Day 10- Rembrandt, Big Brother and Tatties

It's hard. I want to be home so badly.  Consquently part of me wants to sit somewhere and be miserable, but the other penny pinching part of me doesn't want to waste time and rescources sitting around feeling sorry for myself. Jim says he's doing fine with the kids, and I talked to and saw them on google hangouts today so that helped...a little. 

Its different being in Edinburgh after a week of crawling through castles,  churches and museums all through Scotland. It was like getting a crash doctorate (Andria and I keep testing each other, we may or may not know the Scottish monarchy almost as well as all of the US presidents).  Now when I see things like the sign "Flodden's Wall" I don't just see a sign tacked onto an old stone wall, I can picture Queen Margaret's room at Lenlithgow.  I remember sitting on the floor where she sat waiting and waiting for her husband (King James the IV) to come home (he didn't).  

When I was here last Saturday, I took lots of pictures of the actual physical city. This week I took more pictures of life in the city so one could see how crazy it is to see modern people living in a city that looks like a time machine.  

During the Jacobite years (Outlander) the castle housed the biggest cannon you have ever seen (it's there now, having been returned recently from London). Bonnie Prince Charlie took the town and Holyrood Palace from the English, but couldn't take the castle on the hill. After the rebellion, the townspeople lived in holy fear Big Brother would come crashing in (literally) if they stepped out of line.  Living in San Diego I can't imagine waking up every day to that silhouette watching over the whole city (and I say that as someone who loves the castle).  

These are the Scotsman steps. If there's one thing I've learned it's that the Scottish people like to discuss everything at great length.  These marble stairs were a compromise that connected the old city with the "new" city (which is now also very old).  

There is no end of things to do in Edinburgh so we rallied forth this morning and set out to drown out our woes in bigger things that reminded us of the grand scope of time and God over small things like airlines and storms.  And that's how we ended up at the Scottish National Art Gallery.  

Now I'm not really an "art" person. I try to appreciate it, and I do better if someone is around to explain it to me, but the written word is my poison of choice.  I'd much rather be in a stuffy garret somewhere with Jamie and a printing press (this one printed Ivanhoe and Waverley!) than in a salon somewhere with a paintbrush.  

We've been many times to the art museums in San Diego and LA, so I was expecting something similar.  So imagine my shock and surprise when the first painting is a Rambrandt, and the next one, and next one...and next one is too. There's Bottecilli...Raphael...everyone.  THE REAL THING.  And they aren't behind glass and the frames are real and cracked. There isn't a line you have to stay behind without someone in a uniform barking at you to stay back.  You could almost put your nose on THE ACTUAL BRUSH STROKES of Gainsborough and Durer.  Maybe this is not big news to anyone who's been to the Louvre? (I have no idea)  But it felt insane.  I also was familiar with a lot of the halls, palaces and places they once hung and for what people.  It truly was like looking at the world as though it was happening right in front of me in the 1500's or whatever.  I now have a small list of copies I need to hang in my house (Lisa, help?).  

There was one thing I didn't get to try (food wise) this trip and it was baked tatties (potatoes).  They're everywhere and on almost every menu, but they have ominous words like "mayo and chippers" next to them which makes ordering one a bit risky.  So when we left the art museum I googled "best potatoes in Edinburgh" and it took us to a place called "Tempting Tatties".  It was like Subway for potatoes.  The server was patient with us as we painstakingly tried to figure out what all of the mystery toppings were.  I got some sort of chicken chili thing that he claimed was spicy but was in actuality less spicy than Doritos. It was amazing.  I spent a lot of my childhood (and current life) eating baked potatoes for breakfast with whatever I can find in the fridge thrown on top, so this was my happy place.  I could eat there breakfast, lunch and dinner as long as I got an occasional bowl of soup thrown in.  It was in between lunch and dinner, so our server kindly chatted with us the whole time and gave us directions to the Water of Leith Walkway.   

It was more like Wonka's chocolate river (and flooded) which made navigating the walkways a bit tricky but fun (and it flows through the heart of the city!).  

All in all it was a lovely (if a bit introspective) day. There was also a rugby match between Scotland and Wales and it literally felt like we were in the World Quidditch Cup with Ron and Harry.  And yes, they do just randomly break out into lusty song here.  

Day 8- Nessie, Castle Leoch, Game of Thrones and Clan Ramsay

Winter is coming.

