Last May Day 2-Double 0 Seven

Holy crap it’s the last day of May.  Time whooshes by.  I had a contact lens patient tell me the other day that his only complaint while wearing his contact lenses was that air whooshed into his eyes.  Sometimes all I can do is just sit there and wait for whatever strange thing is going to be said next.  I’m powerless to stop the whooshing of air, or slow down the whooshing of time.  And that’s entirely sufficient amounts of the whoosh word for one day.

The weekend and work finally caught up with me last night and I did my mini sleep marathon thing.  Ten hours.  Only small children are supposed to sleep that long at a stretch.  I thought as one aged, less sleep was required.  But I could feel myself winding down and fading all yesterday afternoon to the point of LONGING for sleep.  What a luxury it is to just come home and go to bed whenever I feel like it, with a husband who thinks left over spaghetti is an excellent meal to eat on one’s own.

The good thing about it being practically June is that hockey will be over soon, and Edmontonians can hiss and boo at either Pronger or Comrie depending on who wins, and get that out of their systems.  Personally I’m finding it kind of hard to care.  Hockey seriously should end in March. 

Another good thing is that Laurie will be back from her European vacation the middle of the month.  It will be lovely to have her back, even if it means listening to holiday stories and looking at a thousand scenic pictures, as long as she throws in a few of nudes on Greek beaches.   Or Greeks on nude beaches.  Or Italians would work for me as well.  We miss her terribly!  No one ever realizes how much work one person does in a day until you have to pick up the slack.  And that makes me very nervous about going away myself,  in case there’s no slack to pick up when I’m gone.  Some days I feel like I’m just occupying space.  Umm, yeah. Complaining Space Occupant.  My non official title. 

W. leaves again mid-June, back to camp, plus this time for his parents 60th wedding anniversary.  I’m not sorry to be missing it, although I AM sorry that I can’t be sorry.  I don’t want to be there.  Sorry.  And I’m very sure not one person there will be sorry that I’m not.  Now my head hurts.  I’m sorry I started talking about it.

The weekend with the grandchildren was awesome, by the way.  I didn’t have my camera, but both D. and K. put the pictures from their cameras on my computer, so prepare yourself for over-doses of cute in the next couple of days when I’m off and not outside enjoying the sunshine.  I can stand only short intervals of yard work – about twenty minutes seems to be my max before I go berzerk about the bugs or the dirt.  Never mind the whooshing air.  That’s a killer.  But sitting-at-the-computer marathons are something I’m ridiculously good at. 

So, so long to another May.  Another month of growing up or growing old.  As long as we’re growing something.  Even if it’s only more dazed and confused by the rapid passage of time.

Everybody’s Free

After hearing these words of wisdom this weekend on the radio, my son looked the whole thing up, both the ‘music’

http://www.barminski.com/frame/sunscreen.html 

and the words, and saved it all in “my favourites” for me.  Smart kid – he knows me very well.  It seems familiar somehow, so I suppose I’ve heard it before without really paying close attention.  (Well, that’s the story of my life, isn’t it?)  But it does deserve closer scrutiny.  It’s incredible advice.  I want to analyze it.  To death.

However, I will restrain myself and print it in it’s entirety first.  Then please feel free to skip the blather that will inevitably follow. 

Everybody’s Free (to wear sunscreen)

Mary Schmich Chicago Tribune

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ‘97… wear sunscreen. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be IT. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are NOT as fat as you imagine. Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday. Do one thing every day that scares you. Sing. Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours. Floss. Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself. Remember compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements. Stretch. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t. Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone. Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself, either. Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own. Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young. Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders. Respect your elders. Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out. Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you’re 40, it will look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth. But trust me on the sunscreen.

Oh my.  Fishing the past from the disposal and painting over the ugly parts.  I guess I do that.  But I think everybody does, to some extent or other.  There are some memories that are just too painful otherwise, and not worth dwelling on at all.  So don’t.  Learn something from it, and leave it behind.  Focus on the fun stuff. 

The sunscreen bit is of course the big thing here.  Bug spray is a close second.  This weekend we made sure the four little people had both, and then, as an after thought, put some on ourselves.  I still managed to end up with one arm a little too red, but otherwise merely more freckled than normal.  The sunshine feels so incredibly great it’s easy to forget the harm it can do when you over indulge.  Chocolate cake is a lot like that too.

The thing about looking back in twenty years at yourself and being amazed at how powerful and beautiful you were -that is something that is just SO going to happen to you.  I wonder why we aren’t able to enjoy our fabulousness in the present moments of time?   How is it possible to look in the mirror and never see it for ourselves?  With every old photo I post here I guess it’s what I’m doing – searching for and finding that me I never really knew existed until hindsight kicked me in the butt.   I look at photos of my mom with my toddler children and think how young and vital she was as a new grandma.  I look at pictures of my dad and wonder why I never realized how strong and handsome he always was.  So RIGHT NOW, in this exact moment, I am a young and vital grandma (to four beautiful, powerful, fabulous kids.)  I’m going to remind myself of that every day.  Even when my hair looks like crap and I feel like I’m a hundred pounds over weight and there are fifty new wrinkles around my eyes.  In twenty more years I’ll look back on this me and see that I actually looked absolutely marvelous.

