To anyone who asks, I tell them that my life since turning fifty years of age on December 11, 1998 has been the best ever. As I write these words, I am nearing the end of my fiftieth year, and I note with some interest that the opening paragraph of this book refers to the past fifty years of my life, a reference which, when I began this undertaking in 1997, had not been made by design. Yet, here I am, completing my task and reflecting upon the past half-century; and, to me this my fiftieth year has been the crown on my life.
My delight in the past year is doubled by the fact that I have the distinct pleasure of being able to look back on things with pleasure. I suppose it is everyone's hope in life that they will live long enough to enjoy the fruits of their labour, and here I am talking about spiritual and emotional products, not retirement. Life can deal some mean blows, but for some Life can be extremely generous. Just being able to reflect upon the past is for me enjoyable.
Lest, however, you should think I have merely fallen into an anaesthetized state, like unto a babbling and drooling idiot staring at his own hands, I am quick to add that some positive steps were taken at the beginning of my fiftieth year to ensure that it would not be business as usual. The first and foremost step was to discontinue going to meetings. This was an easy decision to make - at least in my mind - but a much harder one to enforce. The most difficult hurdle arose over the matter of Masonic Lodge meetings. Ever since I had joined the Lodge, I had attended every meeting except those which occurred when I was out of the country. Because I had already withdrawn from most of the committees on which I had once served, there was little threat from any other quarter. I continue to attend Wednesday Vespers at St. Paul's Anglican Church, but I hardly think one would consider that a “meeting” in the sense I mean here. There were occasionally other times at which my hermitage was threatened by those who would have me join this or that group or organization, but I had little reluctance in turning them down, on the fabric of an excuse that this was “my year” or something to that effect. In point of fact, it was quite genuine, and the more I started to reap the benefits, the less I was inclined to dawdle on the matter. Freeing up a rather large amount of time precipitated some quite extensive changes in my daily routines. For example, when I attended Lodge regularly, it frequently meant that I was also involved in the various bits of ritual work associated with the initiation, passing or raising of candidates. Performance of ritual work demands considerable attention, and it was not uncommon for me to be reciting the work over and over again to myself, day after day for weeks, from the moment I got up in the morning, in the shower, driving in the car, while preparing dinner and before going to bed. Likewise, preparatory work for the Library Foundation, getting documents ready for meetings; computerizing the records of the Heritage group; and recording proceedings of meetings I had previously attended - they all consumed huge amounts of time, and I seldom even considered doing what I am doing now - basically enjoying my writing hobby, sitting in my study in the comfort of a relaxed bit of textile, my dog at my feet, and nothing more exciting on the horizon than the prospect of polishing my shoes, then tucking into a martini or two and throwing together some chow to feed the beast before retiring at a relatively early stage of the evening. I ask you, What could be more perfect!
The second reason things shifted this year from the past routine really transpired by accident, and I have no less than my good friend, John Francis Fitchett, to thank for that. When John arrived at my home on May 16th to celebrate his birthday (as we have been doing for years), I could not help but notice that he had lost weight. When I questioned him about this melting of the layers, he replied that indeed he had lost eight pounds in about ten days! I was astounded, and I simply asked, Where do I sign! The diet, as is so well-known now, was of course the Dr. Atkins Revolutionary Diet, which has been around since the sixties, but has since gained enormous popularity with the aging and widening baby-boomers who were sadly discovering that their misspent youth was giving away to some pretty baggy flesh from which fate there seemed little if any hope of extrication. My predicament appears to have been quite normal - thinking I was eating healthy food, but getting heavier all the time. And I really had almost given up the prospect of ever losing the weight except through starvation. As it has turned out, I have lost over thirty pounds in the past six months, and I want to go for another five. All this without ever being hungry, and never having to give up the bit of jet fuel before putting on the feed bag. So guaranteed was this diet to work that everyone I know who has tried it, including my Secretary, have lost pounds and pounds. Its success has restored to each of us a new found confidence and vitality, not to mention a new wardrobe.
My delight in the past year is doubled by the fact that I have the distinct pleasure of being able to look back on things with pleasure. I suppose it is everyone's hope in life that they will live long enough to enjoy the fruits of their labour, and here I am talking about spiritual and emotional products, not retirement. Life can deal some mean blows, but for some Life can be extremely generous. Just being able to reflect upon the past is for me enjoyable.
