Farewell

There were so many things I wanted to say. There were so many stories to tell. I was going to have a roommate periodical - 'jardine tales;' I had so many stories from trips abroad. I went to Prague. But these things always come to mind at the end, don't they? I lost my spring somewhere; the words and the stories stopped flowing out of me. So those stories exist but not to be told, not yet. I think it's time now to write an ending to this chapter -- this beautiful, exciting, challenging chapter.

Three years and a few days ago today, late at night, I found myself, disoriented, in a tiny room in Aberdeen, Scotland. I spent that first night with my winter coat as my duvet and some shirts as a pillow. I wondered in that moment how in the world I had ended up in Scotland. I still have no real idea what led me to Scotland besides whim, but I like to think it was divine intervention.

Over time I came to cherish that country and that people more than I ever imagined. Life in Scotland was not without its struggle; the rugged landscape and temperamental skies do well to reflect the challenges that exist amongst the beauty of life in that country. It was hard and harsh at times, but I see now how good it was -- how good God was. I had the honor to meet (and in most cases to know) this wonderful community, ranging from the grumpy Aberdeen doorman to some of my dearest friends, and I love them all so much -- even that grumpy doorman I could never get to smile.

I will always cherish my memories from that country. I wasn't always sure I would, but, thankfully, I'm finding memories to be like bits of gold -- they are first covered in mud and dirt and sand but with some water (or time, as the metaphor has it) the mud washes away and the Gold stays to be seen and enjoyed. I thank God for such beautiful memories. Memories I know have many parts to play yet.

My final word (besides the quote above) would have to be one of thanks. I have so much gratitude toward all those individuals who made Scotland a second home. And I'm so grateful for the time I got with them, and with Scotland.

 

BiscOtti

Italy.

One of the girls in our travel party had a friend in Rome who agreed to show us around. He did a wonderful job. We saw so many things we would never have found without him, including an orange tree garden, and this amazing view of St. Peter's Basilica

At the end of the night, we ended up at a little bar in a young part of town. He recommended we try a traditional Italian digestif, which consists of a very concentrated dessert wine served with 'cookies,' resembling biscotti. The exact cookie with which our wine was served had a certain name. I asked our guide, 'So what's the difference between this and biscotti?' He looked at me blankly. He said (with an Italian accent, as he said everything -- of course), 'What?' I repeated, 'Biscotti. What's the difference between this and biscotti.' He still looked dumbfounded. I then, in the traditional American fashion, continued to repeat the word, but in a questioning voice.

'Biscotti. Biscotti... Bisco..tti.. Biscotti?'

He continued to stare at me. My British and American friends looked desperate to help but had nothing to say.

Finally, our guide, Marco said, 'OOoooooh. BiscOOOtti.'

I believe I then threw my hands in the air.

He said, 'Sorry. I don't know what BiscAtti (in a Boston-like accent) is.'

Pros and cons to being shown around by a local. Pro: Amazing sights. Con: judgement.

The Fawltys

I'm still under a month! Just barely.

I recently (well, less recently now) visited Italy and Greece. In Greece I stayed in a very nice B&B of sorts. My friends and I were checked in by an older man. As we approached the property, he was leaning against a cobblestone wall. He had curly gray hair going everywhere and his stomach hanging over his belt a bit.

He showed my friends and myself to our room and then said we should join him as soon as we were settled in. About an hour and a half later (mainly filled sitting on the couch talking), we walked toward reception. He asked us if we would like anything to drink, at which we each requested something. He pulled out a map and showed us the best places in town to see. Some forty-five minutes later, he said, 'Let me see about those drinks.'

He walked off around a corner, one heard fast talking and then he came back, sat down, and smiled at us.

'Where were we?' He said.

Just a matter of minutes later, the drinks were brought to us. We said thank you, but the help was quickly dismissed.

The next morning my friends and I went to breakfast early. We were the first ones in the garden. A small, frail-looking woman wished us, 'Kali Mera' (Something like that. 'Good morning' in Greek all the same). A few minutes after we had sat down a tan woman, large in figure and personality, loudly wished the entire garden (Now consisting of ourselves and another couple) 'kalimera.' She then made bold strides towards our table and stopped abruptly. A surprising smile came across her face, it was a reception smile, teeth showing, mouth curved, but eyes locked so they betray nothing, including warmth or welcome. We all gave smiles in response.

'You must be my new guests.' the woman said. We all nodded, still smiling slightly nervously.

She continued, 'I saw you in reception yesterday, but my husband did not tell me you were my guests,' she then said, through what seemed like Greek gritted teeth, 'Of course.'

We continued with our plastered smiles.

She asked where we were from and all the niceties and then walked away.

We took our time at breakfast and some time later in breakfast you could hear a faint shouted scorning. A few minutes later, the man we had seen the night before (the husband) walked out looking disgruntled.

We made a quick exit to explore town and tried to leave unobtrusively.

It was only a brief encounter, but I couldn't help but think of one of Fawlty Towers as I heard distant scorns as a husband and wife tried to run a B&B and maintain a good face.

For anyone who is not aware, Fawlty Towers is a wonderful show portraying a couple trying to run a B&B in the English countryside. It is filled with characters and absolutely cringing events.

I highly recommend it.