Overall the weather has been super mild and lovely here. They say if you don't like the weather in Scotland, wait fifteen minutes. I've never liked that saying, because lots of people say that about where they live (except Southern California, where we're pretty sustainably warm and sunny).  The fifteen min quote though, is absolutely true about Scotland.  It can go from sunny, to foggy to raining, then back to sunny again before I can decide which coat to take off.  Today we threw snow into the mix for good measure.  Even though I grew up in the mountains (which gets way more snow than Scotland) I'd never witnessed the physical snow level dropping. We were crawling around the Urquhart castle ruins at Loch Ness when we stumbled across a fine elderly gentleman who was as anxious to find someone who wanted to chat about Picts and bards and McDonalds as much as we were anxious to listen. It was a match made in heaven. So there in the crumbling castle kitchen where some fine Mrs. Fitzgibbons type had once pickled fish, we stood in the freezing sleet and talked and talked and talked.  It was there I witnessed the snow on the opposite hill start out at the top and slowly creep down like white chocolate on a sundae.  Ive never seen anything like it. We eventually had to tear ourselves away only because we had to get over the mountains and  back to Edinburgh before we were stuck up in the Highlands. We do sadly have to go home. 

On a side note, I'm so glad we came in February. The weather has (until now) been everything a CA girl could ask for, and I would much rather share the castles with a little snow vs thousands of people. It's hard to really listen to the insides of a place with lots of people around.  

Andria drove like a champ through the snow. If you live in San Diego, imagine driving on the 67 with no shoulder, barely enough room for two cars, snow, and people driving 70mph and you'll have some idea of how our (albeit beautiful) three hour drive was. Roads in the US are huuuuge compared to roads here. Pretty much your heart lives in constant assurance that you're about to be hit, but your brain has resigned itself to the fate. The margin for error seems so small, but nobody seems to think anything of careening along a rock wall in the snow with a semi truck coming straight at you.  All a day in the life.  

We stopped at Doune Castle on our way in which is Castle Leoch in Outlander! (and where they shot Winterfell in Game of Thrones).  Jamie Fraser (Sam) narrates the audio guide and you can just picture Angus and Rupert having a drink in the kitchen while Claire pounds herbs.  Unfortunately, you can also picture the Starks happily existing there before everything happened.  

(see? this blog app is possesed)  

It would be hard to top all of that, but the real highlight was pulling up to Dalhousie Castle. The seat of the Ramsay Clan. It's in great condition apparently because Ramsays know how to hang on to their stuff and their castle wasn't conquered and taken from them multiple times like other places. They've turned it into a bed and breakfast, so at this moment I am sitting in a stone room with my back up against the same wall Jim's ancestors (potentially) sat against.  I can barely take it all in. 

I wandered around exploring and promptly got lost. So many staircases and hallways going everywere. If the kids were here, we'd never see them again.   

It was the perfect way to end this trip. We head home tomorrow, and while I've loved every second of it, I'm ready to give up the ghosts and hug some real flesh and bones.   

Day 7- Sword fences, buzzing stones and stinky cheese

I wrote everything from yesterday up and posted it, only to have my blogging app somehow eat the whole things and fart it out into the interwebs somewhere.  But maybe it was for the best because I'm not sure how coherent I was last night anyway, so I'll try again with the more prosaic version.  

We started out at Culloden (the battle that marked the end of Scotland's fight for independence). Scottish history is so intervowen with Englan'd's that it's hard to tell where the good guys begin and the bad guys end.  If you've read or watched Outlander, then you feel like you witnessed it first hand and it's particularly sobering. I managed to so overwhelm the gift shop cashier with questions, she snagged on of the historians on his way to lunch and the poor man answered all of our questions.  Here's my tidbit from today. Clan tartans and kilts didn't exist until the Romantic Era when it became legal again for Scots to wear them. In fact, I'm not sure the tradition would be so popular today if Scotland hadn't spent a galling centry and a half with tartans forbidden.  There's something about being told you can't do something, that makes you value it even more. The government should have known better.  But after Culloden, the townspeople were forced at gunpoint to bury the three day old field of dead bodies. They separated them by clans and buried them in mass graves.  The grave locations were passed down generation to generation for a hundred years until they were allowed to put up a gravestone for each clan.  How did you know who was in which clan though if they weren't wearing clan tartans? The answer is they pinned sprigs of greenery on themselves that identifiied which family they belonged to, but truthfully they're probably quite a bit mixed up.  Grizzly business.  

