Tag Archives: love

Musical Tales

25 Sunday May 2014

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lroum

The interview recording studio at Classical 89.

Of course I’m not going to pass up an invitation to be interviewed on our local classical music station and talk about my favorite classical pieces, so when they asked I jumped at the chance. And when they invited my husband to be interviewed as well, I didn’t have to do much arm twisting there. We’re both classical music nerds, I’m afraid.

Classical 89 in Provo, Utah is our favorite radio station. It’s what I wake up to every morning at 5:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. (in case I missed that first alarm.) The publicly-funded radio station invites listeners to become part of Friday Favorites and share with interviewer, Mark Wait, their favorite piece of music and why and so I didn’t hesitate when they invited me via Facebook.

Easy peasy, I thought at first. I love music, especially the classical stuff. But then I had to narrow it down to just two. Not so easy peasy. Yet, I did find my top two that I shared with Classical 89’s listeners and I thought I’d share it with you too. Plus you get to hear what we sound like and I promise you, we’re not classical music snobs.

Bolero

Listen to my interview as I explain why I’m so in love with this piece. We talk a little about jazz and I confessed that it took me awhile to appreciate Miles Davis, but I do now and in a very big way. I want you all to know that.

So back to Ravel. If there ever was a soundtrack for my romance with my husband it’s this piece and I explain it in the interview below. (Click on the play button next in the black bar below and you’ll hear the 2 1/2 minute interview.)

 

So, the Bolero masterpiece is 15 minutes long and there are always the snickers from those who’ve seen the movie 10, but you must go and give it a play. Especially the version by Cincinnati Symphony and Orchestra. I have not heard another recording as stirring as that one.

Gymnopédie

There is something a little jazzy about Erik Satie’s Gymnopédies.  They’re jazzy because Satie took the melodies and stretched them out into what seems like the atmosphere and then they come back to you contained as a unit. It’s all so indicative of the impressionistic movement going on at that time. I’m rather fond of Gymnopédie 1, particularly the Claude Debussy orchestration, which doesn’t lose its simplicity going from Satie’s original piano work to orchestration.

When I contacted Classical 89’s studio to get a copy of my interview they couldn’t find it. (I know! Bummer!) Somehow it may have gotten deleted, so I’ll tell you here my Satie story. As you recall from the interview above about Bolero, I had met my husband online and we were corresponding long distance from two continents. We would see each other about every six weeks and during one of our rendezvous he suggested we go on a road trip. As I was putting my bags in the back seat of his car I noticed a plastic shoe box full of CDs and right there on the top was an Erik Satie album.

“I’m going to marry that man,” I thought to myself.

Rhapsody in Blue

There was a bit of a squabble between Steve and I as to who was going to use Rhapsody in Blue in the interviews. It’s one of my favorites, but Steve called “dibs” on it and so I let him have it to share in his interview. (Besides, I had so much trouble narrowing down my own choices.) Steve talks a little about jazz and Woody Allen, which continues to endear me to my husband. Here is Steve’s interview (Click on the play button in the black bar. The interview is just shy of a minute)

 

Ride of the Valkyries

I have a love/hate relationship with Ride of the Valkyries. It’s so not the piece of music I want to hear before 10:00 a.m.  (Remember, my alarm is set to Classical 89 and there’s been twice that they’ve played Ride of the Valkyries right as the wake-to-music alarm went off. Jolting, I tell ya.) I think Steve loves this piece because he loves war movies. And he’s right, as he and the interviewer explain in the recording below—it was so fitting for the movie Apocalypse Now. I’ve always wondered how Wagner felt about that. (Click on the play button in the black bar. The interview is only 2 mins 2 seconds.)

 

Is there a piece of music that you just adore? Tell me in the comments below.

Channeling Sting’s Fields of Gold

28 Tuesday Aug 2012

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English Rendezvous – Final Chapter

Fields of barley. They were all around us as we made our way to the little civil parish of Hannington, Hampshire England. (If you have Sting’s song, Fields of Gold, I recommend turning it on right now as you read this post. You can find Sting’s version of Fields of Gold on iTunes. I also recommend this other lovely cover version by Eva Cassidy.)

You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold

Two days earlier we were in Bath and the Cotswolds and the previous day we spent at Oxford where we picnicked on the lawn overlooking the River Thames and watched people punting. As we wandered around the campus we walked by a group of students playing cricket—my first real-live experience watching cricket, even if just for a few minutes. “They could be there for days,” Steve explained. Apparently cricket is a long, arduous sport. Where you wear sweaters.

