I was prattling on about a recollection I have of the isle of Skye and the flavour of the memory was as potent and palatable as the here and now. After all my words were expended, the patient, sage gentleman eyed me carefully and completely unrehearsed and without any premeditation, offered the wise titbit for my edification.
‘You don’t miss places, you have fond memories of them.’ At the time it sounded great and I’m sure that it is true.
To miss a place poignantly and painfully is a bit lopsided. You’re so focussed on the ache within you, that it subsumes the splendid memories that you have. The balance is all out of whack. In an ideal world ‘the missing’ and ‘the memories’ should feed off each other. Deep within you, they should dance with each other. They should swirl gracefully around and perfectly complement each other.
I would want to add another element to this waltz. What is also significant is the people. It is the people that make it, the encounters that find you. The stranger who makes you welcome, that funny person who helps you to get on the right train and the concierge who smiles as you approach the front desk of the hotel. The cabbie who makes engaging chit-chat and has a funny story to tell.
The waiter who unobtrusively somehow knows your every whim and your favourite beverage. That relative or friend picks up the conversation again as if you only left yesterday when the truth is that it has been years and you have a deluge of grey hairs and new lines on your face to prove it.
By the time my cup was empty with this gent, another memory had been seamlessly crafted and one more marvellous human being had enriched me.