English officers gathered up all of the Highalnder's swords and took them to London and used them to make this fence for their garden. 

After soup and coffee, we headed over to the Craigh na Dun (the stonehenge type standing stones that transport one through time).  Of course they're entirely fictional, except there is an old Bronze Age burial ground nearby that has standing stones and a druid forest planted around it, so we headed there to try our luck.  (I won'der what THOSE ghosts thought about their old dwelllings being appropriated by a bunch of book fans. ahem)

After that we went to Ft. George (the oldest peserved fort in Scotland), but we couldn't convince the grounds lady to let us in, so we slid down grassy hills and crawled around cannons until we got cold and trekked over to a local dairy for some fresh cheese.  The cheese was delicious and the conversation even better, but we packed home our extras and phew...the next morning we each wondered if the other had smuggled a dirty diaper into the car.  Intense.  

After that we made our way back to Inverness to our first real hotel in days.  It was like the Ritz Carleton in comparison, sitting under the shadow of the castle and cathedral sporting fancy things like hot showers and no patchouli and weed smell.  We're getting spoiled. 

One day left to go.  

Day 6- Painted vault bosses, Jamie's distillery and Sassenachs

You know that chest pounding feeling you get when you're in trouble? Either you know you've screwed up, or worse you have no idea what you've done and you're frantically trying to race through all of the possibilities. When I walked through a side door and stepped up the well worn and grooved stairs in the ruins of Elgin Cathedral (circa 1215)  my mind was admittedly mostly focused on trying to shove my flying hair back into my hat.  But then I realized where I was...the circular chapter house of the cathedral where decisions got discussed and handed down, and discpline was decided.  I went back and looked at the well worn slope in the step. I walked slowly back in (properly this time).  The administering bishop sat on the highest chair, with others spanning out by rank. It must have been terrifying and otherworldly in maybe the same kind of way we look at sci-fi.  In fact, the round church court almost could have been a set piece from Star Wars, a reminder that the threads of history still weave their way into current culture in all kinds of ways?

Continuing with my hypothetical ghosts, this area had its own Ramsay Snow. The Wolf of Badenoch, bastard son of the King's brother.  The curator told us he was married to a lady who was very prayerful but not exactly "bonny in the face". While they both probably resented their marriage, she took to praying to saints and he took to spawning a lot of children as he rampaged through the countryside tormenting everyone with his corruption and debauchary. The bishop (in the aforementioned cathedral) finally had enough and excommunicated our Ramsay Bolton...who responded by burning down the cathedral.  It seems Cathedrals around these parts had a habit of burning down every fifty years or so (always to be rebuilt).  Until the Reformation when it wasn't fire that destroyed the place, but cold hard pragmatism.  The lead from the roof was taken to pay soldiers their salary and the wood was chopped up for firewood during a particularly harsh winter.  Without a roof, the cathedral crumbled in short order.  A giant lego set of untold thousands of man hours...gone.  I think I need to read Ecclesiastes again. 

I could go on and on about the cathedral, but I still have to get to the distillery, so I'll leave off with one last tidbit. Their were carved faces at the meeting point of each structural center. They were called vault bosses which to my American ears sounds like a stone gargoyle mafia. And I know I'm probably the last person on the planet to know this, but castles (and cathedrals) were painted! Like glazed easter eggs instead of the somber gray stone we see these days. 

After saying our respects to all of the Knights (and babies) buried at Elgin. We headed over to the Glen Moray distillery (don't ask me how to pronounce "Moray". It's not "Mor- aye" , they say it like "Murray", but whenever I say it like that, I get corrected. I finally just told the tour guide to call me a Sassenach.  He obliged.)

After we left Glen Moray we went to a historic distillery Dallas Dhu (whose grandson settled and named Dallas TX).  Scottish whiskey is verra serious business and drinking it is practically a national occupation (Also, Jim is definitely in the wrong business.)  It was so cool to crawl all over the old historic distillery after learning all the nuts and bolts over at the modern one.  I could so picture Jamie and Fergus shoveling grain with wee Germaine helping. Did you know it comes out clear and only gets its color from the barrels? (hash tag...more things I probably should have already known).  