There’s just one more thing I need to disect.  It’s the part that was perhaps most responsible for K. bringing all this to my attention.  Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. 

When I was little it seemed to me like every grown up I ever met had to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up.  If I said I didn’t know, they looked at me like I had parts missing.  But I truly didn’t know!  How can anyone know what they want to do until they do it and see if it’s fun?  W. doesn’t get this and never will.  He knew what he wanted to do, and he did it.  I pretty much followed him around trying different things, learning new skills, dabbling in a mish-mash of hobbies and going from job to job.  K. and I graduated from NAIT at the same time.  He became a licensed heavy duty mechanic, and his mother became a licensed optician.  Are we both happy doing what we’re doing?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Who says we can’t pack it all in, chalk it up to experience and go in a different direction entirely?  Well – a lot of people I guess, but who needs THEM??  Dedication and focus are highly over-rated.  I much prefer indecisive and DAMNED INTERESTING! 

So – my grandmotherly advice – do what makes you happy, find what makes you feel worthwhile and fulfilled or what simply makes your life bearable.  It’s all relative.  Just be as happy as you can possibly be, and don’t waste your precious happy time wondering how different circumstances might alter your life.   Get to work, make a change, make a difference, and leave the guilt trips behind.  Do what you gotta do.  Be nice to your siblings, don’t forget the sunscreen and for GAWDSAKES remember to put on clean underwear before you leave the house.  I can’t believe she left that part out.   

Sort of a Fish Story

In honour of W.’s spring fishing trip with his buddies, I have another historical fish photo to share.  By historical I guess I just mean damn old. 

…..historic means ‘noteworthy, highly significant,’ whereas historical means ‘pertaining to history, relevant to the passage of time’; if something has a place in history, it is historic, and if something has to do with the subject of history, it is historical……

Sounds a little too close to the word “hysterical” but I think I’ve reigned in those feelings pretty well here, considering I’m looking at fish guts.   The picture is also historical because the old flour mill behind my head is no longer there.  Too bad you can’t really see it.  My head is more fun to look at anyway.  And then there’s that thing W. does with his mouth when he is concentrating hard on something. His dad does it too.  They can’t do a job right without pursed lips and tongue involvement.  Hmm.  That sounds a bit kinky.  Sorry.  He was just filleting fish on a rock by the river and throwing the guts to the gulls, but apparently that requires a lot of meticulous attention to detail.  I guess it was all new and interesting to me then.  Maybe even a bit morbid and disgusting.  But I still ate the fish.

W. tried once to teach me the intricacies of cleaning a fish. I was not a good student.  I’ve found if I completely botch something the first time around, chances are he’ll never ask me to do it again.   That’s called being stupid like a fox.

I would also like to point out the historic (noteworthy and significant) period clothes.  This would be the late sixties.  We were obviously not your typical flower children, although the hair comes close.  He’s wearing a muscle shirt with sweats.  I’m wearing not one, but TWO shirts from which I have severed the sleeves.  I don’t like long sleeves on anything but coats.  I’m the only optician I know of who cuts the sleeves of a lab jacket off half way up and folds them up above the elbow.  Perhaps in the back of my head I’m thinking it makes me look like I’ve rolled up my sleeves to get down and dirty and work harder.  Perhaps this fools no one.   I sometimes roll up pant legs too, although not at work.  Wise to draw the line somewhere.  And I still have a couple of sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off.  It’s just a weird thing I do I guess and not worth analyzing when you get right down to it, so I don’t know how or why I veered so far off topic. 

But now that I have, here’s another random thing.  It’s been pouring rain/drizzling/thunderstorming for the entire week where W. is in Ontario.  This is usually what happens when fishing season opens, and it makes the guys feel all macho to endure it.  Sitting in a boat in pouring rain is not my idea of a good time. 

It’s been a long time since I went fishing with W. -  I’m trying to set a fishing abstinence record for our camp, and although I’m sure it’s been reached already I’m not taking any chances of having someone take the title from me anytime soon.  It’s probably been about three years since we went fishing,  just the two of us.  Out in a boat, all friggin’ day.  Once he gets out there, it takes death threats to get him to consider going home.  I remember that last particular trip well because it’s the day I learned how to hold a fishing rod between my knees, an umbrella in one hand and a book in the other.  I had a great time.  I did not catch any fish at all, and thus did not have to put things down to rebait my hook or anything mundane like that.  Because I was reading, I didn’t ask any stupid questions that W. could give me stupid nonsensical answers to.  I didn’t even have to whine about heading home, probably because he got nervous about being seen with me.   And I haven’t really been asked to go fishing since.  My boss calls this passive agressive behaviour and says I’m very skilled at it.  Well, I always say you should do whatever you’re good at.  I’m not much of a fighter, but I’m patient knowing I’ll get my way eventually.  That’s called being a stubborn brat, I think.  Not the kind of person you want to go fishing with, that’s for sure.

