The heat today was a furnace. We languished for lunch at the golf club in the shade on the fieldstone patio overlooking the first tee.  We were spared a measure of the sultriness by a gentle breeze. The weather in spite of its ineluctable sway did not diminish the gusto of the familial congregation; specifically the youth of 18, 19 and 20 years of age. An encounter of this scope is for a septuagenarian such as I an infrequent affair. I view this historic brush as an invitation for discovery and expansion – oddly reminiscent of a mythical query I heard years ago:

Q: You are crossing a field and encounter a hedgerow which extends high above you and as far to the left and right as you can see.  You must get through it to the other side.  How do you proceed?

A. Go either left or right in the hopes of going around the obstruction; or,
B. Plough directly through.

Q: When you get through the hedgerow, what is on the other side?

A. Nothing; or,
B. A farm house.

The thrill of the questions (and by the way there are others of an equally elemental nature) is naturally the choice and the unwitting meaning of the responses. For example, does the “farm house” exemplify a religious belief in the after-life? By extension, when Zachary shared with those of us at table his “EP” which is part of Apple Music® it was no doubt his quiet sufferance to avoid explaining to us the thrust of the album name and its patent parallel to his girlfriend Zoé.

What other intriguing detail was scattered like breadcrumbs upon the forest floor? And where would the answers lead? Frédéric’s modest assertion of the importance of committing oneself to what one believes did not go unnoticed. The pressure of imperatives of this critical nature – though clearly abstract and esoteric – are for some the defining feature of their experience. Balancing this philosophic twist of our fellow-adventurer was the pragmatic veneer surrounding Zoé who has launched herself into a three-year professional qualification of undisputed utility.

Towards the end of the repast the boys’ father Denis disclosed in an uncompromising manner his paternal affection.  It was not a saccharin contribution but rather a direct though muted statement. It was an expression which in my personal vernacular was seldom exchanged and which by its novelty was thus enhanced.

Though we may be but passing ship’s in the night, the opportunity of relatives to share these summary details is invigorating. I await with enthusiasm a repeat meeting. Our previous conflab was several years ago upon a pier over the Atlantic Ocean in Daytona Beach, Florida.