Memories (title too short)
Are memories, those sweet special memories you’ve experienced in life, best left as memories or should we try to recreate them?
I was in a “memories” way for a short period today and one that came to mind was a chance encounter in the late 60s with a small group of old world sheep herders.
I was a rather magical moment or two and one that comes to mind every now and again… one of those that stay with you.
It involved me driving along a narrow road in the country and by chance coming across a few Greek sheep herders.
I stopped and asked if they could give me directions. Between them being new to our country and the language barrier, I didn’t get far with getting any directions.
What I did get was an invite to have lunch with the family where out in the middle of a pasture where their small rickety tailer was parked, they served me wine, gapes, bread they had baked in an old iron pot over the fire and some cheese that was unlike any cheese I’d ever eaten.
While we sat and the family gathered around me and the broken English and my comical effort to understand anything they said continued, I felt welcomed, I felt as if these complete strangers were allowing me, no encouraging me to share their lives and family and a friendship that was up to that time in my life, unheard of.
Nearly two hours later and with a slight buzz from the wine... or maybe the love they shared with me, I went away knowing this was a magical moment not likely to repeat itself.
I’ve tried to recreate this moment a few times, but the best I could do was find some okay wine, good grapes, some bread that wouldn’t hold a candle to theirs and some feta cheese that was a poor substitute for that hunk they served in an old worn earthen pot.
I finally gave up trying to recreate the moment when I realized I couldn’t and it had nothing to do with the wine and food and had everything to do with the time I spent within the warm glow of those simple and lovely people… the time that took me into their family and back to a distant past in their homeland.
And that is when I knew some memories are meant to be, and must stay memories.
I was in a “memories” way for a short period today and one that came to mind was a chance encounter in the late 60s with a small group of old world sheep herders.
I was a rather magical moment or two and one that comes to mind every now and again… one of those that stay with you.
It involved me driving along a narrow road in the country and by chance coming across a few Greek sheep herders.
I stopped and asked if they could give me directions. Between them being new to our country and the language barrier, I didn’t get far with getting any directions.
What I did get was an invite to have lunch with the family where out in the middle of a pasture where their small rickety tailer was parked, they served me wine, gapes, bread they had baked in an old iron pot over the fire and some cheese that was unlike any cheese I’d ever eaten.
While we sat and the family gathered around me and the broken English and my comical effort to understand anything they said continued, I felt welcomed, I felt as if these complete strangers were allowing me, no encouraging me to share their lives and family and a friendship that was up to that time in my life, unheard of.
Nearly two hours later and with a slight buzz from the wine... or maybe the love they shared with me, I went away knowing this was a magical moment not likely to repeat itself.
I’ve tried to recreate this moment a few times, but the best I could do was find some okay wine, good grapes, some bread that wouldn’t hold a candle to theirs and some feta cheese that was a poor substitute for that hunk they served in an old worn earthen pot.
I finally gave up trying to recreate the moment when I realized I couldn’t and it had nothing to do with the wine and food and had everything to do with the time I spent within the warm glow of those simple and lovely people… the time that took me into their family and back to a distant past in their homeland.
And that is when I knew some memories are meant to be, and must stay memories.
