On March 11, 1979 I wrote:
It appears that I am falling into the trap which confronts most private businessmen; namely, I am becoming entirely preoccupied with my work, and it is beginning to look as though I do not have any other activities to amuse me. The horrible thing about work is that it doesn’t go away unless you do it. So, I naturally end up at the office more often than I would prefer.
Many of the people whom I met over the years were motivated in much the same way. People like Pierre Lamoureux, who, until very recently, was in the office by seven o’clock each morning, and he often worked weekends. It was at about this time that I had dinner in the City (at Dave Smith’s “The Place Next Door”) with a fellow whom I had met at Devonshire House at the University of Toronto when I was a Don there. I remember that he asked me, after I had waffled on at some length about setting up the new practice, what else I had done “for excitement” as the saying goes. I felt embarrassed by my lack of response. There really wasn’t much else in my life. Part of my concern was not only my total preoccupation with work, but also my inability to latch onto anything else by way of intellectual diversion. I had toyed with the idea of setting up a debating society, but that had already been done. Something new and different was required. In the meantime, the work just kept coming in; I was working longer and longer hours; and I had hired more staff to handle the production (we were up to two secretaries, each working four days a week; and another one working 2 days a week). Again I wrote:
...in the back of my mind I have serious misgivings about what is happening to me personally. I realize that this necessary evil of work is not all that bad, but the business seems to be monopolizing my life. However, when I look around me, I see that most people are working very hard too.
I was tossing about ideas concerning “socializing” and how that might blend with my career and perhaps advance it. But I kept coming back to my customary perch - that is, “It is certainly clear to me that in large part the reason for my success in Almonte is because I work hard, not because I am at parties (March 12, 1979)”. This pattern of thought perhaps contributed to the perception that I was a bit of a hermit or recluse. On occasion I had had my interest tweaked by people such as Louis Irwin, who had hired me to canvass proprietors of local newspapers about the sale of their undertaking. This possibility of working on a newspaper unfortunately came to grinding halt when the only response we got was from a fellow who telephoned from Toronto to advise me rather abruptly that he was calling on behalf of the Thomson newspaper chain, and that they were “...in the business of acquisition, not disposition...”.
Interspersed with these thoughts were the questions I had about my ability (or, more exactly, my inability) to have the time for a relationship with another person in the midst of my enormous dedication to work. I have to say that then, as now, I valued my privacy and the privilege of coming and going at will, without grave concern for the agenda of another. This is not to say that I do not value close relationships, but neither do I insist upon proximity.
It appears that I am falling into the trap which confronts most private businessmen; namely, I am becoming entirely preoccupied with my work, and it is beginning to look as though I do not have any other activities to amuse me. The horrible thing about work is that it doesn’t go away unless you do it. So, I naturally end up at the office more often than I would prefer.
Many of the people whom I met over the years were motivated in much the same way. People like Pierre Lamoureux, who, until very recently, was in the office by seven o’clock each morning, and he often worked weekends. It was at about this time that I had dinner in the City (at Dave Smith’s “The Place Next Door”) with a fellow whom I had met at Devonshire House at the University of Toronto when I was a Don there. I remember that he asked me, after I had waffled on at some length about setting up the new practice, what else I had done “for excitement” as the saying goes. I felt embarrassed by my lack of response. There really wasn’t much else in my life. Part of my concern was not only my total preoccupation with work, but also my inability to latch onto anything else by way of intellectual diversion. I had toyed with the idea of setting up a debating society, but that had already been done. Something new and different was required. In the meantime, the work just kept coming in; I was working longer and longer hours; and I had hired more staff to handle the production (we were up to two secretaries, each working four days a week; and another one working 2 days a week). Again I wrote:
...in the back of my mind I have serious misgivings about what is happening to me personally. I realize that this necessary evil of work is not all that bad, but the business seems to be monopolizing my life. However, when I look around me, I see that most people are working very hard too.
I was tossing about ideas concerning “socializing” and how that might blend with my career and perhaps advance it. But I kept coming back to my customary perch - that is, “It is certainly clear to me that in large part the reason for my success in Almonte is because I work hard, not because I am at parties (March 12, 1979)”. This pattern of thought perhaps contributed to the perception that I was a bit of a hermit or recluse. On occasion I had had my interest tweaked by people such as Louis Irwin, who had hired me to canvass proprietors of local newspapers about the sale of their undertaking. This possibility of working on a newspaper unfortunately came to grinding halt when the only response we got was from a fellow who telephoned from Toronto to advise me rather abruptly that he was calling on behalf of the Thomson newspaper chain, and that they were “...in the business of acquisition, not disposition...”.
