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.