Meeting Mr. Harbor

Easter Sunday burst into bloom with gusts of cold wind and glorious white clouds against a bright blue sky, and other than Jill’s very British and understated description –- ‘still a bit sharp’ -- that’s about all I’m going to say about the weather. Instead, I want to remember family outings and dark chocolate eggs and the quiet happiness of being with people I love despite my unquenched yearning for a sense of the day’s true meaning. We enjoyed banter and bicker, a drive through English countryside, and lunch with Xander’s delightful grandparents.

‘Tea?’ said the dapper Mr. Harbor, ‘I’ve never acquired a taste for tea. It’s such an insipid drink.’ (He is not shy about expressing his opinions.) Dressed elegantly in a suit and vest, he seemed able to converse with eloquence about everything, starting with trains and politics, but not excluding the American spin on the English language, bicycles, geography, open fires, human folly, and the mischievous pranks of youth. That fondness for mischief has apparently not abated with time – even at age 87, he seems fully capable of pulling your leg or your chair out from under you. But he comports himself with pride and dignity, and at the core of him is a profound sense of love and duty. Referring to my daughter, he told Xander: ‘I want you to treat that young lady as the best English gentleman would.’

And it somehow seemed a very noble and reassuring standard.