But the barley in Hampshire—the Fields of Gold, Sting wrote about as a love song—caused me to take it all as a sign that there was something indeed magical happening right at that moment. (Some people call it falling madly in love, I suppose.) It was the perfect way to wrap up my two weeks in England: the solo week I had in London, the wonderful days in Bath, the “I Love Yous” the grief, the joy, the perfect photo together. That’s a lot to pack into travel. You don’t get all that backstory when you see the stamp in my passport unless, well, you’ve read this blog, I suppose.

So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

We were in Hannington because Steve Hannington is the man I was with and his family settled this part of the English county of Hampshire back before the 11th Century. I had never met anyone who hailed from a namesake town, so if Steve’s gallant nature from the previous days wasn’t enough to impress me, being a Hannington in Hannington sealed the deal for me.

Steve Hannington in Hannington, Hampshire England

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold

It didn’t take long to walk around Hannington. There is a little square in the middle of the town—more of a park—right next to the ancient All Saints’ Church. I found a post box right at the side of the lane and dropped in my postcards, though all except one, which I had intended for Jessica before I knew she had passed away. I still have that postcard and today it is pinned to my bulletin board in my home office, right above my desk.

Hannington, Hampshire England

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I’ve broken
But I swear in the days still left
We’ll walk in the fields of gold

This was our last day together before I flew back to the U.S. Last time I left Steve it was Scotland and I cried—no, I sobbed. But I was out of tears this trip. I spent the last two days grieving the loss of my friend, Jessica and now all I had left were dry eyes and this soundtrack of Sting’s Fields of Gold playing in my mind. We took time to have dinner at the one restaurant in Hannington—a little pub called The Vine and we had fish out on the patio as we watched a dog play on the lawn, performing for all who were dining.

Time to leave. We left Hannington and the sun was beginning to set as we made our way toward Gatwick airport where we would find accommodations one last time in England.

Fields of Gold

Barley is simple and rather plain looking when you look at it individually. But all laid out in a field it takes on a collective sense of golden-ness. As we departed, going down a narrow lane toward London, we had the fields on both sides of us. Like when I walked through those doors at immigration and customs in Scotland and felt my life about to change, driving through the Fields of Gold also felt a little baptismal. This entire journey to England was a collection of individual experiences (exploring London solo for a week, the death of a friend, saying, I Love You) that combined, had cast a golden hue on my future, which I saw in those fields.

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold

Fields of Gold, lyrics and music by Sting.

Find out where we meet up again.

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It’s about travel, saying “I love you,” and death

16 Thursday Aug 2012

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England Rendezvous, Chapter 3

My phone displayed that I had a voicemail. Normally I don’t bother with my phone while I’m traveling abroad, and I figure that I’ll listen to voicemail when I get back to the U.S. Besides, anyone important who needed to reach me while I was on holiday in Bath, England knew to just text me.

Castle Comb in the Cotswolds

It was day three of my epic romantic rendezvous in Bath, England with my long-distance suitor I met in Scotland just eight weeks prior. No distractions. No phones. Just the two us to discover Bath, the Cotswolds, and to see if I could muster the courage to say, “I love you.”

But the phone. There was a message on it and I had this feeling I needed to listen to this voicemail.

“Hi Lisa,” the voice said. “This is Jana, Jessica’s sister. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Jessica passed away and I know you two were close and I found your phone number in her address book. I wanted to let you know when the funeral will be, so call me at….”

I just stood there looking at the stupid phone in my hand. Tears welled up in my eyes so fast that it felt like they were coming like a big wave that crashes on the shore. I inhaled and then crash! I couldn’t stop them.

Jessica and I worked together in Menlo Park, California back in the 90s. When I moved away we phoned each other weekly and wrote long epistles back and forth to each other over email where we lamented about men, our jobs, men, our coworkers, men. You get the picture. We would even watch the Oscars together over the phone and make snarky comments throughout the show. (This is what we did before Twitter, my friends.) We went to Giants games when I would come to town and traded books through the mail.

She also had lupus and had contracted an infection from a pedicure she received from a salon in her neighborhood. The infection was so bad she was hospitalized the last several months of her life and I frequently called her at El Camino Hospital in Mountain View, knowing I could be easily directed to her room where I would update her on what happened in Scotland and this fantastic guy I had just met.

But she died.

Steve walked in the room and I looked up at him and he had that look on his face—the “Oh crap, she’s crying. What do I do?” look. I blurted out the words, “My friend.” Tears not just rolling but pouring down my face. “She’s dead,” I continued. “Her sister. She left me a message.” I couldn’t breath and pressed my face into his chest and sobbed. I sobbed big heavy, almost-hyperventalating tears.

