Grasmere

Wrapped in mist like a faded watercolor cloak,
The hills rise from the lakeside, dreamily timeless.
Earliest fall hues brush the leaf tips here and there,
The colors at once subtle yet brilliant,
And I will myself to remember every nuance,
Even those - especially those - that the camera will never capture.

The day unformed, the possibilities unlimited,
Moment by moment, the evolving light teases and beckons.
The autumn air is crisp and freshened by the night's rainfall.
It invigorates the body and the soul.
What simple, honest pleasure to walk among nature's glory,
To feel muscle and bone collaborate, lungs work, senses alive.

Many other feet have walked this way before mine,
Some, like mine, in idle wandering, many more in purposeful pursuit.
In distant times we call simpler, leading lives we can scarcely imagine.
A centuries-old dry stone wall continues its slow crumbling, tumbling earthward
At a pace only the hills can measure,
Swallowed by thick emerald moss, by decay, and by time.

© 2012 by Gloria Garrett Schofield

Time and the perception of time

Lighthouse, Portmahomack, 16 July 2012

I've been thinking a lot about time lately, probably because of the exhausting trip back from the US.  Even after 10 days, I still don't think my internal clock is quite right, but let's hope it's finally getting close.

Time is a strange and ephemeral thing.  It is always with us, but I think we understand it very little.  We can't own it, control it, or hold on to it even momentarily.  With time, perception is everything.  The same 5 minutes can seem fleeting or interminable, depending on the pleasure or pain of the circumstances.  And the more time passes, the more it seems like a funhouse mirror:  elastic, distorted, even mocking.

I am 60.  I don't know how much time I have left, but it is surely less than what I have already experienced.  Sometimes I look back with utter disbelief.  Can it really have been almost 50 years since I was watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan?  Are my babies really 22 and 24?  When did all of this happen?  Was I not paying attention?  I really tried to pay attention, but I was too busy with the things that make time accelerate out of control and yet matter so little.

My amazing mother is 86.  It was such a joy to spend time with her in Tampa and Sanibel recently.  Her memory is phenomenal.  When she is telling a story about her childhood, or about law school, or her travels, it is as if she is there right now - and she brings you with her.  Time seems to pause - or perhaps it is altogether meaningless.  I know I have to savor - and treasure - my time with her.

In the last few weeks, there seem to have been nearly constant reminders of time and my perception of it.  When the border agent in Aberdeen questioned the length of my stay in the UK, pointing out quite sensibly that I will have been here for 8 months in 2012, I was inexplicably stunned.  Somehow, I hadn't thought of it that way.  As he said, "8 months is not visiting.  You're living here."  Oh, right.  I guess I am.  I had thought of living here as something I might be doing eventually, not something I was already doing.  That was a very eye-opening and educational conversation.  Suddenly my perspective shifted and time was somehow different, but nothing had actually changed.

"What it all comes down to is that I haven't got it all figured out just yet" sang Alanis.  I don't expect to figure it all out, or even much of it, but maybe I can be more of an expert on the one topic I ought to know something about:  me.  I know that I'm incredibly lucky to have the options and opportunities that I have at this time in my life, and I know that I truly do appreciate them more than I would have 40, or 20, or even 10 years ago.  That's a nascent start.

Inverness -> Aberdeen -> Amsterdam -> Atlanta and Beyond

Tomorrow I will reverse the trip I made on 11 January.  I will not only be reversing the route itself, but the trip will also be the "reverse" in the sense that, rather than going from the familiar to the unfamiliar or the known to the unknown as I did in January, I will be traveling back to the familiar, to family, friends, and the southern US which, until 3 months ago, has been my home all of my life.

But the biggest difference is that tomorrow I will not be traveling alone.  I will be bringing Lynden with me, and I hope I can be one-tenth the "tour guide" he has been for me.  Competing with the raw, wild, and genuinely awe-inspiring natural beauty of the Scottish Highlands is a tall order indeed!  We plan to visit the north Georgia mountains and North Carolina, and to do some hiking on the Appalachian Trail and elsewhere.