Interspersed with these thoughts were the questions I had about my ability (or, more exactly, my inability) to have the time for a relationship with another person in the midst of my enormous dedication to work. I have to say that then, as now, I valued my privacy and the privilege of coming and going at will, without grave concern for the agenda of another. This is not to say that I do not value close relationships, but neither do I insist upon proximity.
As well, the management of the new office was taking up a lot of my time. And I was negotiating at any early stage for the option to lease the adjoining office which my Landlords (Bill Guthrie and Jack Levi) had rented to Dr. Lyon. Our quarters at that time were already becoming cramped.
Ever since I can remember, the weather was a significant element of my mental landscape. On March 26, 1979 I wrote: “The First Day of Spring has come and gone, and with it some of the Hope it usually brings, as we are mercilessly plunged into Winter again, with blowing snow and cold, damp winds”. This would seem to suggest that I harbour a distaste for anything but warmth and sunshine, but such is not the case. Like the ancient Greek pathos, my mood was frequently moved in the transient or emotional way to reflect the weather. The gloomy, grey, drizzly days in Halifax, for example, not uncommonly excited in me a feeling of pity or sadness; and the cool autumn days of small-town Ontario in Almonte stirred in me tender and melancholy emotion, a pathetic expression of the soft breezes. One has often heard the apparent apology of Canadians for our sometimes dreadful weather - “I love the Seasons!”, but I think there is some legitimacy to that observation. Going back to school in September was not surprisingly a huge custom in my life, and I have never really got over it. September for me always seems like a moment of rebirth, rejuvenation and excitement. In my later years (after I had been working steadily without a holiday for about four years), the return to school was replaced with the return to Cape Cod, that annual trek or pilgrimage to the Ocean. And that meant the crisp, clear, blue skies of the Fall; the dry air, sweater-time and long pants and thick socks, after the summer of humidity and heat.
But the topic of conversation during this period of my life was not the weather, but work. Part of the reason for my long hours of labour was the difficulty of many of the titles involved in real estate transactions. While I never did much title searching myself (that is, the actual gathering of information from the Registry Office records), I somehow developed a rather acute sense of propriety when reviewing a search of title which had been delivered to me by the title searcher. Not only was I preoccupied with the logical transition of ownership from one party to another, but I spent an inordinate amount of time double-checking the measurements which had been laid out by the surveyors. This in itself is time-consuming, because twenty years ago many of the titles were “metes and bounds”, which meant long, detailed descriptions of land, many parcels of which were of large acreage and irregular shape. As the Registry Office (or, rather, the Ministry of Consumer and Commercial Relations) began to tighten up its description requirements by insisting upon production and registration of Reference Plans (which described property as a PART on a Plan), the job of title searcher became easier, but we are still plagued with some old titles which do not yet enjoy the so- called “benefit of survey” (an expression which oddly enough recalls to my mind the punishment of offenders by tar and feather “without the benefit of Clergy”, though of course there is no other connection). Coincidentally, in the Fall of 1999, the local Land Registry Office underwent a significant conversion of many of its properties (most particularly those in the northern part of Lanark County) from the old “Registry” system to the new “Land Titles” system. This conversion, which was frequently fraught with errors and qualifications, precipitated considerable activity in my Office at the time, as many of my Clients requested me to investigate the result of the conversion process with respect to their own property. Ultimately, after the wrinkles are ironed out, we in Lanark County should enjoy the same degree of accuracy on titles which most of the Province now has. All of this activity was, of course, a mere precursor to the registration of titles electronically, since each and every parcel of land in the Province of Ontario will have its own Property Identification Number (PIN), the calling up of which on a computer, permits the instant “repopulation” (filling in) of information from a huge data base. There is even some suggestion that this same data base can have attached to it not only what one might expect (property description, purchase price, outstanding mortgages and the like), but also the age and gender of the owner(s), employment occupation, marital status, etc., all of which might prove rather useful to marketing agencies who are willing to pay for access to the information in order to target a particular audience.
Ever since I can remember, the weather was a significant element of my mental landscape. On March 26, 1979 I wrote: “The First Day of Spring has come and gone, and with it some of the Hope it usually brings, as we are mercilessly plunged into Winter again, with blowing snow and cold, damp winds”. This would seem to suggest that I harbour a distaste for anything but warmth and sunshine, but such is not the case. Like the ancient Greek pathos, my mood was frequently moved in the transient or emotional way to reflect the weather. The gloomy, grey, drizzly days in Halifax, for example, not uncommonly excited in me a feeling of pity or sadness; and the cool autumn days of small-town Ontario in Almonte stirred in me tender and melancholy emotion, a pathetic expression of the soft breezes. One has often heard the apparent apology of Canadians for our sometimes dreadful weather - “I love the Seasons!”, but I think there is some legitimacy to that observation. Going back to school in September was not surprisingly a huge custom in my life, and I have never really got over it. September for me always seems like a moment of rebirth, rejuvenation and excitement. In my later years (after I had been working steadily without a holiday for about four years), the return to school was replaced with the return to Cape Cod, that annual trek or pilgrimage to the Ocean. And that meant the crisp, clear, blue skies of the Fall; the dry air, sweater-time and long pants and thick socks, after the summer of humidity and heat.