The “I love yous” and the never-ending tears

I’m in Bath. Just the night before I said, “I love you” and he said it back (thank goodness). Big moment. Colossal moment. This is the desired outcome Jane Austen writes about, but I was grieving. I pulled myself together and we went downstairs to breakfast where our Bed and Breakfast host served us breakfast while I gave up trying to control the tears that seemed to never ever stop. I was sure that the other guests and the host thought we had been fighting.

A church in Castle Comb in the Cotswolds

Move on with our day’s plans. That was the only thing that we could really do. This was the day we were going to discover the Cotswold region. Every guidebook seemed to write lovingly of the romantic quaint region with its stone homes, thatched roofs and cream teas. I studied the region ahead of time. I was prepared to get wrapped up in it, but I was sad. So very sad.

The verdant landscape of the Cotswolds was like looking at a poem. There is a cadence to the hills and each little village was like hitting upon the rhyme at the end of a line. They all looked similar, but they had their own character, like words that sound the same but aren’t. It wasn’t a sad poem and it wasn’t a happy poem, but it was a comforting one.

Bourton on the Water

We held hands as we walked along the pathway at Bourton on the Water, and we would have moments of silence and then I would start talking about Jessica. Then I would tear up again and return back to silence. I didn’t quite know how to feel. My heart hung heavy with grief, but was also bursting out of my chest with spectacular joy and the feeling of being in love. I couldn’t have been in a more bifurcated moment in my entire life. Or is it possible to have two hearts in this kind of experience?

This picture with smiles and a sad heart

I wanted a photo of us in this lovely place. I asked a man if he could take our photo and Steve and I sat on a bench. “No, no,” the man said as he pointed to another bench. “Sit over here. It’s much better.” We moved to the other bench and the man, who turned out to be a photographer, took this photo with my little Kodak point-and-shoot camera. This beautifully, perfectly angled photo.

I feel like I’m spoiling the ending here but you know already that I married that man. Fast forward almost two years later and as a wedding gift, the women at my church had an artist paint a portrait based on this photo. When they revealed it to me I wept again. This photo took me back to that time when I was swept up in love in England, where “I Love Yous” were exchanged, and if you look really closely you’ll notice that in my heart I’m grieving the loss of my friend, Jessica.

Continue to next chapter.

 

Bath, England: An aphrodisiac for my long-distance love affair

12 Sunday Aug 2012

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England Rendezvous, Chapter 2

London is where we met for our second rendezvous and then drove to Bath, England for the next chapter in our epic romance. (I know, “epic” is overused. Just indulge me for a little while on this.) Only a few knew of my long-distance romance with Steve, which began in Scotland eight weeks earlier. Most people probably wouldn’t have believed it. I barely believed it myself.

We arrived at the Marlborough House—a lovely bed and breakfast in a stone Victorian house just a few blocks away from the famous Royal Crescent—and after our host drew us a map of the highlights of Bath, we made our way to the Roman Baths and Pump Room for a candlelight tour in the evening. “Oh it would be very romantic!” our host urged us. Romantic, of course! That’s why we were here—it was all for the romance.

A visit to the Roman Baths

Roman Baths

When this all came upon me–this falling in love–I wasn’t prepared to take copious notes on Bath. I didn’t go to Bath to learn of the Victoria Art Gallery or the Holburne Museum of Art. No, I was there to fall further in love–to somehow channel Jane Austen and all her heroines so that I could use Bath as some sort of aphrodisiac for my long-distance love affair.

It’s not like we needed any help. We were completely smitten in Scotland and nothing indicated that it wouldn’t continue that way, though because this was so out of the ordinary I thought that I would actually wake up and none of this had happened. So, if you’re going to dream, I thought, why not dream with Bath as the backdrop.

Evensong at Bath Abbey

Bath Abbey

Our second day in Bath, a Sunday, we visited the Bath Abbey for an Evensong presentation. If the backdrop of Bath wasn’t enough, now I had a soundtrack. Being musically trained myself, I was swept up by the acoustics of the building and prayed to God that this whole thing wouldn’t slip through my fingers.

Jane Austen, of course

We visited the Jane Austen Centre where we moved from room to room to see how Jane Austen lived, learned more about her family, looked at some of the film costumes as well as various framed letters on the walls from celebrities (notably Emma Thompson, that goddess of wit who wrote the film adaptation of Sense and Sensibility). I was surprised as to how simple and quaint the Centre was, given the massive following of Jane Austen. I suppose that’s how she would have wanted it, as she really seemed a modest person. It was almost a little odd to be in the Jane Austen Centre where I was learning about this woman who wrote fiction that were turned into movies–all about being independent and falling in love with the right person at the right time. At the same time I was living this and thought, it doesn’t have to be fiction. It feels like fiction but it doesn’t have to be.

