Month: April 2008

  • Haggis

    Here is a picture of Neeps and Tatties on top of Haggis.  Neeps = bashed turnups, Tatties = mashed potatoes, and Haggis is haggis.  I think haggis is essentially lamb meatloaf.  It's made of ground lamb, oats and spices.   In old times they made it in sheep guts, but just think of sausage and you get past that little bit of unpleasantness. 

    At home I make my meatloaf with ground elk burger, some sort of grain (cornflakes, oats, bread crumbs) and egg and spices.  The truth is that we really like haggis.  If we were here longer and if we had more money we would have it again.  And again.  It was that tasty.  Who knew?  Come to Scotland and discover a new side of you.

  • Guided by a Stone Mason

    All my assumptions had been wrong.  We had tacked
    on a visit to the ruins of Dunkeld Cathedral to our busy palace-hopping (Scone
    and Glamis) day.  I knew that there was a parish church at Dunkeld, but I
    assumed the ruins of the cathedral would be separate and not subject to closing
    times.  Dunkeld was on our way home and we would just pop in anytime and check
    out the ruins.  So I thought.

     
    We arrived at 6:15 and the sign on the gate to the
    church/cathedral said they closed at 6:30.  When part of the roof of the
    original cathedral collapsed, a new wall was built and the parish church
    continues in the shortened space.  The entire building was gated and
    locked overnight. 
     
    We were enamored with the parish church.  St. Giles
    in Edinburg with her huge dimensions, massive organ, and long history is
    awe-inspiring, but it feels more like a museum than a house of worship.  Dunkeld
    was delightful.  We both could imagine our home church meeting in a space like
    this. 
     

    A woman entered the back of the church and made
    small noises to indicate that the area was closing.  Too bad!  We hadn't even
    begun to look at the ruins. 
     
    We walked outside, shot rapid photographs like a
    repeating rifle, and began the walk back to the car.  A kind gentleman saw our
    disappointment and waved us back to the ruins.  It was clear that he knew this
    site well.  He had a proprietary interest and started to give us a personal
    tour.  Look up and see the feet of that pillar?  Come into this area. 
    Imagine being tried by a church court in this room.  Do you see part of the
    painting of Soloman judging the decision on the baby?      We were drinking
    large gulps of information that he was generously serving us.

     
    He told us that he had been a stone mason working
    on the church and the ruined cathedral for 27 years.  He pointed out different
    projects he had been part of.  I never considered that even a ruined cathedral
    requires maintenance for safety's sake.  As we stood talking outside the
    cathedral, he pointed to his feet.  See this? Water was puddling up here and
    the powers that be decided we needed to drain the area and replace the stones. 
    When we dug up these stones we found a mass grave. 
     
    We would have loved to have two hours with
    this kind gentleman. He was a primary source full of information.  We asked if
    he worshiped here at the parish church.  Why, yes, I'm the beadle!  When I
    retired I couldn't leave the church after spending 27 years working on it.  I
    became the beadle    . 
     
    We didn't really know what a beadle was.  I don't
    even know about the spelling, but don't have time on my internet purchase to
    Google it.  So one of you will have to look it up for me (thank you).  We asked,
    please, what does a beadle do?  Are you in charge of the property?  No, you
    might say that I take care of the minister    .  Would that every church had a
    beadle! 
     
    Tonight at dinner we reviewed our time here in
    Central Scotland.  The organ concert at St. Giles was magnificent.  The four
    castles (Sone, Glamis, Stirling and Edinburgh) have been fascinating.  We've had
    wonderful walks and exceptional drives.  But we agreed that the highlight so far
    has been our visit to Dunkeld Cathedral and being guided by the stone mason. 
     


  • Little Lamb

    The Lamb
    William Blake

    Little Lamb, who made thee

    Does thou know who made thee

    Gave thee life & bid thee feed.

    By the stream & o'er the mead;

    Gave thee clothing of delight,

    Softest clothing woolly bright;

    Gave thee such a tender voice.

    Making all the vales rejoice:

    Little Lamb who made thee

    Does thou know who made thee



    Little Lamb I'll tell thee,

    Little Lamb I'll tell thee;

    He is called by thy name,

    For he calls himself a Lamb:

    He is meek & he is mild,

    He became a little child

    I a child & thou a lamb,

    We are called by His name,

    Little Lamb God bless thee,

    Little Lamb God bless thee.