So I hope he’s having a good time.  I’ll be fine with seeing it all second hand in the historic fish pictures he brings back, none of which are likely to include umbrellas.     

Anticipation, Part Five

One last anticipatory trip post and then I promise I’ll shut up about it until after we get back.  I can’t promise I won’t do some further research on ghosts and hauntings and even some mildly historical crap though.  But I’ll only share the truly engrossing stuff.  Which leaves me a big window, since I’m so easily engrossed by even very trivial things.

This morning after breakfast our first stop will be in Chester where our walking tour will take in the Roman Walls, the Cathedral and the black and white Tudor arcaded buildings known as the ‘Rows’. 

There’s that dreaded bold ‘walking tour’ thing again.  But from the pictures I’ve seen of Chester, that’s probably the most sane way to see the place. 

Is that not incredibly beautiful?  I hope we still posess the ability to be suitably awed after these many days of looking at things made from rocks.   I’m sure the people who live there don’t appreciate this much and take it for granted (granite) (sorry, I couldn’t help it) if they see it every day.  Sort of like I find the Rocky Mountains a little ho-hum since I’ve seen them so many times. 

 It’s quite a different thing to see something man-made.  It really makes you wonder at the level of sanity way back then. 

That’s some kind of canal along some part of the wall.  I really need to make better notes on these pictures.  Mental ones aren’t going to serve me well I can tell. 

This is the Chester Cathedral.  I wonder how starving peasants felt about this building.  Oh well.  I suppose a lot of people were gainfully employed during its creation.  But I’ve always felt that the time and effort put into making these huge ornate churches could have been put to better use building homeless shelters.  Maybe I’ll bring up that point.  HA!  Maybe not.

Interior of the Chester Cathedral.

And that’s The Rows in Chester.  Also beautiful.  And hell to paint I bet.

From here we cross into Wales and the Wye Valley to view the ruins of the 12th Century Tintern Abbey.

Yay!  We can say we’ve been to Wales!  No one needs to know how briefly. 

The ruins of Tintern Abbey and some meandering Welsh cows.  Holy cows, perhaps.  There is an incredible wealth of information here: http://www.castlewales.com/tintern.html

including some rather astounding pictures and a very detailed history.  So although this day seems short in the tour book, I expect we’ll spend a good chunk of time at this spot.

Finally we drive into Bristol. 

Where some of us will be like whiney children – why can’t we go for a ride on THAT bus??

This evening we will enjoy dinner in a traditional pub.

Okay!  Now we’re talking!  The only thing England has more of than ghosts is pubs.  Seriously, how big is Bristol?  Not that big, compared to what I consider a big city I’d venture to guess.  But there is a listing of Bristol pubs from A-Z that it took me a half hour to read through.  Some of the names were dreamed up by extremely enebriated patrons I think.  There appears at first to be some method to their madness, like taking a color and putting it together with an object: White Bear (Swan, Lion, Horse, Hart) or Black Cat (Horse, Sheep), Red Lion (Cow).  Or, pick a number and add whatever comes to mind: Three Blackbirds (Brooks, Crowns, Horseshoes, Lions, Sugar Loaves, Tuns).  And no, I don’t know exactly what a Tun is.  Then there’s the ones where they put two sort of related things together.  My daughter once worked at a place called The Dog and Duck.  I thought that was a weird name.  Apparently not.  In Bristol you can go to the: Fox and Goose, Adam and Eve, Sheild and Dagger, Ship and Castle, Crown and Horseshoe, Stag and Hounds, Hen and Chicken, Drum and Monkey,  Pipe and Slippers, Plough and Windmill, Pony and Trap, Scotchman and His Pack, Tap and Barrel, George and Dragon, Cat and Wheel, Star and Garter,  Slug and Lettuce, Fleece and Firkin.  I SWEAR I did not make any of those up.  Every one of them is a pub in Bristol.  Half the population of Bristol appears to be employed in pubs.  And the other half drinks copiously.  And I don’t know what a Firkin is either. 

They also like to name pubs the Old something or other.  Like the Old Farmhouse or the Old Flower Pot. 

This one is called The Old Mailhouse. 

This is The Fish Market.  Chances are they do NOT sell fish, except maybe with chips or in liquid form.  Like Halibut Lager or something.  That one I definitely did make up on my own.  Just trying to get into the spirit of things. 

This is the interior of the Zero Degrees pub. It’s very shiny.