We're in Inverness now in some sort of little hole in the wall hostel. But it's clean(ish) and doesn't smell of patchouli and weed, so I'm counting it a win. It's also smack dab in the center of town which makes walking and eating easy (two of our favorite pastimes).  We had venison sausage over stilton mashed tatties and steak pie.  Yum.  Took us several laps around the city in the rain to walk it off.   

Day 5- The Highlands, fishing village and no shoes in the house

We were hoping to find our own "Mrs. Graham" here in the Highlands, and it seems we found ourselves in a whole commune of them {with maybe a strong spattering of Geilles}. In researching our trip, I found through AirBnB you could stay in "wee whiskey barrel" on the North Sea.  Sounds creative and adventuresome, right? 

Weel, hell slap it intae ye.  It was perhaps a might more than we reckoned for.  

Don't get me wrong, the day was great... woke up to a traditional Scottish breakfast.  Downed some black pudding and coffee so strong it would put a Louis La'Amour cowboy to shame (the pudding was great...the coffee needed several small pitchers of cream to get down).  Thus fortified, we went hiking...saw some Scottish "coos' and sheep.  Climbed up a waterful and cut across some fields (tangent...they grow Brussel Sprouts here!).  

It was my turn to drive, this time up through the highlands.  It was...well...breathtaking. I kept picturing scene after scene of Gordons, Grants and Chisolms warring, raiding and trekking up and down the hills that I was flying over at 70mph.   

What could go wrong! Our car GPS had been possesed of a devil since the beginning, so it's been quite fortiutous that my phone has unlimited international data. We've been using the all knowing Google Maps with satisfying results, so we were confused when it led us way out of the main village where we thought we were staying.  We were even more convinced it was wrong when it dumped us into an odd conglomeration of trailers, sod houses and other "unique" dwellings. But no, no...we caught sight of an outcropping of whiskey barrels (they're hard to miss) and went in to meet our host Shanti. In short order we got the double sided stack of laminated household rules "absolutely no shoes and please don't use the TV unless you're lazy", and a wee old neighbor lady who I'm sure couldn't understand why it took two lassies so long to figure out how to back the car out of her rubbage bins (the parking break is a schizophrenic button and reverse is in a weird place).  Speaking of, they turn the wifi off at midnight for the health of the household, so I've got ten minutes to finish this up.  

We had planned on exploring some old cathedral ruins and a distillery, but since we were so far off the beaten path, there wasn't enough time before the sun went down.  No problem, our ever gracious host reccomended we walk the beach to the local fishing village.  He said to follow the path through "The Foundation" (what this place is called) and there was no way we could get lost as long as we kept going straight because eventually we'd run into the north sea where we could cut left to the fishing village.  Well, these aren't exactly San Diego beaches and we did get hopelessly lost in the dunes and trees before being rescued by a nice lady with her horse.  I'm assuming the North Sea inspired a fair bit of Norse mythology because there was no doubt this was Odinn's domain and he wasna terribly pleased to two interlopers from the sunny lands.  We got a nice facial exfoliation and had to walk at a near ninety degree angle in order to walk up the beach without being blown out to sea.  Just when we'd given up hope of ever seeing civilization again we came across "Kimberly's Inn" where again, time had stood still for the last several hundred years and we were welcomed into a fire, ale, and fresh seafood "Buckie caught it himself this morning".  Nothing ever tasted so good.  

By now it was dark, rainy and there was no way we were ever going to survive the several mile trek back through the dunes unless Thor himself showed up to escort us.  Our host had said that it was an easy walk the front way around from the fishing village to "The Foundation"  (when we told the Mistress at the Inn where we were staying she made that distinctly scottish sound at the back of her throat and said "Ye'll be fine, juist keep yer heid doon.".  Good to know.   

The north shore of Scotland at night may be the scariest place I've ever been in my too short of a life. The wind wasn't just freezing and fierce, the trees here are these knobby twisted things with long arms that twist down in the wind. Throw in a penchant for stone walls and walkways, no streetlight and rows of abandoned looking houses (Do people actually vacation here?) and you have a general idea of our thirty min walk home.  

That's right, THIRTY minutes of Andria and I clutching each other like some sort of scene from Stranger Things as we stumbled our way home with my trusty phone guiding the way and her phone acting as flashlight.  We did make one wrong turn down an abaondoned driveway with a big stone arch and gate (you can't make this stuff up).  My phone chose this particular moment to shout out "turn left in three hundred feet" and Andria and I both screamed and peed our pants.  Literally (well at least in my case).   