But the topic of conversation during this period of my life was not the weather, but work. Part of the reason for my long hours of labour was the difficulty of many of the titles involved in real estate transactions. While I never did much title searching myself (that is, the actual gathering of information from the Registry Office records), I somehow developed a rather acute sense of propriety when reviewing a search of title which had been delivered to me by the title searcher. Not only was I preoccupied with the logical transition of ownership from one party to another, but I spent an inordinate amount of time double-checking the measurements which had been laid out by the surveyors. This in itself is time-consuming, because twenty years ago many of the titles were “metes and bounds”, which meant long, detailed descriptions of land, many parcels of which were of large acreage and irregular shape. As the Registry Office (or, rather, the Ministry of Consumer and Commercial Relations) began to tighten up its description requirements by insisting upon production and registration of Reference Plans (which described property as a PART on a Plan), the job of title searcher became easier, but we are still plagued with some old titles which do not yet enjoy the so- called “benefit of survey” (an expression which oddly enough recalls to my mind the punishment of offenders by tar and feather “without the benefit of Clergy”, though of course there is no other connection). Coincidentally, in the Fall of 1999, the local Land Registry Office underwent a significant conversion of many of its properties (most particularly those in the northern part of Lanark County) from the old “Registry” system to the new “Land Titles” system. This conversion, which was frequently fraught with errors and qualifications, precipitated considerable activity in my Office at the time, as many of my Clients requested me to investigate the result of the conversion process with respect to their own property. Ultimately, after the wrinkles are ironed out, we in Lanark County should enjoy the same degree of accuracy on titles which most of the Province now has. All of this activity was, of course, a mere precursor to the registration of titles electronically, since each and every parcel of land in the Province of Ontario will have its own Property Identification Number (PIN), the calling up of which on a computer, permits the instant “repopulation” (filling in) of information from a huge data base. There is even some suggestion that this same data base can have attached to it not only what one might expect (property description, purchase price, outstanding mortgages and the like), but also the age and gender of the owner(s), employment occupation, marital status, etc., all of which might prove rather useful to marketing agencies who are willing to pay for access to the information in order to target a particular audience.
In spite of my long hours at the Office, I never entertained the idea of hiring another lawyer to work with me. In fact I positively resisted the notion of expanding my office to the point where I might be obliged to hire another lawyer. At my peak of activity, I had three secretaries working with me, though two of them only worked four days per week, and the third worked between two and three days per week. But I never wanted another lawyer to help out. As fate would have it, my instincts paid off, since business began to decline in the nineties, and my staff diminished with it.
At this time, however (that is, in 1979), rumours were already circulating that a new lawyer was coming to Town. That person turned out to be Patrick J. Galway. When he and his family arrived, he hired me to represent the Bank for the mortgage work on his house. As a result, I have used Pat to do the same type of work for me over the years. Pat had been toying with the idea of opening an office in Pakenham, which of course he never did. My real affection for Pat, however, stemmed not from having done some legal work for him, but rather from the enormous gratitude I felt I and the other members of the local Bar owed him for having careered the establishment of the County Registry Office in Almonte rather than Perth. Perth, after all, was the so-called “County Seat”, and besides having the County Court House, the Perth Bar was well-known for enjoying the privileges of living in that very attractive community with all its history and tradition. Initially, the Ontario Government (under the leadership of Bob Rae of the NDP, following the humiliating defeat of David Peterson's Liberals) in a unique and singularly inexplicable move proposed to close the Almonte Registry Office (which then serviced just “Lanark North”) and move everything to Perth (which then serviced just “Lanark South”). The reason the proposed move was so preposterous was that the Almonte Registry Office was brand new and had been outfitted to handle the upcoming electronic registration system; whereas the Perth office was in rented quarters which amounted to little more than converted old war-time army barracks. To make the NDP's position even more astounding and ridiculous, we were given an epistle from the Government which included, among other allegations, a statement that the Almonte Registry Office was not safe for employees! Nothing could have been further from the truth, and it was but a small step to conclude that the Government employees or advisors who had provided the information on which this report was based had certainly never been to Almonte, much less to the Registry Office. Yet, all this indignation over the report would have been lost had it not been for Patrick Galway, who headed up a team of dedicated and concerned individuals who took their case to the very seat of government at Queen's Park in Toronto. And they won their case! It was a huge triumph not only for Pat and his colleagues, but for each one of us “country conveyancers” in Almonte, Carleton Place, Pakenham and those marginal areas of Carp and Kanata. We were now able to forego the pleasure of travelling to Perth every time we wanted to take a look at a title; and we need not hire agents to do our work for us there, nor would we be obliged to refer the work to someone closer to the action. It was, I can safely imagine, an incredible blow to the Perth Bar.