And this one is The Bag O’ Nails.  It has gas lights.  I want to go there.  I want to take home 2 pints of my favourite whatever-that-says on the blackboard.  Well, home to our hotel at least.  Which is:

Hotel Marriott City Centre

And suddenly, the last day dawns.  More suddenly for some than others I’m guessing.

We make our way to the beautiful city of Bath this morning……

to enjoy views of the superb Georgian architecture and to make a visit to the Roman Baths to test the famous waters. 

If that’s algae, I won’t be doing any water testing.  I wonder why it looks so GREEN?  I wonder what color it was with all those Romans in it? 

What do you mean, we don’t get to ride on this bus either?  We never get to do anything fun!  Our bus sucks.  (sighs, stamps foot, pouts)  Grown ups can get away with this kind of behaviour by blaming it on things called hangovers. 

Then we continue our journey across Salisbury Plain making a stop to visit the mysterious and imposing monoliths at Stonehenge.

I read about a time portal at Stonehenge.  My sister and I are going to look for it.  If we find it, we won’t be back.  I’ll go back in time and live with somebody like Rob Roy.  See?  I don’t have a hangover.  I’m still drunk.

Actually, for all my talk, I’d be voted the pub crawler most likely to pass out on the table after one beer.  I just like to exaggerate to make myself seem more interesting. 

Then on to Salsibury where we have time to admire the Cathedral and its spire – the tallest in Britain!

Is it just me, or have they taken us to see the same damn cathedral 15 times?  It’s the last day, I’ll be cranky if I want.  I am never going to be able to keep all of this straight.

Finally through Wiltshire and Hampshire back to London.

Hilton Olympia

And that’s it!  Full circle! One more night in London, then back on the train to Gatwick and home to Canada. 

I’m going to be spending another four or five days north of Toronto with my sister, so I hope we’re still speaking to eachother.  I hope we can put together the biggest most boring slide show on the face of the earth.  It’s payback time for all those people who have travelled everywhere – now it’s my turn.  This has been great practice. 

Anticipation, Part Four

Alrighty then!  Ready to resume our TRIP?  Our big, bold, and ominous one?  There’s only a couple more days left in Scotland!  Time flies when you’re having virtual fun.   

This morning we drive to Culloden Moor where Bonnie Prince Charlie was defeated by the redcoats.  We visit the famous battlefield………

Pretty dreary looking place.  There better be ghosts and blood.  (Of course I’m not serious.  Or am I?)  I don’t know.  Visiting a battlefield has never been high on my list of priorities.  In fact, before now, it’s not something I would have thought worth flying across an ocean to get a glimpse of.  Or ending a sentence or two with a preposition about.  Aboooot, in Scottish if you want to get all technical.

                 

So that’s a depiction of the crazy guys who fought the battle, and there’s the memorial cairn for all their trouble.  Think about that before you go into battle – is it really worth a pile of rocks?

This is a picture from the 1800’s of the Cumberland Stone.  And here’s your history lesson for today.  Some believe the Duke of Cumberland stood on this boulder while directing the battle.  Other historians believe he was on horseback at the time, but could possibly have surveyed the ground from the stone at an earlier point . Another account suggests that the Duke may have eaten a meal at the stone, after the battle. 

So you can pretty much make up any scenario you want.  The Duke’s real identity was William Augustus Hanover, younger brother of George the third.  So maybe being the second and considerably less significant son of George II made him feel like he had something to prove.  I hated history in school - names and dates and participants in battles most of all. 

         

Scotland is a land where history, legends and magical tales are blended together against a backdrop of spectacular scenery, fairytale castles and wild open spaces.

The above is a quote from somewhere, the pic on the left is the Leanach Cottage on Culloden Moor, and on the right is a random Scotland picture that could be used to illustrate a legend or a magical fairytale-castle-type story.  Obviously I’ve closed the history book for now.

……….before continuing to Loch Ness – keep your eyes open for the monster! – and we stop here to take pictures at the romantic ruins of Urquhart Castle. 

So this would be the castle from the monsters viewpoint.  He (or she) is a creature of cryptozoology, resembles a large aquatic serpent plesiosaur and is affectionately referred to as Nessie.   This creature is OLD.  Or maybe now the loch ness creatures are just many generations of offspring from the original.  Most researchers believe that there is more than one Nessie, or that there is a possible underwater passage which allows the monster to travel.  In the United States, a similar monster has been reported in Lake Champlain, Vermont. This creature is known as Champ or Champie, supporting the idea of a possible underwater passageway allowing Nessie to travel from Scotland to the USA,  changing its identity.  So don’t tell me you didn’t learn anything today.  With our luck, in September of this year Nessie will be off vacationing in Vermont.

Excellent advice.  On to Fort William where we will see Ben Nevis – Britain’s highest mountain – before driving on to Glencoe. 

Ben Nevis

OMG!  It’s the Hogwart’s Express!!  Or it could be some other train on it’s way from Malaig to Fort William. 