We were never so glad to see our hippie commune and whiskey barrel.  

I'm not sure our hearts have slowed down yet, but we've locked all of the windows and doors (and checked them twice) and have got to get some sleep before our vegan breakfast in the morning and then it's off to more ghosts and castles (but hopefully not any more wrathful Odinn nights).  

Day 4- When everything is so good it hurts

We made it out of Edinburgh and up to Pitlochry without running over anything.  I took several turns driving our car and it was mostly ok (although Andria may disagree) ahem.  The concept wasn't difficult for me to grasp (so far...knock on wood). My brain switched easily to roundabouts and wrong sides.  The hardest part for me was knowing where the edges were on the car. It feels like you're driving into incoming traffic when really you're doing the opposite and hugging the sidewalk...or other lane full of cars.  It wouldn't have been so bad if it was just one thing, but in this case it's like driving in San Francisco (hills and windy streets) with a stick shift, on the wrong side of the road and car.  Pedestrians, buses, delivery vans...insane. Once we got out of Edinburgh though it was much easier.    

Our first stop after church was Blackness Castle where all of the "Fort Willam" scenes from Outlander are shot.  The custodian was so very nice to show us his little album of pictures from when the Outlander crew was there.  I can't imagine how they got all of those trucks and cranes in on those little back farm roads. The neighbors must have thought they were building a space shuttle in their backyard.   

Next we went to Stirling Castle which was three times bigger than Blackness, but was trying maybe a bit too hard to be touristy whereas Blackness castle felt stark raving intense (I'm sure it had nothing to do with picturing BlackJack Randall there) .  Still, I feel like I learned the most about Medieval life at Stirling Castle and I took lots of notes so hopefully my Emilie book will have a ring of authenticity.  

From there we wandered around Falkirk looking for Braveheart ghosts (noticing a theme? shame).  We were totally in the wrong spot, but we did stumble upon the last vestiges of a Roman wall.  It was the far north border of the empire, so here we are standing in Ancient Rome on the cusp of barbarian land.

We did end up finding the real battle of falkirk a la the Braveheart scene with Mel Gibson...we actually drove almost right over it on our way to Stirling Castle.  The problem with Scotland is that for such a tiny country, they pack in so many awe inspiring moments I don't have time to emotionally recover from one before being thrust into another. I ran into a little boy at the top of a stone spiral staircase who said mournfully to his father "but I don't want to know anymore about my history".   

For my husband and any Ohio family, Pitlochry is about half the size of Poland Village.  We're staying at one of those hotels that's a restuarant on the bottom and rooms on the top. The restaurant is full of non ironic Lord of the Ring's sounding food, and after we finished our fare and curled up in front of the fire listening to Scottish folk songs, I told Andria not much has changed since the days of travelers stopping at inns for a bit of stew, ale and a bed to sleep in for the night. 

I felt like the opposite of the Grinch. The music and people got to me, and my heart felt two sizes too big for my chest.   

Church this morning was even better, but I won't even attempt to describe it...I could never do it justice.  St Giles is the big cathedral in Edinburgh and the "mother" kirk in the Church Of Scotland.    It was a catholic church, then briefly Episcopalean I think and then Presbyterian.  Since I'm also a (late to the game) Presbyterian, I cried as soon as I heard the opening call to worship and it was the same that my own pastor would be saying in a few short hours across the globe.  I've always loved the timeless echoes of songs and scripture, but standing in that old church made it all too real. It was like being in Narnia and Rivendell and Hogwarts all at the same time...but real. 

(This one from google)  

I so badly want to bring my kids on a trip like this. 

Day 3- Castles, jewels and sordid tales

It's super late and we've walked 16 miles in the last two days (which isn't really that much compared to LA or NYC...Edinburgh is smaller), but I had to record something for this day lest I forget or one of my children wonder why I missed a day.    

Apparently one castle wasn't enough for Edinburgh, so it has two.  The menacing black one at the top of the hill (Edinburgh Castle), and the more official one at the bottom where the Royal family still stays when they're in town (Holyrood Palace).  I felt sympathetic for the colossal beast on the hill.  It's like a battle worn old warrior no longer needed but still watching over its people.  Which reminds me of something else...its impossible to figure out when anything was built in this city.  If you ask, it always goes something like "Weel that dyke ower thare was built by James II but then a witch burned the place down in 1642, and the door is all that was leeft, and then King George sent a canon ball through the North side...." etc etc.  It's awesome.  