At this time, however (that is, in 1979), rumours were already circulating that a new lawyer was coming to Town. That person turned out to be Patrick J. Galway. When he and his family arrived, he hired me to represent the Bank for the mortgage work on his house. As a result, I have used Pat to do the same type of work for me over the years. Pat had been toying with the idea of opening an office in Pakenham, which of course he never did. My real affection for Pat, however, stemmed not from having done some legal work for him, but rather from the enormous gratitude I felt I and the other members of the local Bar owed him for having careered the establishment of the County Registry Office in Almonte rather than Perth. Perth, after all, was the so-called “County Seat”, and besides having the County Court House, the Perth Bar was well-known for enjoying the privileges of living in that very attractive community with all its history and tradition. Initially, the Ontario Government (under the leadership of Bob Rae of the NDP, following the humiliating defeat of David Peterson's Liberals) in a unique and singularly inexplicable move proposed to close the Almonte Registry Office (which then serviced just “Lanark North”) and move everything to Perth (which then serviced just “Lanark South”). The reason the proposed move was so preposterous was that the Almonte Registry Office was brand new and had been outfitted to handle the upcoming electronic registration system; whereas the Perth office was in rented quarters which amounted to little more than converted old war-time army barracks. To make the NDP's position even more astounding and ridiculous, we were given an epistle from the Government which included, among other allegations, a statement that the Almonte Registry Office was not safe for employees! Nothing could have been further from the truth, and it was but a small step to conclude that the Government employees or advisors who had provided the information on which this report was based had certainly never been to Almonte, much less to the Registry Office. Yet, all this indignation over the report would have been lost had it not been for Patrick Galway, who headed up a team of dedicated and concerned individuals who took their case to the very seat of government at Queen's Park in Toronto. And they won their case! It was a huge triumph not only for Pat and his colleagues, but for each one of us “country conveyancers” in Almonte, Carleton Place, Pakenham and those marginal areas of Carp and Kanata. We were now able to forego the pleasure of travelling to Perth every time we wanted to take a look at a title; and we need not hire agents to do our work for us there, nor would we be obliged to refer the work to someone closer to the action. It was, I can safely imagine, an incredible blow to the Perth Bar.
As ubiquitous as the weather were my references to alcohol. While the bottom line at this stage of my life was the impact alcohol had upon my ability to work productively, I was also concerned about the other damaging influences alcohol may have upon the life of oneself and others:
Every day I see and hear about the way that alcohol is or has destroyed the lives of people. Most frequently I hear about it when clients are discussing matrimonial problems. And I see it first hand among my legal friends. It depresses the hell out of me, to see people talking in circles, not realizing that they have not made any sense, that they are not thinking straight. And then there are young people who talk about getting bombed every weekend. And I suppose that the problems with drugs are even worse. The drugs, the opiates have stunned so many people, reducing them to victims of themselves, their self-indulgence. Unfortunately, imbibing in anything can become as religious as communion; when two or more are gathered together...April 23, 1979.
As much as I hate to admit it, another reason that I am undoubtedly feeling positive about life this evening is not just because I have done the laundry, wound the clocks, gone to Church, read the Bible, had some exercise, talked to the parents and sister, saved some money, cleaned my desk, emptied the dishwasher, stayed at home, accepted cocktail invitations, ate some bran, straightened out the office management, not yelled at the secretaries, not eaten five pounds of bread at one sitting, practiced the piano, worked on the Foundation, lined up rehearsals for the Masonic meeting, sent a brochure to the President of the Business Association, kept my mouth shut over the breakfast table at the Soup, remained polite with lawyers I can't stand, etc., BUT ALSO because I haven't had a drink today! And that usually means more than one. That damn stuff ($385 of which I just bought last week) just kills me, my initiative, my ego, my pride, my desire, my thinking, not to mention my sleep. Cigarettes may be killing my body, but booze destroys my mind and my soul. December 2, 1985.
