Living in the moment

As wasteful and illogical as it ultimately proves to be, I regularly fail to abide by the well-known admonishment to live in the moment. Instead I ritualistically dwell upon the past or the future, the periphery of life. There is always the air of a compelling reason to do so - a recapitulation of where I've been or where I'm headed, laden with misguided pragmatism and false intellect. Sometimes the preoccupation arises from favourable and stimulating terms; at other times the obsession is less charitable (such as reliving a disagreement or worrying about what might transpire).  Unquestionably the fixation is seldom worth the effort (except perhaps when the reflection gives rise to a more in-depth comprehension of the matter under consideration).  The dalliance certainly will not change the past or predict the future. More notably the absorption diminishes whatever is at hand - a circumstance which is palpable and may well be superlative.

I trust you as far as I can throw a grand piano!

Trust is one of those horribly ethereal and impossibly arcane notions which insinuates our most important relationships - friendship, love and professional associations. Yet in spite of its inscrutability we always know when we do or don't trust someone. Trust has an unquestionable alliance with instinct. And it is one of the few instincts we actually listen to. Seldom do we need to be convinced of our knee-jerk assessment - this though we’re as likely to be at a loss to explain why. Therein lies the very reason we should heed our instincts: trust can be manipulated by profound deceit often surpassing the capacity of the most intellectual among us. People do not historically operate in the context of calculated deception, it's unfamiliar territory. Untrustworthiness borders on an insanity beyond the bounds of a healthy mind.

Seawall against a rising tide of demands for inclusion

Politics since Trump has epitomized the tightening of the noose of the majority - most often portrayed as white, male and Christian. The image - frequently violent and hateful - has overtaken both America and Europe. The battle is largely confined to a division between whites and colours, haves and have-nots, east and west. The mosaic of the porcelain dinner plate has become complicated. On almost every level - gender, race, religion and sexual preference - the erstwhile traditions are being disrupted and it is only a matter of time before the majority becomes the minority. The speediest shift is among the millennials but it is predicted that all other distinctions will follow. The strength in numbers is changing.

It's official - we've arrived!

Shortly after I returned home late this afternoon I was asked if I had checked the mail which I advised I had not.  So in a moment of gusto I collected the damaged frying pan (which earlier this morning we had replaced with a new one from the local hardware store) and said I would dispose of it in the garbage bin downstairs then check the mail.  Somewhere along my little journey to the blue box and the post box I was overtaken by the mildly disturbing thought that I had the wrong day in mind. I glanced at my iPhone. Today is Saturday.  There is no mail delivery on Saturday. Nor was there any mail in the post box.  It's official - we've arrived - though obviously we're not certain exactly where!

Strange bedfellows

Although the frequency of personal assault or gushing approbation is more common during the run-up to an election cycle, the specific habit is nonetheless illustrative of general principles and important social mores. By what doctrines are we to be guided in our assessment of others?  Are those rules of conduct any different in the immediacy of public debate?  Or are the themes the same for private relationships?  We are for example regularly inclined to condemn politicians for being strictly motivated by their apparent self-interest.  Does the same convention predict our personal associations?  Do the qualifications even apply?  Or are there different rules for different people at different times?

"Alas the storm is come again!  My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows."

The Tempest, Act 2 Scene 2, William Shakespeare (1610)

Hilary was right!

On September 9, 2016 at a campaign fundraising event in the US presidential election Democratic nominee Hilary Clinton famously described half the Republican Trump supporters as the "basket of deplorables". Reportedly her only regret was having said "half the Trump supporters".  Clinton had previously attacked Trump by suggesting he was "taking hate groups mainstream and helping a radical fringe take over the Republican Party".  It was a prophetic accusation. Regrettably for Clinton however the day after her speech, some political analysts compared the statement to Mitt Romney's 47% gaff in 2012.

Impressionist Treasures at the National Gallery of Canada

Even when we owned an apartment in the By Ward Market within steps of the Musée des beaux-arts du Canada on Sussex Drive and regularly walked our French bulldog Monroe on the magnificent precipice surrounding the Gallery overlooking the Ottawa River, the Rideau Canal and the majestic Parliament buildings, we seldom ventured into the Gallery unless there was a specific display of interest.  Today we were moved to attend the collection of impressionist paintings once housed in the manor of a notable Dutch family and subsequently bequeathed to posterity.

Keep it simple!

Probably it has forever been so - best to keep it simple.  If nothing else it avoids the evaporation of one's audience.  Today's little adventure was for my personal benefit. I was the audience. And what I kept simple was the focus of my outing.  There is the perpetual temptation to complicate things, to change or renew whatever has been done before, as though it were the way to some relieving novelty.  Certainly pioneering is important. But at a some point in one's life (or perhaps just at a point in one's day) all we require is a simple pleasure without elaboration or singularity.  This objective I happily achieved by driving along Highway #416 from Ottawa to Spencerville, a hamlet about 25 kms north of the St. Lawrence River.  It isn't as though I have never been there before. But it is only recently that I have enlarged my perception of the small town.  And today I landed upon something entirely unanticipated - a furniture store.

...and it can only get worse

Apart from the practical necessity of having a will and a power of attorney, prearranging my funeral and writing my obituary, I am seldom preoccupied with death.  Nor have I ever been moved by the deeply religious paranoia of Ecclesiastes in the King James version of the Bible, "Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth when the evil days come not nor the years draw nigh when thou shalt say I have no pleasure in them...".  By contrast I am more vehemently prompted by the comment of my friend Pierre who observed years ago after the death of his parents (from whom he thought to add that he had inherited a vast amount of money - what I suspect was well in excess of several million dollars if not indeed far more), "You don't want to grow old poor".

Say what you mean!

Over forty years ago (while attending Dalhousie Law School in Halifax, NS) I regularly dined with a close friend and her family (parents and in-laws). We always anticipated the promulgation from Uncle Stanley: "Very tasty indeed". Nobody pretended to believe him.  But it sounded pleasant.  It was in addition an excusable comment.  The mantra guaranteed the unspoken but collective notion that poor Uncle Stanley had lost it (he was just plain weird).