Our York football friends for two hours

“Hello, I must be going

I cannot stay

I came to say

I must be going

I’m glad I came

But just the same

I must be going…”

–Groucho Marx

Our raconteur and Grange bnb host Nick

Carol and I have been living in our little 55+ community for more than a year, and I’m happy to say we haven’t met anybody there yet. On the other hand, we’ve spent about seventeen weeks of that year traveling and meeting scores of friendly, outgoing people that we’re never going to see again. For that reason, those are the very people I like to call my friends.

I’m not talking about fellow travelers – or worse – tourists. These are people who tend to bloviate about all the places they’ve been – and worse – all the places “you simply must see!” (If you’re going to bloviate about all the places you’ve been, do it in a blog.)

Billy and Graham of “The Evangelicals”

No, I’m talking about the myriad souls that pass through your life in a matter of moments, when you’re on the road. Like the friendly soul who helped us when we were lost in Aberdeen looking for our hotel by walking us there himself. Or the woman on the train who kindly and with great cheer and pride told us all about Edinburgh, because she loved her city and Scotland as well.

 

“These are people who tend to bloviate about all the places they’ve been – and worse – all the places “you simply must see!” (If you’re going to bloviate about all the places you’ve been, do it in a blog.)”

In York, our Bed and Breakfast manager was a great storyteller, and enriched our Eggs Benedict accordingly. Friendly train conductors on the dozen or more rail trips we took through England seemed genuinely happy to have us aboard. (This occurs on Amtrak, too –  far more than you might tend to think.) The same holds true for most of the wait staff we’ve encountered in the hundreds of meals we’ve been cheerfully (even in France) served.

And the really important thing for me is that all these people are working all the while we are more or less loafing. Instead of bitterness, though, over their plight versus ours, they all seemed happy for us that we are traveling, even though they can’t. (I’d like to think that Carol and I are inspirations that we are still schlepping around the world at our age, but Carol is not willing to label us as old.)

Party train for Dundee United away match

All of these people have spawned fond memories of our encounters with them. These are but mere postcards of friendships, and I find I much prefer postcard friends. Postcards remind you of a delightful moment you’ve spent somewhere, without the drudgery of living there daily. (I’ll let you complete the analogy to people.)

I’ve come to enjoy a life that’s increasingly being spent in merely passing by, as if from the window of a speeding train. I’m encouraged by the size of the world that is so big you really don’t have the time to see any of it again. Just like the people we’ve been meeting.

I’d just finished reading an article before writing this that was about new ways of thinking about death and passing. Apparently, there is something called a mushroom suit, which renders your body biodegradable. Meaning no unsustainable traditional burial plots or the carbon footprint of cremation. Eternity on earth as a spore forever passing through. That’s very comforting for someone like me, and now…I really must be going.