Many times I recollect having commented upon my increased productivity when not drinking. In my early working career, this meant that I was able to work harder and better at the office if I did not indulge. Today, it means that I have more energy for doing other things, like walking, reading, writing and playing the piano. But the original preoccupation was with work, as it was generally speaking in those days:
...I have taken the position (frequently with some degree of hesitation, but eventual resignation) that for the first few years of my career at least (and probably for the rest of it) I must commit myself to no small degree of diligence. I am aware that this attitude is peculiar to many young business people; and as distasteful as it may be, I can’t honestly say that I regret the decision, nor do I believe that there is realistically an alternative. I can only hope that my dedication to good work will not lead to an ignorance of what I also believe to be the more important things in life. May 2, 1979.
Every day I see and hear about the way that alcohol is or has destroyed the lives of people. Most frequently I hear about it when clients are discussing matrimonial problems. And I see it first hand among my legal friends. It depresses the hell out of me, to see people talking in circles, not realizing that they have not made any sense, that they are not thinking straight. And then there are young people who talk about getting bombed every weekend. And I suppose that the problems with drugs are even worse. The drugs, the opiates have stunned so many people, reducing them to victims of themselves, their self-indulgence. Unfortunately, imbibing in anything can become as religious as communion; when two or more are gathered together...April 23, 1979.
As much as I hate to admit it, another reason that I am undoubtedly feeling positive about life this evening is not just because I have done the laundry, wound the clocks, gone to Church, read the Bible, had some exercise, talked to the parents and sister, saved some money, cleaned my desk, emptied the dishwasher, stayed at home, accepted cocktail invitations, ate some bran, straightened out the office management, not yelled at the secretaries, not eaten five pounds of bread at one sitting, practiced the piano, worked on the Foundation, lined up rehearsals for the Masonic meeting, sent a brochure to the President of the Business Association, kept my mouth shut over the breakfast table at the Soup, remained polite with lawyers I can't stand, etc., BUT ALSO because I haven't had a drink today! And that usually means more than one. That damn stuff ($385 of which I just bought last week) just kills me, my initiative, my ego, my pride, my desire, my thinking, not to mention my sleep. Cigarettes may be killing my body, but booze destroys my mind and my soul. December 2, 1985.
Many times I recollect having commented upon my increased productivity when not drinking. In my early working career, this meant that I was able to work harder and better at the office if I did not indulge. Today, it means that I have more energy for doing other things, like walking, reading, writing and playing the piano. But the original preoccupation was with work, as it was generally speaking in those days:
...I have taken the position (frequently with some degree of hesitation, but eventual resignation) that for the first few years of my career at least (and probably for the rest of it) I must commit myself to no small degree of diligence. I am aware that this attitude is peculiar to many young business people; and as distasteful as it may be, I can’t honestly say that I regret the decision, nor do I believe that there is realistically an alternative. I can only hope that my dedication to good work will not lead to an ignorance of what I also believe to be the more important things in life. May 2, 1979.
What this captures is my deeply entrenched feeling that things don’t just “get done”, as my mother so often suggested. I was always left wondering, “By whom will it get done?” Comments like that are right up there with “Don’t worry, be happy” as far as I am concerned. Now I confess that much of this philosophy (if in fact one can dignify it by calling it a “philosophy”) is really little more than an obsession, actuated by a paranoia that I might lose control over my simple world. But whatever it is, the fact remains that to this day, I dislike leaving my desk with anything on it; that is, with outstanding work. If it means going back to the office at night, I usually do it.
Although I often chastize myself for my patterned and repetitious existence, with its conviction to routine and tangible simplicity, I can’t help but admit that I have determined in a rather subliminal way to continue to follow those patterns. I have always felt that there are very few things in life which I could do well; and I am of the opinion that, equipped as I am with limited imagination and energy, I can only profit from my abilities by concentration. The abilities which a person possesses are of course real; but there are many times when I sense in the most profound way that I am actively contributing to those limitations. The mind-body dichotomy is one obvious example, in that health of the body is so obviously important to the health of the mind. Over the past few years, I have learned to take better care of myself, but it was only after having dragged my poor body through enormous physical trials. Then there are the spiritual on-slaughts to which I subject myself: those mad mental games of men and women; those guilt complexes. I can only conclude that I will never have time to do all the things that an armchair philosopher would imagine. So, we do what we can. June 1, 1979.
