy than salty!  I'll blame it on the red tide which reportedly has come our way. Oh well it's the least of my worries today.  Another Tuesday, another ho-hum day in Paradise as the saying goes!  Truly in the broad picture it couldn't possibly be more desirable!  Though I grudgingly extricated myself from the lair this morning (I remained glued to the mattress as though covered in an unctuous glob of honey) - and though I dawdled at the matutinal trough fully long enough to complete a protracted and most indulgent meal (including if you must know wedges of subtle Brie with my green apple slices and Kerrygold Naturally Softer Pure Irish Butter on my compatible Irish Oatmeal) - I at length resurrected myself from the grip of indolence. I mounted upon my trusty Sun bicycle and headed north along Gulf of Mexico Drive as seamlessly as if entering a tributary from Sloop Crescent.  I love by the way the collection of nautical/sailing names for the interjecting lanes in this area - Spinnaker Lane, Hornblower Lane, Gunwale Lane, Outrigger Lane, Cutter Lane, Yawl Lane, Schooner Lane. Ketch Lane and finally Sloop Lane and Channel Lane. Nothing like the seafaring element!

The Pollution of Merry Christmas

The December holiday ads have already begun the seasonal contamination of the television.  And with them the jingoism that in my opinion pollutes social media.

When considering this warlike foreign policy I have been bound to conclude an unsettling probability. There is a good chance - as I have unwittingly discovered - that wishing someone Merry Christmas will reflect a narrowness of mind and may indeed offend. Imagining that there is some superlative and redeeming quality which attends a preconceived entitlement to express one’s own unconsidered habits is upon reflection nothing short of shallow. There are currently two obvious transitions affecting traditional western culture. One can no longer chuff when confronted with the novelty of another's convention.  The day may come - and sooner than we think - when the customs to which we are fastened by years of popular usage are no longer either the fashion or the imperative.

The best sauce for any meal is an appetite

The benefit of necessity has been touted numerously and with great variety. Not unlike so many adages the deeper resource lies in the question, not the answer.  It has for example been asserted on the most far fetched level that conspiracy theories resolve untold manipulations, distortions, innuendo and nefarious undertakings. It may seem a wild step from appetite to politics but the product is the same. They both answer a need and the selection similarly comes down to taste. It remains however to ask what is the best decision. Granted you can only digest what is palatable;  a meal should not be tolerable merely because of the propelling appetite. But the aphorism ("The best sauce, etc.") contains inherent mischief; namely, appetite enhances the need but colours the substance.

News from abroad...

Thanks again Bill!

Sounds (and looks) like an awesome bicycle ride. Seems like your weather is cooperating, much more so than ours. Your photos are amazing as always and we thoroughly enjoy the scenery.

Our backyard pond dried up/froze over, then we had one small dumping of snow, perhaps 5cm. It is gone now and we await a low pressure system packed with moisture and cold arctic air expected to arrive tomorrow, and last into Tuesday.

Commune Vulgaris

Vulgaris, a Latin adjective meaning common, or something that is derived from the masses of common people.

Commune: empathize, have a rapport, feel in close touch; feel at one, feel togetherness, identify, relate to. relate spiritually to, feel close to.

The Commune, the group that seized the municipal government of Paris in the French Revolution and played a leading part in the Reign of Terror until suppressed in 1794.

Fatuous Pleasure

There's something almost moronic about my present disposition. Whether it's the taste of the coffee or the sweetness of the prunes; the breeziness of the air or the buoyancy of the sea; whether it's the clerk in the shop or the kindly driver at the intersection; the absence of agenda or the risible absorption with utter fluff, I simply can't stop getting a buzz out of things! I feel like Scrooge on Christmas morning!  I haven't however suffered any preliminary purgatory other than the tolerable prejudice of daily life.  Lest this temperament appears entirely peculiar, we both agreed earlier today that we've struck upon a bumper seam. Ours is an enviable lot to be sure!

The danger of criticism

At times I suffer the discredit of being called a "liberal".  In the United States of America (where I spend six months of the year and am therefore attuned to the inference) the term has an especially powerful flavour which distinguishes the accused from a "conservative".  Commonly the two terms are respectively aligned with Democrat and Republican.  The binary political choice in turn polarizes the associated adjectives. The popular argument is that liberals are wishful and diluted; conservatives are structured and rational.

Morning Cycle

My early morning nutrition was a Sumo mandarin orange, whole wedges in a small ceramic bowl. And strong black coffee, three cups. It was precisely 6:55 am when I left on my bicycle. The cool air was unfamiliar, soft and remarkably invigorating. Though it rapidly became warm, the air was so dry that not even a gentle glow was evident upon my skin. Already there were walkers, joggers and racing cyclists (clumps of them in a row) on the path and in the bicycle lanes. Little dogs sniffed about the grass; their owners absently holding the lead.

Striker succeeds...