The healing waters of Bath

There’s a lot said about the healing waters of Bath.  Historically, many went to Bath to cure themselves of their ills. Perhaps something in Bath washed over me too as well as Steve.

That rendezvous that started in Scotland? It still was alive and well in Bath too. Little did I know, I was going to soon need the healing of Bath to soothe my soul more than I could imagine.

Continue to next chapter.

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This is how I ended up in London

27 Friday Jul 2012

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England Rendezvous, Chapter 1

I wanted to do something spectacular for my 40th birthday and things got interesting when a friend suggested I join her and some other gals to hike the Swiss Alps that year. I was so onboard! How many people can say they’ve hiked the Swiss Alps?

Well, not me, it turns out.

It had been two months since I rendezvoused with the man in Scotland. After that trip that sent my heart soaring and my tears flowing as goodbyes were exchanged at the end of our six days together, we phoned, we emailed and I hoped we would see each other again. The closer it got to the Swiss Alps trip the more I realized that given limited vacation time at work and limited funds for a long-distance courtship, I had to make a choice: Hike the Alps with some fun women or take another chance to see if what happened in Scotland had any sticking power.

So I didn’t hike the Alps. I bailed and decided to go to London instead–by myself, actually. Turns out, it’s also rather convenient for Steve (the man I met in Scotland) to rendezvous again with me. Once I let Steve know about my plans to go to London he immediately jumped at the chance to meet me there, but only met me for week two of my trip since I wanted to have some time to myself in London.

My travel journal for the England rendezvous

I just adore London and I’m so glad I made the decision to do the first half of the trip by myself. Here’s what I learned:

  • You actually don’t have to take the Tube everywhere because most of the time a lovely walk through Hyde Park will get you to where you need to be. (This was a big “duh!” moment for me.)

London’s Hyde Park

Hyde Park, London

  • I arrived the week London was having a heat wave. Londoners took this opportunity to sunbathe at Hyde Park and I thought I was pasty white!

Londoners enjoying the high temps at Hyde Park

  • They have Subway sandwich shops in London–same menu and about the same prices in the U.S., which totally saved me loads of money on food.
  • Other great food options for lunch include Pret a Manger and Marks and Spencer. I discovered this when I watched where the locals were eating.
  • Best view of London is not the pricey “Eye,” but take the stairs clear to the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral–completely breathtaking and an awesome workout.

View of London from atop St. Paul’s Cathedral

  • You don’t get ice in your water at dinner. They like to serve it room temperature, so you gotta ask for ice, ice baby.
  • They have potato chips of every flavor imaginable.
  • A co-worker from England convinced me before my trip that I should take the double decker bus tour to get the lay of the land during my first couple of days and you know what? Best. Advice. Ever. (Yes, snobs, she was right.)
  • Edinburgh is only a 5 and 1/2 hour train ride from London and that’s how close I was to Steve.
  • Sometimes it’s okay to walk away from previous travel plans. Sure, I didn’t hike the Alps, but if I did, I would have missed London as well as a big part in the next chapter of my life.

London

London

Tower Bridge in London

Find out what happens in the next chapter.

Thank you, Scotland

22 Sunday Jul 2012

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A Scotland Rendezvous, Chapter 5 (Final Chapter)

There’s an advantage to going to a place you never dreamed of going to before. You have absolutely no expectations, really. You never imagined yourself there so it lets you experience and feel everything and lets you be open to it.

What I needed to be open to was this idea of love.

After our quick journey through the Highlands of Scotland, we returned to Dundee. There was one more day before I had to return to the U.S. Steve planned a day trip to St. Andrews. We walked around the campus of the University of St. Andrews (the third oldest university in the English-speaking world, by the way) and when the bell rang, students poured out into the courtyard where we sat and I told Steve, “They all sound like they’re from Harry Potter.”

“That’s because they come from predominantly upper class families,” he explained.

That made sense.  To be honest, I didn’t know a thing about St. Andrews University except that Prince William was enrolled there, and wouldn’t that be cool if I saw him? I scanned the group of students and alas, no Prince William.

We also visited the Old Course at St. Andrews. I know just as much about golf as I know about Scotland. Steve informed me that it was one of the oldest golf courses in the world. “Do you play golf,” I asked him, wondering if this relationship progressed if I was going to be getting involved with a golfer.

“Not really,” he said. “I’ve played, but it doesn’t interest me.”

For some reason, I felt relief.  I have nothing against golf, but already we’ve established that he likes to look at birds and I don’t have experience with that. If we add golf to the mix, I wasn’t quite sure how I would fit in.