By September 30, 1985, I was saying “...my thoughts are more directed towards slowing down my pace”:
Occasionally I am tempted to get involved in many other things, such as Big Brothers, Business Association stuff, various committees for other groups (such as the Mississippi Valley Textile Museum - I incorporated them), and even with people to whom I am not particularly close. It's often a major task for me to keep from putting my foot in my mouth by committing myself to some such thing or person. It's not always easy to avoid, and it all sounds so simple before the actual performance of the task. At times I think I'm just trying to stop the world, preserve the status quo, keep everything just the way it is. My inability to do so even causes me some anxiety at times, not only because I can't “freeze” everything, but - and this is the paradox - also because I feel that I am trying to be like a turtle, and hide in my shell. But that's where the necessity for balance comes in. And, having some objectives helps considerably. I don't exactly relish the idea of slipping into old age as a debt-free Masonic Anglican lawyer who is a Trustee of the Library Foundation, and who is on good speaking terms with his friends and family. Having conceived that possibility, it is then that I turn my mind to some of the more exciting prospects of life. What's wrong with those simple labels is that they are a little heavy on the community stuff and the caring for ones who are close (all of which are commendable in their own way), but they don't include the more ephemeral pleasures of life, such as enjoying sunshine and flowers, scenery and a good meal, etc. I don't know, perhaps I'm just talking through my hat. It's obvious to me that I haven't really thought this matter out very much. It's the old question: What do you want out of life? Perhaps I'm just too caught up in the control factor. This can be a very damaging focus, because it makes life very restrictive. On the other hand, the admission of limits, the seeking of attainable goals, and the recognition of a defined time within which to do it all, does in fact liberate one from such things as useless pursuits, reckless behaviour, poverty and half-baked undertakings. I would like to think that I might one day approach life with an open mind, uninhibited by anxiety over life's daily problems, ready to engage in a serious consideration of everything that passes my way. Like, the joy of meeting a new person; the joy of being able to laugh inside at onself; the joy of being sober; the joy of looking forward to whatever the day may bring. At this juncture, I am reminded of that bumper sticker which I once saw that stated, Life is Hard: Then you Die. There's a bit of truth in it. A painful truth in a way; yet, in another, it's a happy thought, because one can at least say to oneself, Hell, it's always going to be a pain in the ass no matter what I do, so I may as well try to enjoy it.
Although I often chastize myself for my patterned and repetitious existence, with its conviction to routine and tangible simplicity, I can’t help but admit that I have determined in a rather subliminal way to continue to follow those patterns. I have always felt that there are very few things in life which I could do well; and I am of the opinion that, equipped as I am with limited imagination and energy, I can only profit from my abilities by concentration. The abilities which a person possesses are of course real; but there are many times when I sense in the most profound way that I am actively contributing to those limitations. The mind-body dichotomy is one obvious example, in that health of the body is so obviously important to the health of the mind. Over the past few years, I have learned to take better care of myself, but it was only after having dragged my poor body through enormous physical trials. Then there are the spiritual on-slaughts to which I subject myself: those mad mental games of men and women; those guilt complexes. I can only conclude that I will never have time to do all the things that an armchair philosopher would imagine. So, we do what we can. June 1, 1979.
By September 30, 1985, I was saying “...my thoughts are more directed towards slowing down my pace”:
Occasionally I am tempted to get involved in many other things, such as Big Brothers, Business Association stuff, various committees for other groups (such as the Mississippi Valley Textile Museum - I incorporated them), and even with people to whom I am not particularly close. It's often a major task for me to keep from putting my foot in my mouth by committing myself to some such thing or person. It's not always easy to avoid, and it all sounds so simple before the actual performance of the task. At times I think I'm just trying to stop the world, preserve the status quo, keep everything just the way it is. My inability to do so even causes me some anxiety at times, not only because I can't “freeze” everything, but - and this is the paradox - also because I feel that I am trying to be like a turtle, and hide in my shell. But that's where the necessity for balance comes in. And, having some objectives helps considerably. I don't exactly relish the idea of slipping into old age as a debt-free Masonic Anglican lawyer who is a Trustee of the Library Foundation, and who is on good speaking terms with his friends and family. Having conceived that possibility, it is then that I turn my mind to some of the more exciting prospects of life. What's wrong with those simple labels is that they are a little heavy on the community stuff and the caring for ones who are close (all of which are commendable in their own way), but they don't include the more ephemeral pleasures of life, such as enjoying sunshine and flowers, scenery and a good meal, etc. I don't know, perhaps I'm just talking through my hat. It's obvious to me that I haven't really thought this matter out very much. It's the old question: What do you want out of life? Perhaps I'm just too caught up in the control factor. This can be a very damaging focus, because it makes life very restrictive. On the other hand, the admission of limits, the seeking of attainable goals, and the recognition of a defined time within which to do it all, does in fact liberate one from such things as useless pursuits, reckless behaviour, poverty and half-baked undertakings. I would like to think that I might one day approach life with an open mind, uninhibited by anxiety over life's daily problems, ready to engage in a serious consideration of everything that passes my way. Like, the joy of meeting a new person; the joy of being able to laugh inside at onself; the joy of being sober; the joy of looking forward to whatever the day may bring. At this juncture, I am reminded of that bumper sticker which I once saw that stated, Life is Hard: Then you Die. There's a bit of truth in it. A painful truth in a way; yet, in another, it's a happy thought, because one can at least say to oneself, Hell, it's always going to be a pain in the ass no matter what I do, so I may as well try to enjoy it.
