Bite my tongue

There are some who enjoy a good fight.  They appear to survive on conflict. My preference is opposite.  Which is not to say that I shy from disagreement but rather that my method is different.  If I can't get what I want my first choice is to move on.  This is however only so if I do not calculate any advantage in doing otherwise.  Essentially my object isn't the dignity of winning, it is cultivating behaviour which in my opinion properly resolves the disagreement.  If I perceive that no amount of naysaying or objection will succeed to alter the other chap's inclination - and if nothing critical turns on his inalterable decision - then I'm out of the picture. Pyrrhic victories hold no sway for me.

Home from work

When I was still practicing law it was not uncommon - especially in the latter period of my practice - to relish the unvarnished luxury of returning home for an evening dedicated to the simple pleasures of a drink, a tasty meal and listening to music from the Great American Songbook (that loosely defined set of popular and enduring songs from the 1920s to the 1950s created for Broadway theatre, musical theatre and Hollywood musical film).  A plate of smoked oysters and a roaring fire in the Vermont Casting completed the scene. The routine was so hackneyed as to be almost laughable - though I readily confess it never failed to satisfy. The unspoken palliative wasn't so much the visceral pleasures as the reward of completing a successful day at the office. I have forever been an addict to production and no amount of psychological bantering will suffice to replace the manifest thrust of the Protestant Work Ethic. The value of work was instilled in my mind at a very early age, perhaps by the likes of Sir William Osler whose publications were part of the wallpaper at Trinity College School where we boys from St. Andrew's College regularly debated or played football.

Mother's Day (Sunday May 13, 2018)

Dearest Mother,

What a delight it is to share with you the celebration of Mother's Day on Sunday, May 13th, 2018! The Spring flowers have begun to bloom; the leaves on the trees are rapidly changing from mere buds to verdant maps of colour; the skies are blue and there might even be a warm breeze in the air. Our immediate family is blessed to reside within a short distance of one another. It is the perfect opportunity to share with you and one another our blithe thoughts for all you have done for us as our mother.

Update your login credentials

Connecting with other people is no easy matter.  Initially the acceptance of their particular vernacular may outright repel us; and even if we make the effort to understand them our posture is not always sympathetic. I won't make the mistake of suggesting we all suffer identical or even similar demons; but after this morning's bout with obstruction I'm convinced that I have at least a partial appreciation of the frustration and resignation some people at times endure. It's all very well to observe that there are bumps in the road but it is quite another to have the feeling of being at the end of the road - or, worse, even wishing you were there. Sometimes the trauma of living is so acute - and the energy to keep going so exhausting - that no relief seems either imaginable or possible. Positive thinking is not only of no avail, it may be plainly tiresome and off-putting.  Grief can occasionally overwhelm the situation beyond the realm of either logic or hopefulness.

Expiate my guilt...

Purging on almost any level is not something which is entirely foreign to me. Nor might I add do I consider it at all repugnant - whatever the reason for the redress.  I view the undertaking more as a redemption than a sacrifice.  Which is to say that the motive isn't wholly altruistic. Given my notorious abhorrence of religious fiddle-faddle anything I can do to remove the obligation of recompense from an imaginary spiritual realm is probative. Frankly I consider squaring one's conduct an ultimate personal advantage quite apart from the off-setting it may afford the aggrieved party (who very often can easily bear the deprivation of another's guilt in any event).

Dinner in the Village

A dinner invitation from my erstwhile physician and constant friend at his country residence is not something I would ever willingly decline. His proposal was as always succinct - the usual time, the usual gang. Considering that his historic entertainment has involved crowds varying from as few as four to as many as several dozen, some strictly business, others mainly family and friends, the only feature about which I felt moderately certain was the time. This I settled at six o'clock. But it might have been as early as five o'clock if the weather had lent itself more favourably to a pre-dinner swim in the pool. Apart from that detail I knew nothing further about the congress.  But I perceived without a moment's hesitation that we were assured a pleasant evening.

Mature Behaviour

\Occasionally I behave as I should, you know - like an adult.  More exactly, I sometimes rise above my instinctive cavilling reactions and conduct myself instead with a degree of social nicety and exactitude. But it isn't easy.  It has taken me decades to discover the advantage of reservation and propriety.  This is critical to the examination for without the reward of doing so I am hard pressed to promote its value.  What I am learning - ever so slowly - is that getting the better end of the stick is not always worth the effort. I suspect a tidy amount of the psychological persuasion lies in the painful admission that we see in others what we see in ourselves (a variation of the sobering adage that criticism is the best autobiography). In the result the avoidance of sharp words and manners effectively relieves one of the humiliation of self-analysis and disappointment.  While this in itself is hardly a laudable reason for mature behaviour it nonetheless serves to dampen the nastiness temporarily - by which time the enthusiasm has often diminished to the point of enabling one to escape the toxicity of the initial stimulant.

The Birthday Party

This evening's belated celebration of my sister's 68th birthday wouldn't be the first familial indiscretion to be cheerfully tolerated.  The abuse in this instance was all the more openly avowed because the delay (of almost a month) was previously considered and accepted.  The accommodation was the result of my sister's and her husband's absence in Florida on the day of her birth - a milestone which we ourselves only coincided with upon our own return from Florida the day before.  So at last today we four reunited at the Pelican Seafood Market and Grill where once again we were assured the finest oysters, lobster and pan roasted sea scallops.

Give it a rest

May Day is notoriously famous, a public holiday (International Workers' Day based on the alleged anarchist movement of the Haymarket labour riot in Chicago on May 4, 1886) usually celebrated on the first of May.  Though today is May 3rd the date nonetheless inspires me.  May Day is after all originally an ancient northern hemisphere spring festival and a traditional spring holiday in many cultures.  Dances, singing and cake are often part of the festivities. For me the occasion marks the customary novelty of the season, a period of renewal. This is particularly so in this instance because the winter has been marked by uncommonly draining events from which only now I feel I am at last arising.

Le Café

We are privileged in many ways in our hometown.  Apart from having a famous chocolatier ("Hummingbird") we boast a first class coffee maker ("Equator Coffee Roasters"). There are in fact several venues in town to frequent for a stimulating cup of java and to reconnoiter with one's acquaintances and friends.  Today once again our exploit took us to Equator.