Today, in an effort to bring all of the positive, mystical, and ethereal forces into some type of alignment with whatever the miraculous magic is happening on the west coast of Scotland, Jenna and I drove down across from Cobb's Creek and ate dinner at the place where as close as we could figure Joe Coble worked as a waiter, which today is coincidentally a Vietnamese Restaurant right near one of Indiana Joe(nes) favorite Mexican places. We considered it a very good sign that they had a Pho with a very deep, rich, broth not needing much in the way of accoutrements.
From there we back up Route 3 to Darby Road, turning right down Ardmore Avenue where the Merion Golf Club glistened in twilight, long-grassed, golden sheaves heaving back and forth on the bunker faces.
Turning up Golf House Road, we were amazed by how closely both the 14th and 15th greens were to our automotive boundary, and I silently thanked Richard Francis for his late-night idea and thanked the golf gods for the amazing history of this amazing game, where a 60-year old man is miraculously leading the Open Championship of the world heading into what I fear will be a day of heartbreak but which also promises the possbility of becoming the most miraculous day in the history of sport.
We too quickly came to the end of our drive, and spent a inspiring, summer evening watching an outdoor concert in Bryn Mawr on a night that simply made one glad to be alive.
Memories of the brilliant past, dreams of the promises of the future...
Never have both been more closely tied and indistinguishable for me than on this summer eve, transfixed on events an ocean away.
On a thread which has had it's share of magic, I offer these thoughts simply as a hopeful prayer.