The fate of so many people in this world is miserable, and I really feel ashamed of myself complaining about anything. But one gets hardened to those tragic events; one begins to doubt whether the grain even gets to Ethiopia, or whether the money is just pocketed by some criminal. Cynicism prevails. And one even doubts what one can do to improve things in our own back yard. I even find that I feel many people are selfish in their Christianity, seeking salvation of their own miserable souls. In this pit of uncertainty and disbelief is bred mistrust of any values. Who is to say what is right and what is wrong? What life-style is good or bad? Every basis for judgement has been eroded. The only thing which I have heard for a long time which made any sense to me was a comment on a silly television show the other night, where the “star” asked, I don't know why we live or why we die; all I do know is that we have to hold on tight to one another while we're here. Or words to that effect. That, for me, says that the “Me” generation is rotten; that we have to spend more time thinking about one another. All the ambition and success in the world will not spare us the agony of being alone. (This is starting to sound uncomfortably like an autobiography!) But I don't think I'm alone in this distress. We young people are a generation of high-achievers. Education and money have deceived us into thinking that we can attain it all. But it creates its own madness; its knots; its cycles. There is, for some, consolation in thinking that God will direct one's life, and spare one from eternal Hell. Unfortunately, the latter aspiration makes about as much sense to me as it would make to an infant to tell him he suffered from Original Sin. I don't think of myself as a damnable person. And Salvation appears to me to be marketed like any other commodity; and its preachers like mere salesmen. What I do, however, find appealing about Christianity is the possibility that there can be Divine Guidance of one's life. To know the Will of God, and to do all things for the greater glory of God, are things which are not totally foreign to me. The acceptance of Christ for all that He claimed to be is not without its difficulties, not the least of which is His claim to be the Son of God, and the means to Salvation. Christianity is, as Jim Allen (former Master from St. Andrew's) once said, very uncompromising. There is no possibility that any other “religion” is real, notwithstanding that some of the precepts of Christian conduct may be shared.
Of course, as much as one can say nasty things about the “work ethic”, it is often a more practical than philosophical concern:
It was almost two months ago that I last wrote in this diary, and almost as long since I wrote in my diary at the Office. I've almost forgotten how to type.
Usually, the blanks in my writing frequency are indications of “busy-ness” at the Office; however, in this case (which is longer than normal), the delay is hardly due to occupation at the Office. In fact, we've never been slower. Sent Mrs. Thomson home at four o'clock today, and Mrs. Farquhar left about 4:45. Mrs. Cotterill is on holidays. I hardly need add how seriously depressed I am about this situation. I just can't believe it is happening; and I'm wondering what I should sell first, and whether I should start looking for new employment. And, of course, I'm seriously thinking about which secretary I can live without - the only one being Mrs. Thomson, since it is Mrs. Cotterill who does the books. They literally have nothing to do tomorrow. Everything depends on what comes in the mail or through the door - which doesn't give me much time to prepare anything for them by nine o'clock!
When my life is without work, I realize how much time in the past has been dedicated to it. I suppose it would be unfair to myself to say that I had dedicated myself to making money only. But I am aware that a lot of my preoccupations have to do with money, what it can buy, what it means to others (status), etc. Now that I'm feeling that I am out of work, other things take on more importance. At the moment, I feel that I could be happy chopping logs for the rest of my life. The whole experience is quite frightening. I can't imagine where I would start, if things got really bad. At least I can report that the monthly income for the first three months of this fiscal year have been almost the same as last year, which was our best year ever. But it really is quite odd. We have managed to clean up everything we had to do . So much of our work depends on real estate, which is now dead.
It was almost two months ago that I last wrote in this diary, and almost as long since I wrote in my diary at the Office. I've almost forgotten how to type.
Usually, the blanks in my writing frequency are indications of “busy-ness” at the Office; however, in this case (which is longer than normal), the delay is hardly due to occupation at the Office. In fact, we've never been slower. Sent Mrs. Thomson home at four o'clock today, and Mrs. Farquhar left about 4:45. Mrs. Cotterill is on holidays. I hardly need add how seriously depressed I am about this situation. I just can't believe it is happening; and I'm wondering what I should sell first, and whether I should start looking for new employment. And, of course, I'm seriously thinking about which secretary I can live without - the only one being Mrs. Thomson, since it is Mrs. Cotterill who does the books. They literally have nothing to do tomorrow. Everything depends on what comes in the mail or through the door - which doesn't give me much time to prepare anything for them by nine o'clock!
