Morality ... Now what?

Since the municipal election in my hometown in 2014 and since the USA election of Trump in 2016 there has been extensive talk about morality.  Some would say the cause is more than evident and thus warranted; others might equally well advance the "plus ça change" argument.  Certainly in politics at any level the issues of propriety are never out of focus.  Whether you characterize morality as a distinction between good and bad behaviour or just plain decency, the topic admits to no end of debate.  Inevitably each side discloses some thesis which is founded on the conviction of another higher source.

New Recipe

When I unexpectedly find a new recipe - which in my case isn't saying anything terribly alarming - I take perhaps uncommon note of it.  The implication is that whatever I can prepare myself in the kitchen has to be simple; I am not known as a cook (though I confess my "Caribbean Pasta" is moderately favourable in the opinion of some whom I consider accomplished chefs). Today's discovery is a reminder as well of the importance of a good meal.  A good meal is one of those small pleasures in life which are far more meaningful than their apparent significance.  The standard by which I measure a good meal is its combined taste and healthfulness.  This evening I came as close to that yardstick as is reasonably possible for someone such as I with a boarding school background and a repeated law school menu of Cheese Whiz and peanut butter on molasses brown bread.

It happens...

In precisely ten minutes it will be 5:00 o'clock am and I will have heard the chimes of the Western Germany Sligh grandfather clock every hour since two o'clock this morning.  This is moderately odd since I can't say that as I lay awake in bed shrouded in my sleeping mask I especially noticed the quarterly chimes (Whittington chime if you care to know). But I certainly recall the hourly peals.  Small wonder I finally gave up the charade of sleep and quit the lair to have a cup of tea. This isn't at all unusual for us, having these early morning vacations.

A Rainy Saturday

Though we live in an apartment, we're on the top floor of a 3-storey building and therefore can hear the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof and the balcony. I awoke from the early morning melody by listening to Edward Elgar's "Variations on an Original Theme, Op. 36" (popularly known as the "Enigma Variations") composed between October 1898 and February 1899.  It is an orchestral work comprising fourteen variations on an original theme, each of which represents some characteristic of a friend of Elgar (including his wife Alice) or an incident known only to the two of them.  The music and the rain made for an ideal combination.  Given the forecast of rain throughout the day I lingered over breakfast with uncommon torpidity.

In Limbo

Not exactly certain what "in limbo" means but I'm guessing it implies at least an intermediate or transitional state.  I understand the term alludes to the theological definition; namely, a place outside hell and heaven to which unbaptized infants and the righteous who died before Christ's coming were consigned.  The import though without specific condemnation is not entirely favourable.  It is precisely that characterization which epitomizes my present circumstances - nothing particularly wrong, just everything in limbo.

Nowhere to go, Nothing to do

It's mildly intellectually embarrassing to me that I so rarely capitalize on the weather and my health - that is, without seeking to adorn those outwardly mundane themes with distracting and frequently irrelevant preoccupations. Put another way, it's the failure to rise above the endless importance of life and to observe the bountiful stuff that is already there and often unnoticed, just sitting back with one's feet up on a nice day and feeling good. Given my admitted obsessions for precision and detail - and my shameful lack of patience generally - I am reluctant to pretend that this current euphoria amounts to anything approaching an epiphany. Rather the circumstances are favourable enough for the moment to inspire me towards an unconventional view of the universe.

A Sweet Day All Considered!

I won't pretend that our early morning attendance upon an orthodontist in Ottawa was an endearing exploit (though naturally it felt good to get the matter taken care of). Paradoxically the mechanical exercise lent an air of serendipity to the late afternoon when we again found ourselves tooling into the City for another more favourable though quite unpredicted adventure. Not long after we returned home from our morning meeting with the Gum Doc I received a telephone call from my jeweller. He advised that the custom piece about which we had been communicating for the past several months was complete and ready to be collected.

The best mask for a treacherous heart is an honest face!

It is far easier to become clouded by a treacherous heart than one would expect.  In my case the reasons are two fold. First, I see nothing wrong with someone's gold digging (for example) if I am similarly engaged in my own reciprocal expropriation (which may even include just enjoying the exploit for whatever reason). Second, I acknowledge that I am a sucker for flattery (even though it always surprises me that I was so utterly unaware of its ulterior purpose at the outset). Both elements of treachery - whether selfish pursuit or calculated honeyed words - ultimately betray the cunning of the operative.  Oddly the recognition of the perfidy does little more than temper the favour of the response.  At least that is the ideal result; namely, that knowing the undependable nature of the person one is better enabled to assess (and adapt to) the true nature of the faithless behaviour.  I won't however go so far as to suggest that true love is ever the result after such a revelation.  Cautious admiration at best.

Wintry Blast

Though we have managed to escape the perils of winter for most of the season, it never fails that upon our return to Canada in April we inevitably encounter a final blast of freezing rain and snow.  Today was such a day.  Normally this would not have been of any consequence; except that today we were awake at five o'clock this morning preparing ourselves for an important visit to the Heart Institute on Ruskin Street in Ottawa.  At four o'clock this morning - as I lay awake anxiously contemplating the upcoming day - I heard the snowplow clearing the drive outside our apartment building.  By six o'clock (as we cautiously commenced our travel to the City) the rain had begun and we were being pelted by freezing crystals in addition to wayward ice scraps from the tops of passing vehicles.

Sunday Afternoon Tea Party

Unbeknownst to us the freezing rain began in earnest about three and a half hours after we arrived on Coleman's Island to visit our dear longstanding friend early this afternoon.  We were clearly so engrossed in our scheduled duty of rejigging a used computer - and sipping a very agreeable cup of clear Orange Pekoe tea whilst doing so - that we hadn't any idea of the full extent of the icy precipitation.  No matter.  Our commission was by then at least temporarily complete and the glacial descent did little but annoy us upon the conclusion of an otherwise perfectly profitable sojourn. Invariably it is an uncompromising blessing to tread across the border from the Town onto the Island and to linger there among those who are equally predicted to be singular and topical for one reason or another. The Islanders are notorious for their uniqueness - whether a native baseball team or an indispensable municipal councillor; and they are commensurately proud of their distinguishable location.