And Glencoe.  I think I blathered on about that in another blog somewhere.  See why I can do all this before I actually go anywhere?  By the time September rolls around I will have forgotten about 98%  of everything I looked up and it will all be new to me once again.  Old age is a fascinating thing.

Finally we reach Loch Lomond en route to Scotland’s largest city, Glasgow – once one of the most important ship building cities in the world!

Oh, ye’ll tak the high road, and I’ll tak the low road,
And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye;
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond.

Wow.  So that’s what they were singing about.

In Glasgow we stay at the Hotel Radisson/Jury’s Inn. 

I don’t know why I feel compelled to post pictures of places we’ll be staying, unless it’s just to reassure myself that we get to sleep.  But not for long!  Because it’s already tomorrow!

After an orientation tour of Glasgow featuring George Square…..

The square has often been the scene of public meetings, political gatherings, riots, protests, celebrations, and concerts.  But today it seems like there’s really not much happening.  So……

………we drive through the Southern Uplands to Gretna Green.  Here eloping couples married against their parent’s wishes! 

OMG!  It’s the Southern Uplands!!  Whose main claim to fame is probably being the area you have to drive through to get to somewhere else.

Gretna Green is famous for its Blacksmith’s Shops, where runaway marriages were performed.  Way back in the day (like way WAY back in the 1700’s) people under the age of 21 in England could not get married without parental consent.  What a drag.  In Scotland a 14 year old boy could marry a 12 year old girl and nobody batted an eye.  Since the 1930’s they’ve upped that age to 16,  perhaps realizing that 12 is not a good age to be making life altering decisions without some help and guidance.  Although if your parents are both in their mid twenties, what the hell do they know?  But I digress.   In the 1700’s there were lots of rebellious English teenagers scooting across the border to the first Scottish village they came to, and spending their wedding night in Gretna Green.  And of course when a fad like that carries on for long enough it eventally becomes a tradition of sorts.  

This is a dairy, not a blacksmith’s shop, but maybe the newlyweds picked up some fresh milk for the trip home….do I really need an intelligent reason for posting a picture I like?  Nope.  Haven’t yet. 

Man.  Don’t EVER kiss a piper.  It only encourages them. 

From here we drive back into England to Lake Windermere in the Lake District and England’s largest lake.

         

Can you believe it?  We are in Scotland no more.   

We stop in Grasmere where we visit St. Oswald’s church where the poet Wordsworth is buried before driving through breathtaking scenery en route to our hotel.

Grasmere looks like a pleasant little place. 

  

With a pleasant little St. Oswald’s Church with a graveyard where we will see these headstones marking the places where the Wordsworths rest.  And now it’s time for us to rest at another Holiday Inn.  Tell me you don’t need to see a picture of that - they all look alike.  So, time to get some sleep.  And brace yourself for the exciting conclusion coming up.

Where have I been and what have I been doing??

It’s been a long time since I’ve ignored my blog for what – five days?  I guess my phantom trip has tired me out, and I’m not even half way through it yet.  Of course, besides that lame excuse,  I have other very valid ones. 

1.  On the weekend I had to attend a two day series of seminars to get education credits so that I can qualify to stay licensed and continue to make ridiculous amounts of money.  (hahahahaha!)  (about the money)  The rest of it wasn’t that funny. 

2.  The second day of the ‘convention’ was Mother’s Day AND my birthday.  Who plans these things??  Jerks, that’s who. 

3.  W. wants me to think seriously about moving back to Ontario.  When I think seriously about something I’m very focussed and unable to function normally.  Well, if the truth be known, I don’t know what function normally even means.

4.  On Monday I de-junked my rec room.  Don’t let that simple little sentence fool you.  The process took the better part of an entire day and involved the relocation of a wall unit.  There SHOULD have been a lot of DISCARDING going on.  I hate to admit it, but the large percentage of the junk has merely been moved to a new (undisclosed)location.  

5.  I am walking for thirty minutes on my tread mill every day.  I think I’m on about day 26 now.  Even on my birthday I did my half hour, although that was a hard one.  I have increased the speed and the incline in little increments. 

Okay, so thirty minutes isn’t long, but there’s a lot of stuff involved besides the walk itself.  I have to put on appropriate clothes.  The uglier the better seems to be my mindset on that one.  I have to find a tv program worth watching.  I have to set all the switches and timers and buzzers and bells and whistles.  When the workout is over I have to wipe the sweat out of my eyes while waiting for my heart rate to return to normal so that I can crawl up the stairs and into the shower.

6.  Work.  Blah.  A five day stretch, 3 nights in a row, short staffed.  I’m too old for this nonsense.  I did mention a birthday in there somewhere, didn’t I? 