  • Doors and Gates


    Gate at Scone Castle


    Gateway to Scone Castle


    also at Scone Castle


    gate to Bowling Green in Stirling Castle


    door from Stirling Castle


    Entry to Stirling Castle Chapel built by
    King James VI of Scotland, I of England


    Parish Church, Iona


    Open doorway into the Abbey on Iona


    Gate to cemetery on Iona


    Doorway from abbey cloisters in Iona


    And, lastly, the doorway in the rock wall outside our bedroom window.

    Enter into His gates with thanksgiving and into His courts with praise.

    Loving each day,

  • St. Giles in Edinburgh

    We were surprised at how dirty St. Giles is.  Of course it has occupying this part of the city for centuries.  It will cost 2.5 million pounds to clean it.

    This statue of John Knox is close to the entrance of the cathedral.
    However his grave is here:

    Rick Steves calls the organ at St. Giles, built in 1992, "one of Europe's finest."

    The organ recital was magnificent.  This was our view while we listened:

    The cathedral is overwhelming.
    It makes you feel small. 
    It is massive, layered, a visual overload.


    Blessings,

  • Surplus Churches

    One of the sad parts of this trip has been seeing church buildings converted to restaurants, hair salons, homes, and even tourist information centers.  The Church of Scotland has a category for these properties: surplus church buildings. 

    One of the issues involves the cost of maintaining very old buildings by diminished congregations.  The church in Aberfeldy has been condemned; it is unsafe to meet in and will need either a huge infusion of money for repairs or to be sold.  Certainly demographic shifts have contributed to the problem. 

    At one time the church used to be central to the community it served -- its pulse and circulatory system.  Now, tourism seems to be the pump that keeps the community humming.  A rich tapestry of soul connections has been exchanged for economic threads.

    The issue is complex and cannot be reduced to three paragraphs with a concluding solution. 

    I long to see our churches full of vibrant Christians with a robust faith, churches that faithfully preach the Word of God, churches that effectively serve their communities.  Lord, have mercy.

  • A Very Sad Story

  • Iona

  • Conversations

    Vowels, consonants, inflection and idiom: these
    four qualities influence the Scottish brogue we all love to listen to.  Vowels
    seem to work differently here; come consonants work overtime -- the r's for
    example - and some, like the t at the end of a word, are on permanent vacation;
    our speech lifts at the end of a question we ask, but the Scots lilt almost
    every sentence; and idiom -- I have a story for you! 
     
    When the Scots speak of time it helps to remember
    the rules of Roman numerals: if a number comes before the hour, subtract.  "Five
    eleven" means 10:55.  "Eight half" means 8:30.  I have no idea what "ten ten"
    would mean because I have never heard it.  I think they prefer to use quarter
    and half units.
     
    Idiom is the choice of words within an area or
    group of people.  Instead of counter-clockwise the Scots say
    "anti-clockwise".  And when you get a round trip ticket they call it
    "return".  I was at the desk at the Cal-Mac ferry asking about the connection we
    needed to make with the bus on the island of Mull.  The genial agent gave me a
    time schedule and marked the times I needed.  I asked about the price and what I
    heard was "Ten pound per ton."  My jaw unhinged and I asked with incredulity,
    "Tney charge by the ton?"  His eyes danced as he said, "Oh my, no.  Ten pounds
    return."       That sent both of us into
    fits of giggles which caught the eyes of everyone in the terminal.
     
    We've had several conversations where as we
    have walked away Curt has said, "Did you understand a word of what he said?"
    and I had to admit that I had no idea.  Getting directions is particularly
    difficult because we are so unfamiliar with the place names and the place names
    all have Gaelic flavors.  The few names we know are pronounced in such a
    different way that we would never recognize them in speech. 
     
    With one notable exception, the Scottish people
    have been kind and engaging.  A few times people have mistaken us for native
    Scots - that was before we spoke.  People have heard us speak and have initiated
    a conversation asking us where we are from.  "Toby" the gregarious man on the
    plane told us all about his travels in Billings, Montanta, and Cheyenne,
    Wyoming.  The man in the gift shop in Iona cracked me up.  "Are you Americans? 
    I love America.  I love Las Vegas.  I love south Florida."  Hello?  What is a
    man who loves Las Vegas doing on the island of Iona? 
     
    We saw one couple in the ferry terminal, on the
    ferry, on the bus, on the second ferry, and at various points on Iona.  We
    always nodded to one another, but in the shop they approached us.  Are you from
    the states?  We are too.  Are you in ministry?  As I began to shake my head in
    the negative, my husband smiled and said, "Yes!  My ministry is to love my
    wife."  That just may be my favorite moment of the trip.
     