"Striker succeeds in using Cicero against himself to show that he has misunderstood the nature of Epicurus' distinction between kinetic and katastematic pleasures. Epicurus did not, she argues, distinguish two different pleasures, but rather extended the meaning of pleasure to cover not only active movement away from pain and toward pleasure, but also states of body and mind characterized by aponia and atraxia. As he himself observes (Letter to Menoeceus 128 = Long and Sedley 21B,2), pleasure is what we want when we are in pain, and what we don't want (presumably because we have it) when we are not in pain. If, therefore, we are by nature creatures of appetite, as Epicurus believed, pleasure is both the arkhê (because all appetites can be referred to it) and the telos of human life. This move, Striker argues, "allowed Epicurus to identify the greatest pleasure with the good life" (p. 17). Striker's persuasive argument has the additional merit of illuminating Cicero's philosophical and doxographical technique and rehabilitating De Finibusas a source for Epicurean ethics."

Jacques Brunschwig and Martha C. Nussbaum (edd.) Passions and Perceptions: Studies in Hellenistic Philosophy of Mind. Cambridge: The University Press, 1993.

The Sacrament of Heaven!

What delight has prevailed since awakening this morning shortly after 9:30 am!  For starters I had slept well and my back wasn't killing me when I rolled off the mattress. I then read with satisfaction emails confirming arrangement of two business matters initiated yesterday. My customary breakfast was rewarding in spite of its repetition. We then heard from our housekeeper concerning a matter for which we have been particularly anxious. Subsequently that topic was concluded.

Middle of the Night

Somewhere around 2 am this morning I abruptly awoke from what had been a comparatively restful night.  I recall having gone to bed not long after nine o'clock last evening so I had apparently exhausted the necessity of sleep. Nonetheless I mechanically lingered below the duvet. But the project was doomed.  Slowly I was overtaken by scattered ruminations, philosophic considerations of death and dying and then the more proximate issue of paying our bills with Florida Power & Light on-line and getting the statements by email.  This latter curiosity enlarged to an examination of what had been initiated yesterday through our Sarasota bank account.  It wasn't long before the inconclusive weight of the bureaucracy had me sitting upright on the edge of my bed.  There was no hope of further relaxation. I needed to set myself in front of my computer to resolve the contaminating concerns.

11:11 am Simmer

Years of habit continue to provoke me to occupation. Now however I've reached the stage where inactivity is the primary goal. It has become almost unseemly to succumb to utility of any measurable description. Instead the current objective is loosely characterized “to enjoy oneself". Absent the focus of either need or desire I find the limitless ambition of enjoyment less than helpful.  I say helpful because I have traditionally equated performance with achievement of some purpose. Clearly I have yet to advance to that ethereal atmosphere of thinking which connotes inner bliss and pure spiritual contentment. I guess I am still caught up in objective goals.

The Bay Boys

It was three years ago that we first lingered upon the Gulf of Mexico on Longboat Key. That decidedly memorable occasion marked the commencement of what has proven to be our incremental descent from Hilton Head Island in South Carolina further along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean to the State of Florida. Most recently we've crossed over the peninsula to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. When we first visited Longboat Key we stayed at the the Resort at Longboat Key Club.  Its inexorable magic captured us immediately and we were lucky enough to secure an apartment rental for the following year at a property located on Longboat Club Road just down the road from the Resort.  That sojourn meant we were once again directly upon the Gulf of Mexico.

My baptism is complete!

Our residence this year on Longboat Key is adjacent Sarasota Bay rather than the Gulf of Mexico. Longboat key is such a narrow barrier island that we are literally just steps from either the Bay or the Gulf; however because I have such an adversity to walking (a disinclination presently aggravated by neuropathy but reflective of what has been a lifelong prejudice) it has until now presented a moderate obstacle to my investigation of the sea. This is a barrier for me as I have always equated the sea with singular charm and magnetism surpassing even the most enchanting lake or river.  Like many others I lapse into uncontrolled imagination upon the mere thought of sailing ships, seaside surf and sandy beaches.  The narcotic constitutes an abuse if ignored.

Domestic Duties à la Longboat Key

Today is Saturday. We judiciously set our respective smartphone alarms last evening for seven o'clock this morning. We had an appointment scheduled at 9:00 am with the Vietnamese manicurists and pedicurists. The event though pleasurable by every standard nonetheless heralded what proved to be a series of functional obligations.  The cosmetic improvement by the young Vietnamese women was followed by grocery shopping at nearby Publix in the same mall.  Afterwards I paid my first visit of the season to the singularly colourful hair stylist (Michael) at The David Gregory Salon.

Victory at Every Turn

It isn't particularly galvanizing to characterize life as a battleground, each day of which is a theatre of forced combat, a situation of strife and conflict. However after the days we've had recently I can't completely dismiss the metaphor. As might be supposed I am waxing rather more metrical than fully warranted. Life within the present sphere is certainly not an entire defeat. What lingers at this juncture is the sting of the skirmish.  In my present state - tranquillized as I am by the withdrawal of the combative elements - I am reeling from the force and unpredictability of the various assaults which destabilized my being. The provocation thrived upon the standard bellicose attribute; namely, surprise. We were quite unprepared for the combined fronts of attack from realtors, bankers and internet providers.  Each of them appropriated to themselves the privilege to disturb our internal tranquillity. They adopted the righteous attitude of purveyors of information which we could quite willingly have survived without.  Yet we were obliged to button down and address the resulting morass, being as we are the primary object in the line of attack.