My husband once bought a pair of shoes while on business in Bruges. Now while walking along the streets in the fashion forward and eccentric expression promoting Belgium, these shoes were a smashing hit. He was right in there with the hip and cool, both states he and I don’t bother too much about pursuing, but when a genuine like of something falls there, we do not eschew it. However, upon returning home to England, universally the shoes were consistently inspiring those who loved him to report that it looked like he had baked potatoes (a la a trip through the wardrobe department of Star Trek) on his feet. After I spontaneously gave a scarily similar opinion when he and I first met, the shoes in question now live in our emergency kit which at all times is left in the trunk of the car. They remain shoes that are comfortable to walk miles and miles in and will come in handy, but only if the world is coming to an end after being caught out at a fancy dress dinner in Italian loafers and you find as a matter of life and death you need to immediately walk directly from said restaurant to safety in Canada handy. ( 🙂 N, I forever love you and your willingness to go out limbs…we loose a few, but win a few too)
I have noticed that often things in life are like this. We have site and moment specific love affairs with items or activities or foods or events or people that later, when revisited in the light of day somewhere else, have lost their luster or ability to be repeated.
The last time I was in Denmark, my father and I spent a wonderful afternoon picking berries, working and talking in the garden. I am afraid that this time I arrived in Denmark with expectations for a repeat performance. This year however, the summer was so warm and dry in Scandinavia that there were not many berries to be had.
So my Dad and I picked a few, but I am left with the memories from the trip before…it was for that moment then, and the future brings something, else, something new when we can let go of expectations and we allow it to.
What happens in Bruges, stays in Bruges at times. The past is the past. The now is all there ever really is.