    Our favorite Scot is Annabelle.  What a character! 
    She was our B & B host on Iona.  We asked her to join us for breakfast but
    that seems to be against protocol.  However, after breakfast, we went into her
    living quarters and soon we were seated at her table talking for over an hour. 
    Her brogue has the thickest burr we've heard.  Lively and opinionated, she had
    us laughing.  Annabelle and her husband John are two of the six remaining
    native islanders on Iona.  They both have lived there all their lives.  She was a
    teacher, he was an engineer, but they farm sheep and help their son with his
    farm.  Her house was warm and comfortable, an extension of her personality. 
    When it came time to pay her, she said, "Ach, I am so poo-er at this.  I just
    want to have you here as my friends.  I hate the money part."       
     

    Our 1% guy, the one who was not friendly, was
    painstakingly painting a boat surrounded by six boats near the
    dock.  We watched him a minute and when he stepped back to examine his work,
    Curt asked, "Do you own all these boats?"  He stared for a good thirty seconds
    -- or was that a glare? -- before saying "New." (No)  We kept on walking.  Under
    his breath, Curt said, "He only responds to questions in Gaelic."

  • The Full Scottish

    The Full Scottish:  Our first
    night in Oban was delightful.  Once we got our (carry-on) luggage in our room,
    we roamed the streets and walked the waterfront; even though it was after 9:00
    p.m. it felt good to stretch, to walk, to take cleansing breaths, to take in all
    the sights in this charming tourist town.  In the morning we arrived in the
    dining room for breakfast, the only guests.  There was cold cereal, juice,
    yogurt and toast, and the ubiquitous pot of steaming tea.  This seemed more like
    the Continental breakfasts at Super 8 than the famous full breakfasts I'd read
    about.  No problem.  I ate toast (they cool the toast vertically on racks, 'cuz
    they like it crunchy cold) and Curt had a large bowl of cereal.  In walks Moyra
    with hot plates (heating the plates before serving food on them is common here) full of food. 
     
    Hello the Full Scottish Breakfast!  An egg, two pieces of bacon (more like Canadian bacon) and two
    sausages (something is different about them but we haven't figured out what
    yet), a small tomato cut in half and broiled and a mystery food.  Now we're
    talking Curt's language.  He started chowing down!  The mystery food was black,
    round, the texture of bread and the size of a rice cake.  There were
    little specks of white in it.  At first glance I thought of Bilbo's seed cakes. 
    I was raised in the "Eat What Is Set Before You" school so I took a nibble.  It
    had a dough flavor and a meat flavor, approximately like the combination of
    pancakes fried in bacon grease.  It didn't taste bad, just different.  I ate it
    all.

     
    After dinner that night on Iona, we were talking
    about the mystery food.  The black color stumped me, because it had no smell or
    flavor of molasses, the most common explanation for black breadish food I know. 
    Our waitress was lovely and I decided to ask if she would know what it was. 
    "You mean black pudding?"  Pudding?  There was nothing gelatinous about this
    food. It was distinctly bready.  What's in it?  I couldn't identify the
    flavors.      "Yes, well, it has oats in it and blood."  Blood?  Blood? 
    (gagging reflex working overtime) Where do you buy blood for
    cooking?      "I'm from New Zealand, but those guys over there are from
    Scotland. Let's ask them."   The young Scot grinned and confirmed her
    declaration.  "It's oats mixed with blood."   
     
    My fillet (pronounced FILL-it) of cod was knocking
    on my throat.  In the interest of hygiene and personal dignity, I knew I should
    cut this conversation short.  But I was intrigued.  Where
    does the blood come from?      "Oh, people don't make Black
    Pudding at home. They buy it pre-made, like the sausage."  He went on to say
    that the blood came from cows or sheep, that he loved Black Pudding --it tastes
    great! --, that it probably originated from the days of poverty when people used
    every edible part of the animal possible when it was slaughtered. "Now we eat it
    because we like it."  As we walked up the lane to our B & B on Iona, I
    wondered how I would deal with Black Pudding the next day.  I decided it was
    good missionary training to eat something gross, even when I knew how
    gross it was.  I was going to be brave. Brave, as in Scotland the Brave.
    Hallelujah!!  Our dear Annabelle served the same exact Full Scottish Breakfast
    except there was a different mystery food in place of Black Pudding.  It was
    light and square: I'm guessing a bannock cake.

    It's past midnight and we want to get to church in Edinburgh tomorrow.  I don't have time for Iona but it was incredible.  I'm not sure I can take this much wonder: Iona on Saturday and St. Giles on Sunday.  I'll try to check in with you on Monday.