There were a couple of sessions on the week-end that were interesting and fun and geared more towards personal well being, a nice change from cramming our heads full of optical facts.  It’s important to look at the big picture, know what your long term goals are and not get lost in the day to day craziness.  Don’t take on more than you can handle. Use the 10-10-10 rule.  What will it matter in ten minutes?  Ten months?  Ten years?  Everyone has at least one monkey on his back.  Don’t let anyone give you his.   That kind of stuff.   It all comes down to being at peace with yourself and then you can cope with any sort of crap the world hands you.  There should be way more courses on this kind of thing.  Like a lifetime’s worth. 

So here’s a couple of things that bring me peace.  A phone message from Kale,  saying happy mother’s day, and he’ll bring me a present when he comes to visit me and he didn’t even say what it was!  It’s hard for Kale to keep a secret.  It was a wealth of information in the space of two minutes, in amongst it all reminding grandpa to get a present for grandma for mother’s day because “grandma’s are moms too you know.”  Then he phoned back and sang happy birthday to me.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to erase that message! 

Then there’s  a beautiful little plant called sun star with orange flowers (awesome!) and the combo-card (birthday/mother’s day) (I get a lot of those) with a beautiful little note from my daughter that makes me think I did something right in this lifetime.  As heart warming as that all is, it fades in comparrison to this, written on the inside flap:

We’re gearing up for a couple of days visit with my favourite people in the world.  Well, I am – W. will be off fishing.  He has his priorities all screwed up.  And sometimes it’s not even on purpose. 

Oh!  One other thing.  My dad (who is 93) sang the first line of Happy Birthday to me over the phone.  It wasn’t as good a rendition as Kales, but damn close. 

So, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.   It’s what I’ve been doing, and I’ve been right here.   

Anticipation, Part Three

Edinburgh sightseeing & at leisure.  Included in our morning sightseeing tour with a local guide this morning are many fascinating highlights.  The Royal Mile, views of Holyrood House and Arthur’s seat, Princes Street, the Scottish Parliament and a visit to Edinburgh Castle is included. 

I’ve looked at pictures of the Royal Mile, and it does look fascinating.  And old and creepy.  But that’s exactly what we’ve paid the big bucks to see, isn’t it?

        

The Royal Mile is actually a succession of streets forming the main thoroughfare of Edinburgh’s Old Town.  It goes from Edinburgh Castle at the top of Castle Rock down to Holyrood Abbey.   Apparently the locals refer to it as High Street, but just to confuse the hell out of visitors,  the street name changes along the way – from Castle Esplanade, to Castlehill, to Lawnmarket, to High Street, to Canongate, and finally to Abbey Strand.  How bizarre.  But not peculiar to the Scottish people, unless a bunch of them migrated here and carried on this tradition.  (When I explain where I work I tell people to come east on 82nd Ave, which becomes the Sherwood Park Freeway, which becomes Wye Road. ) Like one name is never enough.  Anyway, this street of many names is a busy tourist street.  Well no wonder.  You can be in one place and say you were in six.  Then there’s Princes Street, which I originally misread as Princess, but apparently that’s a very common mistake.  Just another devious Scottish plan to daze and confuse.  It is in the New Town, and one of the most scenic for buildings, monuments and views, attractions and shops.  So the camera will be in over drive and smokin’.

  

There appears to be a few stupid drivers in other parts of the world – unless of course that little congested area is all sightseers.   Which is entirely possible.  This will also be a place for making use of traveller’s cheques and credit card.  I have a feeling. 

And another confusing thing – Arthur’s Seat sounds like a throne or something, does it not?  So of course it turns out to be a natural rock formation/extinct volcano.  I am slapping my forehead while typing this.  Not an easy thing to do, I assure you.  I don’t think I have nearly enough Scottish blood in my system to clue in to how they name things.  But that’s okay, I’ll have a guide book.  And it better not say it’s a King Arthur’s bum shaped hill which is another image that flashed through my brain and probably not even remotely correct.

So the above is Holyrood House (the Queen’s official residence in Scotland) at one end of some street or other…..

…and this is Edinburgh Castle in the opposite direction as seen from Princes Street I think…..

….and that’s it up close from the other side.  (Probably the parking lot was built in a different century.)  (Do you think I could get a job as a tour guide?  I seem to know a lot of things instinctually.) 

 And finally, off in the background, from some vantage point or other, the one you have been eagerly anticipating, none other than Arthur’s Seat.  I expect this is about as close as we’ll get to it, and I’m really okay with that.

Then,  just when we’re starting to believe that everything in Edinburgh is ancient, we get to look at this building.

           

The Scottish Parliament Buildings, during the day, at night, and up close and personal to get a good look at the windows.

Finally a preview picture of something has left me speechless.

You’ll have the opportunity to visit the nearby Rosslyn Chapel just south of the city – which retains an aura of mystery with its many references to the Knights Templar and Freemasonry – but more recently an important feature of the ‘Da Vinci Code’. 

