As I'd intended, I threw myself into as many as possible of the Summerfaire activities. There were a couple I was not able to get to, and I was disappointed to be unable to attend the opening ceremony. As for the rest of the events, they were thouroughly enjoyable, and clearly those responsible had put a lot of time and work into planning their contribution to the celebrations.

Twilight Serenity did quite well in the inter-guild challenge, though I'd hoped the team would be larger than it turned out to be. But we all have calls on our time.

Of all the events, I think the Dance Party held on the island stands out most in my memory. It was well-attended, and all who were there seeemed intent on making the event as enjoyable as possible. I somehow found myself taking part in a competition for the men there, and then sat with a glass of wine to watch the rest of the evening. Next was a contest for the ladies ... and then the couples took to the area marked out as the dance floor.
I watched as pairs of adventurers glided around, many of them seemingly lost to the event, lost to thoughts of Summerfaire as they moved to the music in each others' arms. And I thought of times - too long ago - when the gift of such times had been mine. Dances at guildhalls ... or moments in another persons arms. Just two of us somewhere, singing softly in the absence of music. But the music, or any other companions, were not needed at those moments ...
A melancholy mood came over me as I watched those couples. The event finished soon afterward, and I took my leave. I roamed the lands for a time, and then thought that perhaps I should take the benefit of the training I'd done. Perhaps a visit to the trainer would give me some sense of achievement, would lift that cloud of melancholy from my mind.


It didn't.

I was at the Dundee Inn about a mooncycle ago, chatting with a few others. There were assorted friends, people who'd wandered in alone, some couples who'd stopped by for a short while before going off to whatever it was they had planned.
Sometimes, when you speak with a couple, it seems almost like an intrusion. They have their own private jokes, they make comments about things they've done, and they bring up memories of places they've been, sights they have seen. It's not deliberate of course, not a way to exclude others from conversation. It's just the way that two people who share their lives speak.
These shared memories enrich life, provide a bond between two people, between a group of friends. And reference to them adds to conversation, reinforces the bonds of comradeship or love that already exist.
As conversation flowed over and around me at the Inn, I realised that was missing from my life. Compared to others, I have few of those shared memories. There are, of course, recollections of things done. Such as the time a few of us decided to explore the rat nursery beneath the Inn even though most were woefully lacking the strength needed for such an expedition. Still, we all survived - just! - and it was something about which we could later speak.
I determined that I needed to increase my stock of these shared memories, to find more I'd in future be able to share with others. And Summerfaire was fast approaching - an ideal time, I thought, to make the attempt.