Pétanque Boules

If I were Queen of France for a day, I would toss aside my cumbersome gown in Paris, don my royal sweats, and summon my favorite companions to a countryside château for a game of pétanque. There, amid the vineyards, I’d serve the finest wines—perfectly paired with scandalous quantities of movie-theater candy—and delight in the simple pleasure of watching the steel balls dance.

Why? Because pétanque is a metaphor for friendship itself. Wherever one ball rolls, the others follow. When they scatter, one well-aimed toss brings them tumbling back together. So chaotic is the competition that it appears to be a game of chance. But a wise queen knows: it’s all strategy. One must tell a tall tale in the presence of gullible believers, and a lude high school joke at precisely the right moment to elicit a snigger. As for the memories, sharing is essential to their vitality forevermore.

We keep in touch across time and space, but our group cannot play pétanque from afar. Therefore, the gift was proximity.

Wayne, Nancy, Lesley, Hutch, Endriss, Amy, Ellie, Andy, Laurie, Dan, Todd, and Holly—thank you for coming together. And to our gracious hosts, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for making it so.