Lest, however, you should think I have merely fallen into an anaesthetized state, like unto a babbling and drooling idiot staring at his own hands, I am quick to add that some positive steps were taken at the beginning of my fiftieth year to ensure that it would not be business as usual. The first and foremost step was to discontinue going to meetings. This was an easy decision to make - at least in my mind - but a much harder one to enforce. The most difficult hurdle arose over the matter of Masonic Lodge meetings. Ever since I had joined the Lodge, I had attended every meeting except those which occurred when I was out of the country. Because I had already withdrawn from most of the committees on which I had once served, there was little threat from any other quarter. I continue to attend Wednesday Vespers at St. Paul's Anglican Church, but I hardly think one would consider that a “meeting” in the sense I mean here. There were occasionally other times at which my hermitage was threatened by those who would have me join this or that group or organization, but I had little reluctance in turning them down, on the fabric of an excuse that this was “my year” or something to that effect. In point of fact, it was quite genuine, and the more I started to reap the benefits, the less I was inclined to dawdle on the matter. Freeing up a rather large amount of time precipitated some quite extensive changes in my daily routines. For example, when I attended Lodge regularly, it frequently meant that I was also involved in the various bits of ritual work associated with the initiation, passing or raising of candidates. Performance of ritual work demands considerable attention, and it was not uncommon for me to be reciting the work over and over again to myself, day after day for weeks, from the moment I got up in the morning, in the shower, driving in the car, while preparing dinner and before going to bed. Likewise, preparatory work for the Library Foundation, getting documents ready for meetings; computerizing the records of the Heritage group; and recording proceedings of meetings I had previously attended - they all consumed huge amounts of time, and I seldom even considered doing what I am doing now - basically enjoying my writing hobby, sitting in my study in the comfort of a relaxed bit of textile, my dog at my feet, and nothing more exciting on the horizon than the prospect of polishing my shoes, then tucking into a martini or two and throwing together some chow to feed the beast before retiring at a relatively early stage of the evening. I ask you, What could be more perfect!
The second reason things shifted this year from the past routine really transpired by accident, and I have no less than my good friend, John Francis Fitchett, to thank for that. When John arrived at my home on May 16th to celebrate his birthday (as we have been doing for years), I could not help but notice that he had lost weight. When I questioned him about this melting of the layers, he replied that indeed he had lost eight pounds in about ten days! I was astounded, and I simply asked, Where do I sign! The diet, as is so well-known now, was of course the Dr. Atkins Revolutionary Diet, which has been around since the sixties, but has since gained enormous popularity with the aging and widening baby-boomers who were sadly discovering that their misspent youth was giving away to some pretty baggy flesh from which fate there seemed little if any hope of extrication. My predicament appears to have been quite normal - thinking I was eating healthy food, but getting heavier all the time. And I really had almost given up the prospect of ever losing the weight except through starvation. As it has turned out, I have lost over thirty pounds in the past six months, and I want to go for another five. All this without ever being hungry, and never having to give up the bit of jet fuel before putting on the feed bag. So guaranteed was this diet to work that everyone I know who has tried it, including my Secretary, have lost pounds and pounds. Its success has restored to each of us a new found confidence and vitality, not to mention a new wardrobe.
On the heels of this success, it is no great leap to understand how vanity kicked in with a vengeance. I do not think I actually thought I still looked eighteen, but just in case I did, I found myself one Saturday morning asking my hair dresser whether it were possible to put streaks in grey hair, which to my delight he said was indeed possible. To work he went! Though cautiously at first. When I returned five weeks later, I told him to load me up with more colour, no need to hold back. To his credit as a professional, Franco knew enough to balance my enthusiasm with some good taste, the result being that while it is clear my hair is different, it still looks natural, not like some punk- rocker's red hair job.
It is I suppose small work for an analyst to confirm that this past year of seclusion, weight loss and self-indulgence is little more than a reaction to years of being involved, living routine habits and denying oneself many things due to the constraints of time. Whatever one may say, however, I do not for a moment regret the choices I made this past year. I feel reanimated, and if nothing else I wonder what I shall do for an encore. I am not ready to throw in the towel or go back to the old ways. And I still want to get up every morning with renewed excitement about the day.
It is I suppose small work for an analyst to confirm that this past year of seclusion, weight loss and self-indulgence is little more than a reaction to years of being involved, living routine habits and denying oneself many things due to the constraints of time. Whatever one may say, however, I do not for a moment regret the choices I made this past year. I feel reanimated, and if nothing else I wonder what I shall do for an encore. I am not ready to throw in the towel or go back to the old ways. And I still want to get up every morning with renewed excitement about the day.
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