A Word About Scotland:

I have been in Scotland since Saturday and this is Monday, on a Bank Holiday weekend. Meaning no mail, no banks, and lots of folks milling about the streets of St Andrews.

The weather has been predictably odd, meaning Scottish. I arrived in sunshine, but with the temps fast dropping. A cool night led into gales making the back garden pines in front of the low stone wall dance about like madcap hula girls. Then the sprinkle of rain began, not bad by Scottish standards, but occasionally icy pins assaulting any open skin. By afternoon the sun had come out though that warmed nothing up appreciably. Another cool night. And by this morning, a clear blue sky, sun, and a bit of a breeze. As my friend Ron says, “The weather here changes on your back-swing.”  A golfer’s comment.

It took me a day and a half to figure out why my internet service didn’t work. Seems dear friend Debby tried to help by picking up the house ahead of time and that included plugging stuff in. She plugged the router into the fax machine’s box instead of the phone machine. I suppose David or any competent computer expert would have figured that out in the first five minutes of frustration, but I just cursed under my breath and did all the old stuff over and over, expecting–I suppose–a kind of sympathetic magic would take place. Sympathetic to me, I mean! Finally went to friend Claire’s and used her computer and when I came back managed to sort out the problem.

Then I tackled my closets. Turns out nothing–and I mean nothing excepting two odd dresses and a couple of shirts and two short jackets still fit. Everything else swims on me. I will keep the very best of the large pieces. . .just in case. The rest will go to the Cancer charity shop in town.

Mostly I have spent these first two days lazing about, reading an Ian Rankin non-Rebus mystery, drinking pots of tea, and connecting with old friends. Driven back from the airport by Elizabeth Kerner. Dinner with Debby and Bob Harris (the later sporting a broken arm from a spectacular fall), a hugely funny chat with Janie Douglas, a wonderful gossip with Marianna Lines, quick catch-up with Ron Morrison whose wife Ann is away on her sailboat). And of course a hug from Claire Garabedian before nabbing her ‘puter. Will be having tea later today at Christine Crow and John Anson’s sitooterie. And dinner with Tory friend Peter tomorrow. A dinner party later this week in St A’s. A day in Edinburgh on Saturday. Still several friends off on holidays. Folks who regularly read this journal will recognize the names. And so my 2010 Scottish sojourn begins.

Soon I will be out and checking the garden. There are roses blooming already on the bushes that climb the back wall of the house. And the plants (can’t remember the names of course) that I planted in a lovely box out front last year are blooming heartily with a delicate, feathery pink flower. These I can see from the window. May report on others. But remember, I have a kind of floral dyslexia and can never remember names.

Tomorrow, when everything opens again, I have stuff to do on the car/insurance, get a new tv box for enhanced digital or some such, some banking to be done, and fixing some bill problems. All stuff I hate doing, of course. And then, come Wednesday, my writing life commences. . .I hope. But then I always do good writing whilst here in Scotland.

Time enough when Heidi and Maddison get here at the end of June to do a couple of weeks of being a tourist. (Though Saturday I will be Edinburgh-ing with a friend.) Time enough to revisit the beloved landscapes. I have 3 1/2 months ahead of me here.

So the journal–and I–are seriously interstitial now.


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