Later in the visit we will spend some time in Florida, possibly both the east and west coasts, and by then we should know which one of us has the greater heat tolerance!  Perhaps I have a slight edge based on length of experience, but I wouldn't place any wagers.  This winter in northern Scotland has shown me that perhaps I'm not quite as cold-natured as I thought I had become in recent years.  However, I have to say I am a bit concerned about the rapid transition from one climate to another upon arriving in Atlanta tomorrow evening.  It's been in the 30's in Inverness after our mini-spring preview of a few weeks ago.  I remember last summer, upon returning from the cool mountainous region of Guatemala to a wall of heat in Atlanta, I was in a state of shock.  I'm hoping that the fact that, at least technically, it's still spring will be in my favor.

Yesterday we went for a walk along Glen Strathfarrar, where there was a new and stunning vista every few steps.  We took over 230 photographs (I've posted a few below), including several groups of mountain goats, and we saw a fox that wasn't interested in posing.  It was a gorgeous day, perfect weather, and a fitting send-off.  I found my eyes lingering on now-familiar scenery, well aware that it would be several months before I would look upon it again in person.  While many of the day's photographs turned out to be excellent, we agreed that they did not capture the beauty that our eyes had seen.

Today dawned gray and drizzly, and as I write this approaching mid-day the rain is continuing.  If the weather continues this way until tomorrow, maybe it will make it a bit easier to finish packing and fly away.

The first mountain goat of the day was not particularly camera-shy.

Yes, the sky really was that blue!

Cuckooflower

Home

As I write this on April 3rd, I have been in Scotland nearly 3 months.  I return to Atlanta 2 weeks from tomorrow, which has caused me to reflect on what I look forward to (and don't look forward to) about that fast-approaching event.

What I look forward to most of all is seeing my children, my sister, my friends, and my little dog Daisy.  I also look forward to showing Lynden the Atlanta area and as much of the southeastern US as we can possibly squeeze in.

What I look forward to least of all is the heat and humidity, which can be so energy-sapping.  I just hope there will be a few weeks of weather that is not oppressively, stiflingly hot.  Hey, I can dream, right?

There will be lots of catching up to do with friends, lots of errands to run and things to take care of - God only knows what's become of my mail since I have long since exceeded my already-specially-extended hold period! - but I'm sure all of that will sort itself out in due course. 

With any luck, I will remember how to drive, and remember to do it on the right-hand side of the road!  I am sure I will fall back into some old habits, but perhaps I will also bring some newly-made ones back to Atlanta with me.  I know that things will feel both familiar and strangely foreign, the way they did when I first arrived here.  It's remarkable how quickly the unfamiliar becomes familiar, and the familiar becomes habit, until you don't even notice it anymore.

But Scotland is not one of those things.  Today dawned with a startlingly beautiful 4-6 inches of snow.  Even though it was in the weather forecast as a very real possibility, it followed a week or more of spring warmth and sunshine, and consequently the world was made new again, easy to see with fresh eyes.  So profoundly beautiful, I know I will miss it terribly.

I have felt so at home here.  Home:  it's a powerful word.  Home.  It's more than the place where you have your belongings.  It's the place where you can be your truest self, where you can relax in your own company, and read, think, or do absolutely nothing.  It's the place you long to return to when you have been away, or when you're tired or don't feel well.  Home is a feeling, a state of mind.

I know I'll be back.
 

Happiness and contentment

Parsley, basil, mint, and sunshine

Everyone knows that happiness is more than just the absence of sadness or strife.  Happiness, and its nearly identical twin, contentment, are something more, and above all else they are elusive.

What is happiness?  Most people would say they know it when they feel it, and most would probably also admit to not feeling it often enough.  It can be hard to grasp, and harder yet to keep.

As Americans, we're told that, along with life and liberty, the pursuit of happiness is an inalienable right.  It's in the Declaration of Independence, so it must be true, right?

I feel like I've spent most of my life waiting for the "next big thing" to happen to me:  the thing that would finally make me happy.  There have been so many of those "things" through the years, with retirement being one of the most recent ones.  In between there have been lots and lots of mini-goals, what most people (including me) would call "something to look forward to," i.e. something to help you to put one foot in front of the other and get through as many days as necessary to reach the appointed promised land.