Two more things:

One, Mary Queen of Scots. It's one thing to know that story from a history book, it's far different when you're standing on the spot in her bedroom where her husband charged through the door in a jealous rage and stabbed Rizzio to death.  All of course, under the cold cold gaze of their ancestor's portraits. And that of course is just a wee slice of the pie. I need to look up one thing though because I think I missed something. Mary lived in Holyrood Palace at the bottom of the hill, but she gave birth to (the future) King James in aforementioned grizzly fortress at the top? Because...it's every woman's dream to go give birth in a black tower?

Second, we had a Lisa moment when were in the old Holyrood Abbey next to the palace.  We were standing in the middle where Kings had stood and been given responsibilities before God, and where their dna still lay. Mendelssohn evidently had the same thoughts (according to our audio guide). He was so struck by the enormity of the place he composed the Scottish symphony (Sym No. 3...I'm on a tricky phone, but trust me...google it and listen.)  

Oh, and Iied.  One last touristy thing: The crown jewels. They weren't quite as locked down as I expected from watching Ocean's 11 and the like, but the guy did yell at you if you touched anything (and I don't mean the stuff itself, but even the glass or door...which in his defense was actually a vault combination).   

All in all another great day.  Tomorrow we're going to church in the morning, and attempting to drive our poor car again.  Lord have mercy.  

Day 2- Edinburgh...ghosts, mists and trying not to die on the wrong side of the road

The next time I feel shamed for being untidy, I'm going to blame it on my Scottish heritiage.  Edinburgh is amazing.  All old and mossy with the deep bones of realness that Disneyland and Vegas do well too...with painted foam.   But it's very much like Ollivander's wand shop...on a city scale.  And Claire wasn't kidding when she said it was a dirty city, the trash seems fond of staying in the streets.  In some ways it feels like nothing has changed here since Claire was making her way up Holyrood rd with comfrey grease for Jamie's and Fergus's cold, and in some ways it feels like Scotland has squeezed in so much modern stuff between old stones it's like walmart sandwiched into Diagon Alley (no really....it's Diagon Alley)     

Iceland felt much more modernly aesthetic and minimalistic.  Like the entire country had KonMari'd itself.  They even KonMari'd their water.  It was so sweet and crystal clear, Andria and I could feel the exhaustion and weariness washing away just from the drinking fountain water.  Their bathrooms felt like space stations.   

I had planned to try and sleep the flight from Iceland to Scotland, but everytime I started to nod off I jerked awake with all kinds of burning scenarios of traffic circles and remembering to look right instead of left...or left instead of right.  Thankfully Andria did get a short nap because she wasn't worrying at all about looking right instead of left (until she pulled out of the rental car parking lot and nearly got hit).  It was good though, because the scare activated her Lizard brain and some super survival instinct took over and she drove like a champ.  My turn is next.  I'm trying not to think about it.  

All I could think about was a shower, and our hotel mercifully let us check in early (after squeezing into a narrow alley and even narrower parking spot on our second attempt at going around John Brown's barn...trying to figure out how to get to the hotel we could only SEE as we drove past).   It was so tempting to just sit in our hotel room and sleep all day, that we threw on some fresh clothes and took off before we could succumb. 

Speaking of clothes.  I'm wearing some sort of magical skin leggings. I don't even know what it is, but it was definitely created in Harry Potter world.  They are simultaneously cool and warm at the same time.  We hiked up some craigy hills and my ears and nose about froze off in the wind, but my legs were wonderful.  Such an odd sensation.  

I shouldn't be surprised though because everything about this place is magical.  Oh, and I found the perfect breakfast food.  Haggis.  It's like paleo oatmeal.  We ate our super crossfit friendly breakfast/lunch at "The Last Drop" right in front of the town square where they did all of their public executions.  "The Last Drop" may refer to the last drop of drink you knock back before the pearly gates, or the place you go before you get hanged...your last drop.  Literally.  There's also a little girl who died in the original house that was there, so her ghost was wandering about as well.  It's so weird trying to prop your eyeballs open while you stare at the actual same bricks that have been there and seen everything from breeks to punk blue hair.  Bottoms up.    

We checked out the National Scottish museum which was ten times better than anything at Balboa park. Oh, and free too.  I'm not sure how anyone knows where anythign is...every hallway led to a different hallway, which led to a different wing.  Jamie and Trinity would have loved it. I'm not sure how so many aritifacts can be found in one country.  Robert the Bruce's sword was enormous! His real sword!  I couldn't believe it.  