Now when they say we’ll have the opportunity, I expect that’s tour-speak for ‘it’s not included in the original price’.  I really don’t care how much extra it costs for this little excursion - this is one opportunity that I don’t want to miss. 

I get goosebumps just thinking about it.  I hope it’s okay to take pictures, because I plan to bring an entire memory card for this.  I suppose that’s a slight exaggeration, but I’m not exaggerating how excited I am to see it.  And even though I probably won’t sleep after being so wound up, the tour must go on! 

After breakfast today we drive across the Forth Bridge….

……and along the Fife Coast……

 ….up to the famous golf course at St. Andrew’s where we stop to take a picture at the 18th hole!

 Then on to the Scottish Highlands……

 ….and over the river Tay….

 

….to visit charming Pitlochry village, famous for its salmon. 

 

Then through heather clad scenery to the Highland village of Laggan for dinner and overnight.

Laggan Country Hotel

This is the over night place my sister is the most excited about staying in.  It’s in the middle of nowhere.  And it has a bar.  Two things that are incredibly exciting, I have to admit.  Because if I don’t she’ll hit me.  And I certainly don’t want to be falling off any bar stools.

And there it is.  The Laggan Country Hotel Bar and Sunroom.  Who would not travel thousands of miles for a wee dram here.  I can’t even think.  Second time speechless in one blog. 

So that second part was a whirlwind day four/six (whatever, I’ve lost count) of mostly bus riding I think, so I hope the bar is open and the service is good.  Because it’s on to Loch Ness tomorrow, and maybe a raging hangover will help me spot the monster.  It’s certainly worth a try.

Anticipation, Part Two

This morning we are off to Durham which is dominated by its 11th century Norman Cathedral, its castle overlooking Palace Green and other fine buildings surrounded by the picturesque River Wear.  Time to explore this small but magnificent city…….

Whew.  Small sentence packing a large punch.  Lots of stuff to look up here.  Especially the part about ‘other fine buildings’.  Crap, how do you google that one? 

Here’s the 11th century Norman cathedral.  Seriously, who needs castles when you get to look at something this old and freaking impressive. 

And this is Durham castle from the Palace Green.   Apparently there’s a resident ‘grey shadow’ here,  a haunting manifestation by the wife of one of the former Prince Bishops of Durham, who haunts the black staircase;  she fell down it and broke her neck.  Kind of a boring scenario as far as castle ghosts go.  Really, I’m beginning to believe the British Isles are one of the most ghost infested places on earth, and there’s a lot of great stories that make this one pale in comparrison.  I like that there’s a black staircase,  and I like to imagine there’s more to the fateful fall than we’re being told.  Perhaps she was murdered by the Prince Bishop’s jealous lover.  It hardly seems worth it to come back to haunt a place merely because you were clumsy.

Perhaps this is one of the many fine buildings they’re so mysteriously hinting at.  It’s Hatfield College in Durham.  It’s there and it looks fine, so it meets the criteria.

When we’re finally sick to death of looking at fine buildings, we’re off again……..driving through the Northumberland National Park to a section of Hadrian’s Wall, where we can take pictures of the Roman construction.

Northumberland National Park looks suspiciously like the Cotswold Hills from yesterday.  I’m thinking it might be a good plan to lable whatever pictures I take,  because actually knowing the name of a place will make it sound like I was paying attention, whereas if I just say “that’s somewhere in England” I’ll sound like a pathetic tourist.  God forbid.

So, Hadrian’s wall is pretty much a big pile of rocks.  Albeit esthetically and artistically arranged. 

Those Roman construction workers were an ambitious bunch.  I don’t suppose any one of them ever dreamed that their endeavor would one day be a famous tourist magnet.  I expect it’s illegal to take away a rock from the wall.  I mean if everyone did it, the thing would shrink in a hurry.  Maybe just one miniscule shard would not be noticed.  But not so miniscule that it can’t be labled of course, to avoid the “it’s a rock shard from somewhere in England” statement.

And then suddenly, finally, we …….cross the Scottish border at Carter Bar for spectacular views…….again they don’t say of what, exactly. 

Grass, highway, a big rock.  Some people out enjoying the spectacular views…… and pause to see the ruins of Jedburgh Abbey, before arriving at Edinburgh, Scotland’s elegant capital.

Jedburgh Abbey looks like a good place to swipe a rock shard as well.  Hopefully I get over this insanity before my suitcase is full of granite.  There used to be a Jedburgh Castle, but the building is no longer standing.  Too bad.  Because in 1285 there was a ghost there, referred to now as the hooded gatecrasher.   While in the middle of his wedding celebrations an unknown hooded figure appeared – as the dozens of guests and entertainers stopped and looked at him, it grew apparent his face was that of a skull. The figure then vanished, leaving many startled people behind. Some people maintain the building is still haunted, though little supports this.  Well, considering that the building isn’t there any more, I suppose it’s understandable to be a tad skeptical about the whole thing.