When my life is without work, I realize how much time in the past has been dedicated to it. I suppose it would be unfair to myself to say that I had dedicated myself to making money only. But I am aware that a lot of my preoccupations have to do with money, what it can buy, what it means to others (status), etc. Now that I'm feeling that I am out of work, other things take on more importance. At the moment, I feel that I could be happy chopping logs for the rest of my life. The whole experience is quite frightening. I can't imagine where I would start, if things got really bad. At least I can report that the monthly income for the first three months of this fiscal year have been almost the same as last year, which was our best year ever. But it really is quite odd. We have managed to clean up everything we had to do . So much of our work depends on real estate, which is now dead.
With the passage of the new Divorce Act, that area of practice has effectively been expropriated by the federal government. I'm never sure whether I should try to get back into that stuff, or whether I should just stick to the matters which are familiar to me. I seem to operate on a sixth sense when it comes to the choice of business.
Without business, I feel hollow and somewhat worthless, not to mention embarrassed. I look back on my life and wonder what I did which was of any worth. I know this is getting silly, but that's the way I feel. Really, the only thing which will help me is some work, so that I can start producing again. July 7, 1986.
And, on November 3, 1986, I wrote, “Hopefully some new business will come through the door tomorrow, because there's only so much of this stuff that one can write before going nuts.”
When the recession hit in the early 1990's, the so-called “work ethic” took on a different complexion. No longer did I work to keep up with the work-load, but rather just to survive. For at least seven years, work just trickled in. I felt a bit like a farmer friend of mine who had given up the milking business for a somewhat less demanding trade, only to discover that without the pressing demands of work, the meaning of life became quite clouded, without direction or purpose. As that decade has begun to close (as we “approach the millennium” as it is so fashionable now to say), I perhaps flatter myself to say that I have adopted, or at least acquired through the aging process, a more synthesized view of work and life. The two undertakings seem to have been compounded, adding attributes to each not implied in them. It is a more constructive approach to life. Some of this bliss may be nothing more than the privilege and pleasure of knowing what one is doing in the practice of law, after a quarter century of doing the same thing every day of one’s life. It may be that I am one of those few people in life who actually enjoys doing what they do. Whatever the reason, I sense that I have abandoned the work ethic for something more akin to just fulfilling my daily duties, much the same way one does not attribute any great philosophical import to getting dressed in the morning and having breakfast. It’s just something one does. But the plague of business was frequently only something which I rationalized, as is apparent from the following entry which arose from a period of particular anxiety over work:
On the other end of the spectrum, I should of course be thankful that I at least have enough business to occupy my mind. For some reason, however, I have just found that I have been terribly wrapped up in things recently. I suppose the reason is that things just never happen as quickly as I might like them to. In fact, we've recently been blessed with a good number of deals, and it is just a matter of getting them organized. Business often moves ponderously slowly. It's probably just my general impatience. I am, for example, even in a rush to save money for my tax liability, even though I'm already slightly ahead of target. I just have to remind myself to slow down a little, and take things in their normal course. There is also a very good possibility that the lack of exercise is a bad companion for anxiety. However, as the days go by, I am generally able to look back on the events of life with a considerable degree of happiness. There are of course times when I wish I didn't have to face certain tasks, certain social commitments, etc., but I must confess that it is these same pressures which force the blood through my system; and, in the end, it is these events which, if handled with human kindness and basic common sense, make the experience of life fulfilling. The never-ending pressure of life's obligations are frequently annoying, but they add the necessary diversion from what would surely otherwise be little more than the contemplation of one's own uselessness and ultimate decay. To isolate onself from this so-called “condition humane” is an utter impossibility as far as I can see; and this immediately provides me with the motivation for surmising about what can only be termed the inevitable responsibility, and even delight or humour, of life. I have met people who, in their own way, have tried to escape the demands of life. Some have done it with money; others with alcohol; others with a gun. But apart from those extremes, the rest of us settle for the daily battle of life, suffering the pressures and duties, drifting occasionally into anger, frustration, self-indulgence, and sometimes even happiness and the higher planes of euphoria, generally reserved for those with perseverance and stamina. My trouble often is that my impatience prevents me from seeing the broader view of life, and I find that I get all wound up over what can easily be accomplished with relatively small effort. But nonetheless, in fairness, there is still a lot of determination required to get the otherwise inert animal in man going - little things like hunger, shelter and the tax department. Theses basics, I find, can propel man into the most exalted states of commitment and pleasantness. Business is so often not just the bending of the will of another, but the unified effort to accomplish a common cause. If more people would keep the latter objective in mind in their daily affairs, our economic prosperity in Canada would be the better for it. The apparently disparate goals of management and labour is the source of endless useless conflict, for both parties; and I must say that my heart lies less with the unions than otherwise. October 13, 1986.
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