Pirates Ahoy

The first sailboat of the season moored off our shores yesterday. Very early indeed methinks. 

I noticed a zodiac beached at the wharf and saw someone running back and forth up the incline. What else does one have to do in mandatory isolation than spy on folk! 

I think the police arrived but they left again after a short while. I suppose the visiting sailors may have just gone to the grocery store for supplies because they headed back out to the boat for the night. 

Of course, it would be much more interesting to imagine that they were pirates or drug smugglers or something. 

An Isolated Menu

Old mother Hubbard, may have gone to the cupboard and found it bare. I was dreading the same returning home from Cuba to mandatory isolation and a house that had an empty pantry. This was a bit concerning. 

But when we drove the friend who had picked us up at the airport to his house down the road, he ran inside and appeared with a handsome frozen free range chicken. When we went to open our refrigerator to place this bird inside, we found a two litre jar of fresh Jersey cow’s milk with a thick layer of cream on top. Next to it lay a bursting container of large free range chicken and duck eggs. And in the freezer, staring me in the face, was a bag of fresh chicken livers for my next foray into paté preparation.

A local butcher provided us with socially distanced fresh sausage and thick-cut bacon. (Although we had eaten well in Cuba, sausage and bacon had not been on the menu.) The next morning, a grocery order phoned in to the local store was amply filled within an hour and a kind neighbour and niece delivered it promptly to our doorstep.

A few days later, as our cow’s milk waned, a delivery of two litres of fresh goat’s milk and a healthy slice of goat cheddar appeared at our door. And behold, the next day, a large wine bottled filled with fresh maple syrup lay mysteriously at our threshold.

The chicken was roasted filling the house with the most gorgeous aroma. It provided a scrumptious two evening meals as well as a healthy batch of chicken soup laden with the fresh vegetables provided by our local grocer. One large duck egg went into the mix for three mornings worth of muffins. Beef stew and fresh paté will soon be on the menu.

Cooking and eating will help the time pass. And what better ingredients than those provided with love.

Reflection on Seventy Years

I wrote this musing sitting in our garden in Cuba well before I was aware that Covid-19 would have its massive impact on the world order. Now I am sitting in mandatory isolation in my lovely home in Nova Scotia with my partner of thirty-eight years. Although this new reality changes little of what I have to say here, it does make one appreciate one’s chosen family, friends and neighbours all the more. It also makes me appreciate good, humane government.

I believe it is a judeo-christian writing of old that mentions that a person’s life span is seventy years. I know that bit of information is now thousands of years old. Things have changed and still are changing. However, as I am now approaching that ancient marker in my own life, it does cause one to reflect.

Death is not something that I fear. I must say this. In my early thirties death was all around me as another health crisis erupted. Friends and associates of my age were dying in the hundreds. And that was only the young men that I knew. My time was spent at hospital bedsides and in funeral homes. It was a terrible time; but it was a powerful one.

Personally, I became grateful for every healthy moment I had. I wanted to waste not one hour. I turned my back on complaining and embraced positive action.

Now friends of ours are dying from illnesses associated with living longer: cancer, heart and so forth. Some have died in tragic accidents. Death is unavoidable. If life has been good, then I feel one should not be afraid of it. For others who may have been less fortunate in the hand life has dealt them, death may be seen as an escape.

One does not have to believe in a “hereafter”. I do not. I do not know what, if anything, survives of our consciousness – our “soul” if you will. If something does, then there may be a new adventure waiting for us. If there is nothing, then it does not matter.

I miss those friends who have died. I miss particularly those from my childhood and adolescence who travelled life's byways with me into more advanced years. I name them here: Kim and Jeff.

Though older, they died too young. I miss those who died tragically in my youth: Jim, David and David, Darin, Sam, Gary, Al, Larry, Terry, Christopher, Wayne, Bill, Doug, Bryan, Tim, Tony, Bob, Richard and Robert. And I miss those who have died more recently, newer old friends: Karen, Vikki, Ross. And I miss my parents and friends of their age.

I try to live my life to honour especially those who never had the opportunity to grow old, and the ones who taught me to live with dignity and pride. I welcome my approach to my eighth decade. I am grateful for so much.

Home Sweet Home

When we left for Cuba three months ago, little did we know that three months later the world would have changed. Changed by something as small as a virus. Changed forever? Hopefully not. Optimistically, we may all be better off as a society, after this humbling experience. 


Our time in Cuba was wonderful indeed; but we were living as in a wonderland. We had little exposure to outside news and little interest in it. But suddenly the world came crashing in on us. And in our last week we experienced, panic, stress, and even resignation. We had to depart home early or face an uncertain future on this tropical island. Getting out was not easy and we had to depend on the kindness of a family member at home to make arrangements for us.

Now we are home. Home by the sea. Home where mandatory isolation is not really a huge inconvenience. Home where family, friends and neighbours are a support to each other even at an imposed physical distancing.

I know there are many who are facing financial, emotional, and physical trauma. I know we are the lucky ones.