I bought the CD

            The clouds parted as if on cue. After morning torrential rains, we were able to leave our beach rental and head to a local outdoor brewery where there was also food and music. As someone who could only participate in two of the three, I sat eating my lunch waiting for the band to begin. There were only four musicians, but their talent was impressive and the music filled my soul. Feeling my enthusiasm from the stage, they played an Allman Brothers tune just for me! No wonder when it came time to leave, I left a tip and bought their CD. I wanted to be able to return to the perfect afternoon but, unfortunately, when I listened to it when I got home it was nothing like the music I’d heard.

            I was reminded of a story about a famous wine connoisseur who was asked to name the greatest bottle of wine he’d ever had. Given the fact that he’d tasted some of the finest, most expensive, wines on the planet, everyone was shocked when he said it was a very ordinary bottle of wine, the kind you can buy in a grocery store and open with a twist of your wrist. “It’s true,” he said to the bewildered crowd. “I was in a row boat with the woman who would eventually become my wife, he explained. “A misty rain was falling, and to this day I cannot recall a wine more spectacular. I’ve bought it many times since, but it has never been the same.”

            There’s something about a moment. No stereo can recreate it, no amount of money can reproduce it. Despite lifting a cell phone throughout a concert, the footage is never the same as seeing the show live. Despite the fact that all the same people are gathered around the table as before, the evening lacks the spark from the last time you were together. (And don’t even get me started on movie sequels, or remade song!)

The problem is, moments are like sand in our hand. No matter how hard we try, the grains will slip through our fingers, leaving only memories of the sand’s softness and warmth. Moments are given, then they’re gone. Trying to hold on to a moment, or recreate it, never works and sometimes it’s lost through the very act of trying to hold onto it. 

            Summers are often filled with wonderful moments. Perhaps this summer we can open our clenched fists and enjoy the moments as they happen. It may mean taking less photographs, buying less CD’s. But it also may mean that by letting go we receive more than we’ve ever had before.