Coming Attractions

I went to Greece and Italy last week. Oh, what a pool of inspiration.

Coming attractions:

A night with the Fawltys
BiscOtti
Jump
The Vatican
Hurricane Kos

Just to name a few...

Hopefully these won't take me a month to write.

Who needs a magnet when you could get toilet paper?

I walked into the National Museum of Scotland the other day. I was going to the gift shop to ask  about quaiches. Quaiches are a small bowl with two handles; I believe they were traditionally used for drinking at festivals, ceremonies, banquets, etc.

I have been requested to pick these up by a member of my family. And, as all things that cross the ocean from this country to my homeland, upon crossing, these will be renamed and used for a completely different purpose than their original. In America, these will be called 'porringers' and be given as baby gifts. Really, quite more sensible than a medeival goblet of sorts. (No, really, that is a much more sensible use.)

I may write the National Museum when I return and suggest this marketing strategy of 'porringers' versus 'quaiches'. Because who knows what to do with a Quaich in their living room, while people know exactly which china cabinet in which to put a baby gift. However, as the oh-so-helpful staff at the gift shop continue to say 'Quaich' with quite some emphasis anytime I begin a conversation about porringers, it may take them some time to 'cozy' up to the idea.

Moving on, to my gift from Scotland.

At the time I went to inquire of the porringers (spread the word, it's going to become a thing), I was slightly sick. After getting the information I needed about the porringers, I went to the loo to get some toilet paper to blow my nose. All of the stalls were taken, but the cleaning gentleman was in their cleaning the sinks. I saw a role of mostly-used toilet paper next to him and I pointed and said, 'Can I take some? I just need to blow my nose.' He was a bit confused but just said, 'Oh, yeah, yeah,' Once he understood what I was asking.

I was pulling some off and he said, 'Take it.' I looked up and said, 'Excuse me?'

'Take it, just take it,' he said.

Now, I don't know how many of you have experience with industrial toilet paper role, but for those who do not, let me enlighten you. It comes on a large awkward role, not just like your regular Charmin roll. As I stood there holding a roll that I could most likely stick my hand through I said, 'Oh, no, no, thank you, I just need...'

'No, take it,' he cut me off.

'But really, just a...' I tried to continue, finally tearing of my bit of toilet paper.

'You never know when you'll need it,' he said to me.

I just couldn't fight him anymore. I resignedly stuffed the large role in my huge green school bag, which made it sit awkwardly under my arm.

'Well thanks, thanks a lot,' I said as I smiled and walked towards the door.

In proper Scottish fashion he slightly grunted and nodded, while still working on the bathroom counter.

And in my bathroom to this day (not that many days after) still sits my National Museum toilet paper.

As the title says, who needs a magnet?

Mary wasn't Scottish

I was at an Easter service at Ps and Gs today (Easter service on Easter. Crazy, I know). Before the service started there was a short animated film about Mary Magdalene telling Peter that the tomb of Jesus was empty.

As soon as this animated Mary started to speak, her words came out in a thick Scottish accent. I was taken aback. I think I actually sat straighter in my seat. I thought, "Mary Magdalene wasn't Scottish!" I was actually appalled that they could dub the tape in a Scottish accent. I think I scoffed silently (I hope it was silent). I thought, "How silly." And then I realized (mocking myself), "Cause an American accent would be so much more legitimate..." I thought about it and I actually would not have thought twice if Mary was speaking in an American accent. It would have been the Gospel ('Gospel'). I would not have batted an eye lash. Yet (as I'm sure you've realized where this is going) there is really no difference between a Scottish Mary and an American Mary (clearly). It sounds quite silly to say it like that. They are both so far from what the person is. This is like me being portrayed in later years by a small Chinese girl. I'm not Chinese. I'm not even close to Chinese. I can barely say the names of Chinese cities properly. To put me in a Chinese setting would be to make me someone completely different. Chinese would think I knew what they knew, I thought like they thought, when really, I 'know' as an American, I think like an American, I have no cultural understandings of a Chinese person.

I have no real, hard 'point' in all of this. The realization just made me wonder. What do we do to Jesus in all of this? What do we make Jesus by making him American, Scottish, English, German, Chinese, etc., etc. I like to think Jesus transcends all of these cultural understandings. But how much do we project onto our idea of Jesus? How much do we not get to know him because we see 'Cowboy Jesus' or 'Scottish Jesus' or 'Prince Jesus' and we do not see or understand Jesus as he came, lived and died - Jesus of Nazareth. I belive Jesus has a message for all people, of all cultures, but he was in a certain time and place. As a human, he was in a circumstance and his own culuture. I just wonder how much we overlook this.

Anyway. Theological thought of the day over :)

What a Wonderful World

I just had a spree of listening to inspirational music - namely, 'what a wonderful world' and 'somewhere over the rainbow.' I realized, for a brief moment, how much of this incredible life I take for granted. I do apologise to all of you who happen to catch me in those moments and have to deal with my incredibly self-centered and pessimistic self. If only I could wake up everyday and realise what an incredible experience and journey this all is. I pray I do.

Short story. I'm so blessed to be here. Iona, other travelling horizons, a master's degree I find incredibly interesting. Oh, that we didn't take life so for granted.

Hoping you all do better than me!

Love,
Sarah