The trouble with this approach to life is that with every sigh of "Oh, how I wish it was time for my vacation!" or "Only 273 days until retirement!" you're basically wishing your life away.  Believe me, I know.  I'm as guilty as anyone.  It seems like just last week I was 25.  But, in fairness, you've got to do what you've got to do to get through what you've got to get through.  I certainly did, so I'm not judging.

I've made up my mind that I'm not going to do that anymore.  Life is precious, and none of us knows how many days we are allotted.  As Carly Simon told us so many years ago, I'm going to "...stay right here 'cause these are the good old days."

As I write this post, I'm happier than I have been in a very long time, and it has nothing to do with things, events, or other distractions.  It does have everything to do with feeling comfortable living in this 60 year old skin, with laughter, with spending time close to nature, and with good and loving companionship.

I hope to be able to sustain this happiness - this contentment - in a way I have never been able to do:  by embracing every day to the fullest, with gratitude, optimism, and my eyes open wide.

Too corny?

Water

Water:  I like it all.  As found in nature, that is.  The beach, of course.  But I truly do mean all of it, or at least all that I have experienced.  From the vast ocean to a tiny babbling brook, from a calm lake or a tiny tadpole pond to a roaring waterfall, to rivers of all types, the sight and sound of water gives me a feeling of connectedness that I just don't get from anything else.

Growing up in Tampa surrounded by water, I took it for granted.  I guess that's what most children do, but it is the one thing about Florida that I have consistently missed.  For the last 20 years, on my annual pilgrimage to Sanibel, reaching the first bridge over any body of water makes me smile inside.  And even visiting my parents in Tampa, approaching the bridge onto Davis Islands makes my heart lift and my mind drift back to all the times I crossed the bay on a school bus as a child.

There is water in Atlanta, of course.  There's the Chattahoochee River, and any number of smaller rivers, creeks, and ponds.  And if you go a bit further outside the perimeter, there's Lake Lanier, Lake Allatoona, and many other man-made lakes as well as whitewater rivers, waterfalls, and more.  But somehow that water never seemed close enough at hand, and I yearned to feel that connection more strongly, the way I had as a child.

Inverness is intertwined with water.  Of course, there is the River Ness, leading to fabled Loch Ness.  But there are also the firths - Beauly, Inverness, Moray, Dornoch, and Cromarty - leading to the North Sea.  The North Sea!  There is even a man-made waterway - the Caledonian Canal - a fascinating and historic man-made achievement in its own right.  And all of this is strictly in immediate proximity to Inverness.  If you venture further, you will find more water.

Enough to satisfy even me.

I've included below a small selection of photos I've taken of some of the water I've seen and experienced since arriving in Scotland a mere 4 weeks ago.

Rosemarkie on the Black Isle

Beauly Firth from Craig Phadraig

Hill lochan near Blackfold

Muirtown Pools and the Beauly Firth

Loch Ness from the beach at Lochend

Same view, through the gorse

Beauly Firth from Blackpark

Towards the Black Isle from Whiteness Head

River Ness and city centre from Inverness Castle

Mute Swans on the ice on Loch Flemington

Cromarty Firth viewed through Cnoc Fyrish Monument

Rocky surf near Chanonry Point on the Black Isle

Muirtown Basin on the Caledonian Canal

Rogie Falls on the Blackwater River

Inverness city walk

Inverness seems to be a very pedestrian-friendly city, and the pedestrians certainly take advantage of it.  You can walk along the River Ness, across multiple bridges, even on the Ness Islands, right into the "city centre" (what we would call "downtown"), by homes and businesses old and new, almost always well-planned, well-landscaped, and thoughtfully set out just as you would want them to be if you had planned them for your own pleasure.  You can visit an actual castle, which now holds courts, with a spectacular view of what lies beyond.

A view from Inverness Castle

Inverness, the unofficial capital of the Highlands, gives the impression of being more cosmopolitan than its population of only around 60,000 would lead you to assume, but I suppose the world is simply a smaller place these days, no matter where you go.  International influences and cultural opportunities abound, and it seems it even has a special niche where weather is concerned, at least in winter, usually shrugging off the worst of what areas to the south and west have to endure.

Finally, it is intimately surrounded by so much natural beauty - forests, mountains, coastline, lakes and rivers - that it would take a lifetime to explore it all.

It is truly a very particular paradise.