We had to leave though before we got to Bonnie Prince Charlie, because it was so dark and quiet and peaceful.  We were dangerously close to cuddling up to a Pictish gravestone and falling asleep.  Everyone told us not to go up to Arthur's Seat because it's miles of steep hiking.  But clearly they had never met two optimistic San Diego moms who are used to climbing iron/cowles mountain and chasing four kids.  The hike was wonderful, half bouldering, half Lord Of The Rings-esque stone stairs.  It seriously felt though, like I'd entered a time machine and popped out in The Hobbit.  It was all moss, soggy ground and hills... none of the powdery, stark CA scrublands I'm used to experiencing.   

Between that, spooky graveyards and a random, wonderful Scottish woman trying to explain "Vennels" to us, it was a full day.  

Time to pass out to the addicting sound of the news done in a Scottish brogue.MMmmmm hmmm. 

Day 1 - The uninteresting but essential business of getting there

I am not sure if moms are allowed to go on vacation, but Jim is a saint for making me go.  My biological system is refusing to shut down though, because every time I hear a baby cry in this airport, I immediately think it’s mine only to experience the wonderful sensation of realizing it’s some other parent's problem. Large grin. 

I have so many goals and aspirations for this vacation though, I think I may need more than a long week to accomplish all of the book writing, eating and castle seeing we have planned.  It’s always better to have too much to do, than too little though, right?

The TSA agent at the front of the security line has already made this trip worth it.  He was like a anecdote vending machine.  Plug in a word like “ipad”and hear five minutes oh hilarious diatribe about C-pap machines and his wife who doesn’t listen to him.  We were loathe to leave him behind to play the Russian Roulette that is getting through security.  We’re flying one of those new airlines where they charge you for everything from sneezing to using the restroom.  Like a kantankerous toddler it becomes a game to see how much you can get way with.  I refuse to pay 80 dollars for a carry on (Carry on!) so pack for a whole week in just your “under the seat” personal item? Challenge accepted. 

Of course, I would have failed miserably without bringing in the experts (in this case Julie), who loaned me everything from super compact warm clothing to a shoe hanger for the outside of my bag.  I felt like i had a giant stamp on my head in security that said “CHEATING!”, but they let me through without fussing about anything.  Now just to successfully shove this thing under the seat after we board.  If worse comes to worse, I will just wear and hang everything on my person. I figure I’m small enough, that I could attach all of my belongings to my person and I’d still take up less space than some of the passengers.  Crossing fingers.

I rolled everything up and suctioned it down in ziplocs.  My other belongings are organized by category and all of my Ipsy bags are all filed like a colorful records room. Since my usual packing motto vacillates between “though the bear minimum in a bag and figure it out later” and “pack everything but the kitchen sink”, I’m quite proud of myself. 

Of course what organized people fail to tell you is  you have to actually remember where you packed everything.  I have entirely emptied my bag three times now trying to find something, despite it having a well ordered system.  I think I’m a hopeless case.  I told Andria she should take all of my money.  Jim’s hoping I can keep track of at least my passport. 

Four hours in though, and so far so good.  Only another two hundred and sixteen hours to go.  :P 

That time you almost screw everything up...

14 years and a few weeks ago I was desperately trying to buy a plane ticket.  It was one of those Gift Of A Magi moments with the hair combs and watch chain where Jim was trying to fly to CA to surprise me, and I was trying to fly to Ohio to surprise Jim.  Our engagement story might have been a lot different if I'd been successful. 

Nineteen year old me was fantasizing about a Lord Of The Rings wedding where everyone dressed up as Elves and Hobbits and we passed out copies of the Silmarillion as favors. ... or a Gone With The Wind theme... or a  Monty Python Theme.  It's a miracle we didn't consider a Star Wars theme.   

Indubitably we have made it happily thus far due to our awesome tastes and the twin influences and patterns of both sets of our parents.  Not only did our parents' stay married, I think they actually legit were/are still super into each other.  I always took it for granted, but I don't now. May we see another 14x3 years of saying "Yes".   *clinks glass*

The kids were looking through our engagement photos (digital photos were so high quality back then) and they asked "who's the boy with mom?".  Of course Jim and I both took that as a compliment. lol