The Perfect Picnic
As the vividness of the Knoydart experience retreated and the peaceful internal space it created became harder to access, I clung on to a couple of physical reminders: the remnants of a slice of carrot cake scrunched up in foil, retrieved from the bottom of my rucksack; the evocative feu de bois aroma from the camp fire which had permeated my jacket. In time the little package of cake crumbs disappeared into the bin eventually and the jacket went into the wash. I still have the glittery precious stone given to me by a group member because she had two and I had none. And I still have the photographs.
This photo brings back a special memory. While we were engaging in difficult conversations and dealing with complex emotions, Rob had been giving his attention to making a fabulous carrot cake for us and then bringing it down to the beach with a hot drink. It was the perfect picnic.
This is a particularly beautiful memory now on this very wintry day, looking out at a whitened out landscape where picnic possibilities are unlikely. It is a particularly useful memory for me as my mind has been taken up with endlessly trying to make meaning of the recurrent themes of silence and language, maps and metaphors and of course engaging in daily skirmishes with toxic egocentricity. It strikes me now that I can struggle with the meaning of silence and the problems of ego all I like, but I cannot deny the simple life affirming pleasure of beautiful food eaten outside. This stands for itself and doesn’t need interpretation. Some things just are. So thanks for the memory Rob.




