16 thoughts on “today”

  1. No, no, tomorrow we move to a warmer season where we fruit and die, only to be reborn again.

    Yeah, you are right, make the most of the light evenings – riding at 10 – ha – in six months it will be too dark at 3!!!

  2. I’m with Rosemary on this one, better thinking about warmer season then the shortening days. I often think the hope of August is what keeps me from being sad at the end of June as the days begin to decline. But at least we’ve got a few months with lots and lots of daylight still!

  3. Friday night. Home midnight, bed 2.30am. Put the light out and realise it’s not dark. The sunset has segued into the dawn and the local youff are roaring in Argyll Street. After the quiet of Colonsay it’s hard to bear. There will be many more light nights, but this is the longest. I may graduate to shutting the curtains …
    Happy Solstice to you too!

  4. “plunge into darkness”???!!!
    Having a bad week?

    I must admit, it’s been so much easier getting up lately since it’s not dark out, and I’ll be sorry to have it become more difficult again.

    Still, summer is ahead, and I don’t associate that with plunging into darkness! Plenty of light ahead of us.

  5. Not a bad week at all. Just the sad reality: it is all down hill from here, no matter how much you all profess the joys of summer (midges and rain, for example?).

    Come on ‘fours’: where are you when I need your dramatic melancholy?

  6. no no no, we have got to find the blessing in midges….they must have one somewhere. I’m sure there’s even a Psalm for them 🙂
    As to rain, well I know this won’t really help, but in 1994 I spent a month in the New Mexico desert having crossed Texas in a van. I learned a lot about myself – (1.) I get desert sickness in Texas (honestly it just goes on for miles and miles); (2) Despite loving to read the Desert Fathers – I COULDN”T HACK IT and think they all must have been a bit strange; (3) No rain = hardly any life. This last point was really brought home in New Mexico where some parts had had no rain for two years, the Pueblo were beginning to consider old tribal dances to bring it, and the animals were dying in the fields. Ever since then, I have seen the rain and thanked God for it. I still get low in February (who wouldn’t) but I never stop seeing the blessing in the rain. At the end of that trip, due to a slightly long story that i won’t bore you with, I left New Mexico to return to Scotland via Miami. the first thing I did at the hotel in Miami was go for a swim in the out door pool in the rain….it was great…the rest of the guests looked at me as if I was totally mad.
    Midges, I’m still working on. If they get too much come into Glasgow and have a coffee.

  7. Oh I give up. Too many optimists!

    Now that it’s all over, shall I tell you that I nearly consecrated a midge today? He was floating elusively in the chalice and I heard my inner uncensored voice say, ‘send your spirit upon this bread and wine and midge…’ I didn’t mean to. It just kind of appeared from the subconscious stream.

    And before this gets out of hand: no, he was not consecrated. No intention, you see.

  8. Oh my, you saw the Holy Midge of Dunoon. It hasn’t been seen in several generations. Doug the midge of Dunoon it used to be called until an errant priest blessed it……

    Isn’t dreadful not to be met in one’s dramatic impending doom of darkness?

  9. Vicky, you are sooooooo right. Firstly (of course) about the desert fathers. I regret to tell you that I to have suspicions that they may, in some respects, have been a tad strange, and the odd one a little difficult as well.

    But even more about the need to be met by dramatic doom and gloom when you need it. I, for instance, have just met another hitch with the buyers of my house … now in the eternal scheme of things it does not matter, it is an irritation and further stress, but it does not matter. HOWEVER I greet with cries of joy Scots friends who say: ‘How terrible – it never was like this, and you have been so unlucky.’ And English friends (whose northern creeping shoddy house selling habits are IMO responsible for all of this) who say: ‘It is always like this, are greeted with grumpiness.

  10. The fly in the ointment of the old Scots system is that if several are after one house you are blind bidding. I always thought more transparency would have been good.

    But the English system is based on an ‘agreement’ that nobody means anything they say and nobody is to be trusted. Of course in a time of falling prices, the temptation is to accommodate the English buyer by playing along.

  11. I must confess to a great deal of ignorance about both system (and this AFTER buying a flat in Glasgow), however, what I *do* know of the English system sends shudders of horror down my spine. When James and I were buying, we were absolutely agreed in our relief at doing the business in Scotland. And we were lucky enough to land ourselves a fixed-price arrangement. We got what we wanted, the sellers got what they wanted and it was all very civilised. Rosemary, sounds like what you’re dealing with is anything but! So, yes, I’m fully in agreement that times of woe should be met with glooms of solidarity!

    On another tack, I do have a fondness for the desert. I once spent a summer in the desert of Eastern Washington, and it did have it’s charm. However, I agree that it is also deeply strange and those who live there (especially in the wilderness bits!) are also somewhat strange. It is always a surreal experience in the Northwest to cross the mountains, and go from dry, dry, dry to deep, evergreen forest, and (usually) rain and suddenly realise that the Ocean and the Sound are not far off.

  12. I know I’m late with this comment, Kimberly, but I’m a 1, which goes to the 4 in stress, and Justin is a 5 with a very strong 4 wing, so we’re both with you on the shortening-days-plunging-into-darkness dramatic melancholy. Just wanted you to know you have company…

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