This is a Holiday Inn in Edinburgh.  The one we’re staying at is supposed to be centrally located, so I’m guessing it’s this one, but I certainly could be wrong.  There’s three or four of them in and around the city.  Where ever it is, we’re in it for two nights.  I haven’t heard of any Holiday Inns being haunted, but it’s possible, wouldn’t you say?  If a ghost get’s tired of drafty old ruins and feels like company?  Or wants his rock shards back?  Shudder.  There.  I’m over that already.

Anticipation, Part One

This is my trip research.  Contrary to popular opinion, I am NOT ruining it for myself.  I just prefer to be ULTRA prepared.  Our tour is called Amazing Britain.   Why would anyone have a problem with it if I maybe prefer a slightly lower level of amazement than the rest of the group is going to experience?  I think that’s my perogative.  So sod off.  See how I’m learning to speak British??  I wonder if anyone else has thought of THAT??  Not likely.  

Okay!  We arrive in London!  Acutally, we arrive at Gatwick and take a train to London.  I don’t even want to think about all the problems we could encounter doing that.  I cannot for the life of me figure out by looking at pictures on the internet which train we’re supposed to catch.  So I gave that up.  I’m willing to have one surprise I guess.  And we have the entire day to wander around finding our hotel and dealing with jet lag. 

 Here it is – the Hilton Olympia.  That wasn’t so hard.  I’ve read and re-read the itinerary in my tour book so many times I almost have parts of it committed to memory.  I feel like some kind of crazy detective searching for clues.  I’ll be so freaked out if there are gross variations.    A warm welcome from our tour director as we drive through the rolling Cotswold Hills….. 

Do you see a road anywhere?  I hope there’s a road.  …..to Stratford Upon Avon.  Here we visit Shakespeare’s birthplace and view Ann Hathaway’s cottage……

…….before continuing to Coventry where we see the two cathedrals – one which was bombed into a ruin during the Second World War and the other, which has risen from it’s ashes…….

 …..We will also see the statue of Lady Godiva – said to have ridden naked through the streets of the city before continuing to Viking York…….   That’s exactly how it’s written.  I think they left out a second dash after the word city, because as far as I know she wasn’t on her way to meet up with some Vikings.  Although I’m no history buff. 

I just don’t think it would be prudent to consort with someone like this while nude. 

Apparently they have big Viking festivals in York.  Looks like some people take this kind of fun very seriously. 

……Here we will take a walking tour of the city highlighting the ancient Walls, the Mansion House, the picturesque ‘Shambles’ and the magnificent Minster……

Notice how walking tour is done in bold so you will not miss it and thus be less likely to whine a lot when they kick you off the bus.  I have no idea if these views of things are even remotely close to what we’ll actually see.  My sister and I both initially read over this part quickly because neither of us cared much about the England part of the tour.  It was just where you had to drive through to get to Scotland.  However, on closer scrutiny, it looks like it might be kind of interesting.  Especially if we come across a real live present day Viking.  Although I’m not optimistic about that part.  ………Then on to our hotel in Harrogate where we enjoy a Welcome dinner and drink in our hotel tonight…. 

Where our room will be on the top floor and the lift won’t be functioning.  Lift is british for elevator.  GAWD I hope I’m not this annoying before the second day dawns.  It would be nice if there’s a hot tub somewhere in this building though, to soak our walking tour muscles.  Although I consider this day that I’ve just outlined as the first day of the tour, the tour people are calling it day three.  Depart Canada is day one, and Arrive London is day two.  Sneaky bastards.  So, on to day two/four.  Right after I work on toning up my walking tour muscles.  I have four months to do this, to ensure that I will not be left behind in walking tour dust.  One less thing about which to panic.   

How to Survive Doing Absolutely Nothing

Some days are made for breathing.  And not much else.  This was one of those awesome days where I put out the bare minimum amount of effort required to stay alive. 

So I’m just checking in to let the world know my mission has been accomplished.  After my treadmill walk and a shower and some soup for lunch, I took a three hour nap with a nice warm breeze and sunshine streaming through the window.  Later, I watched t.v. 

That’s it.

The day wasn’t completely wasted if I’ve come up with a couple of opinions, right?  So here they are.  Andy should pick Bevan, or whatever her name is and stop analyzing Tessa to death.  And it’s time for a woman to win dancing with the stars, although I expect Joey will be the last one standing.  Mostly because really, who would you rather dance with, him or that little skinny guy? 

And Paris – seriously – you drove drunk with a suspended license and ‘it wasn’t your fault’?   OMFG.  And I don’t agree with Ellen showing up for work in a hospital bed.  Geez.  Take a day off. 

Now maybe I’ll Stumble for awhile, and then I’m going to go to bed.  I have a full life.  Apparently I don’t bore easily.