They are separate worlds, worlds apart, those of the elderly parents and their offspring themselves merging into the sphere of agedness. Each developed in habit, beliefs and character in the trajectory of their space in time, culture and world events. The foundation was laid in the family home when parents guided their children by virtue of exposure in the most intimate of family settings to examples provided by the parents. Introduction to moral values, to respect for heritage, to historical antecedents, to the prevailing culture; for the need to fashion oneself within the emerging future.

As much devotion that passes between mature child and aged parent, there are differences, sculpted by variations in experiences, never the same since generations experience life in their own way through the formation of group reaction to the issues of the day. Fundamental values remain, as do the deepest memories of nurturing leading to the subliminal adoption of character-core beliefs.

All of which to say while, when what eventually becomes two iterations in sequence of an older generation are exposed to one another infrequently, they face strangers even though those strangers may be the most intimate of family members. Where love and respect abide, those emotions themselves may be unchanged but tolerance for divergent views may be strained.

Which makes for careful avoidance of topics whose subject matter is certain to be disagreeable to one or the other viewed from a perspective no longer fully shared, over-layered with impressions gained since the  younger cohort separated from its older guides and mentors since it is the role of parents to teach and the role of children to emulate until that time when the inevitable of departure occurs; the home containing parents and memories left behind as a new life and family emerges. Over the years affection mellows and perspectives deepen reflecting maturation within a larger society.

All this to say, one's mature children entering their own 'retirement years' do not necessarily reflect the attitudes and mindsets they held on becoming adult, yet still dependent. 

That said, this has been a lovely day-after and a return to normalcy. A hot day with a heated wind hurtling through the outdoor shrubbery, moving the 30C atmosphere around but not cooling it. Just as well there was plenty to do indoors and it kept us busy much of the day. Pedestrian as they come; the ritual of house-cleaning.

We did eventually end up in the ravine for an hour-long trek through forest trails with Jackie and Jillie. They know when I'm almost finished washing the floors. The doors keeping them firmly in the family room are closed, to keep them from waddling all over the wet floors, until they dry. They can see me through the doors, they're all glassed in. It's when they see me finally getting off my knees in the breakfast room that they know it's done and they can anticipate an outdoor break. 

They follow me upstairs while Irving hoists everything back into place; scatter rugs, kitchen chairs displaced to put them out of the way. Upstairs while I change, Jackie and Jillie become little hoodlums who flash about after one another at lightning speed. Jackie's specialty when he's really exercised with expectation is to jump onto our bed and taking a flying leap at the pillows piled up at the head of the bed. This irritates me no end, and I scold him and he's slightly abashed for a second or two while Jillie stands by sanctimoniously the 'good girl', her brother in the dungeon of blame.

Then downstairs we go, after I've patted the pillows/cushions back into place, where Irving has run soapy water into the mudroom/laundry room sink for our return from the ravine when little paws are briefly washed. As we made our way up the street the sun did its best to bake us into heated lumps of clay, but we foiled the sinister plan. The minute we entered the shade of the forest canopy, we cooled off and remained tool throughout the length of the circuit we took. 

We could hear the wind soughing through the trees, we could see the trees weaving back and forth, their masts occasionally seeming to touch. We witnessed a little drama; a small bird we couldn't quite identify lifting off, and immediately after it a much larger bird that we took to be a hawk of some kind. And sure enough shortly afterward we heard a hawk whistling on the wind.

Too hot, we felt, for exposing ourselves to full sun again by delving further than our usual circuit to access the trail to the pollinating meadow which itself would be full in the overheated sun. So we contented ourselves by viewing the ever-increasing bloom of the black-eyed Susans on the bank of the creek opposite to where we stood.