We returned to Dundee where Steve had a phone meeting and suggested that I spend some time walking around the town. Super idea! I thought. I wanted to go get my hair blowed out straight so it would make the long flight back easier on me.  (Really, it makes a big difference when you’ve got hair like mine.) I was to leave the next morning and so today was the day to take care of this.  Plus, it would give Steve a chance to see me with straight hair, which to be honest with you, I look pretty damn good with straight hair.  (All women with curly hair say that, you know.)

After a little bit of shopping in the department store in town, picking up only a few things, I found a hair salon and asked if they would blow out my hair straight. A very cute quintessentially Scottish girl with bright red curly hair (she understands!) sat me down in the chair, put the black plastic cape over me and then off to the sinks I went to get a nice shampoo and condition.

While back in the chair she asks, “Are you here on business or holiday?”

All of a sudden I started to feel. I could tell that water was wanting to push out from my eyes and I wasn’t going to have it.  Be strong, for crying out loud my inner voice told me.

“Holiday,” I said with barely enough sound for her to hear.

“Oh!” she chirped. “Are you visiting family or friends?”

Holy cow. Here it comes. I STARTED TO CRY.

“Um, I met this guy online and we’ve spent the week together touring the highlands,” I said, choking out the words.

“Awww, sweetie, are you going to see him again?”

More tears.

“I don’t know,” I said with enough courage to look up at the mirror and noticed that my eyes were red.

“Just a minute,” she said.  “I need to go grab something.”

She walked away and I was there in the chair.  In a hair salon. In Dundee, Scotland. BAWLING MY EYES OUT. Oh, for Pete’s sake.

I didn’t know the answer to her question. I didn’t know if I’d ever seem him again.  I wasn’t even sure if this was a fling or the beginning of something fantastic. I looked in the mirror again and could see the hair stylist whispering to another stylist and they both looked over at me. Oh geez, I’m the big story in the salon today, I suppose.

Eventually I got a grip on things and there were no more tears. My hair was straightened beautifully, I paid and tipped (quite well, for the awkwardness she had to endure) and then made my way back to Steve’s flat.

“You look fantastic!” he said when he saw me. Big grin and all.

We made dinner together, went to a movie and I spent the rest of our time together in tears. The poor guy didn’t quite know what to do.

We drove to the airport in silence and then said our goodbye.

Scotland, you were the place I never dreamed of going to before.  I had no expectations. I never imagined myself there, but there I had been.

I experienced everything, felt everything, and as a result, opened myself to finding love. Thank you Scotland.

Find out when and where we meet again.

 

Falling in love with a geologist and the geological wonders of Scotland

15 Sunday Jul 2012

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A Scotland Rendezvous, Chapter 4

The geology of Scotland is very complex, I learned, and this complexity manifests itself in the Highlands.

The highlands of Scotland

It’s all because of Continental Drift, which through the aeons of time created this composite of various land masses that have been grafted on to it.

There was also an extensive period of volcanism (lava flows and plutonic uplift), which produced such geologic wonders like the promontory upon which sits Edinburgh Castle. Want more proof? Take the famous 10,000+ year old Loch Ness, for example. It’s a long, deep lake, which is part of a rift valley system. It’s all this complex geology that gives Scotland its rugged appearance with many hills, valleys and lochs. So geology is the bedrock (so to speak) of Scotland’s rugged landscape.

All this gets geologists giddy, and guess who I was spending the week with–a geologist. (So don’t think I managed those first few paragraphs here without any help. )

Among the many things I learned about this man I was with for the week (what I call the world’s longest first date), was that he knew gobs about geology, and as I learned more about him I also became more schooled about Scotland. I had never met this man before and I had never met Scotland before, so both were blind dates. It’s no wonder that as we journeyed through the Highlands, my fascination of Scotland grew while my heart grew fonder of my geologist tour guide.

Loch Ness. So why can’t there be a monster?

Steve at Loch Ness

Standing next to Loch Ness

When I met the Loch Ness for the first time I couldn’t resist tapping into the childish part of me, where I thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I saw the Loch Ness Monster here too!” There is no such thing, I know, but I couldn’t help thinking of it, because why not? The whole idea of rendezvousing with a man in a foreign country is also the stuff fairy tales are made of and I was walking around in that dream too, so of course there’s the possibility of seeing the Loch Ness Monster.

And I’m sure the little hamlet of Brigadoon was around somewhere too.

Ullapool, Scotland

We eventually made our next stop in the little town of Ullapool, which has a strong gaelic influence. We checked in to a bed and breakfast that overlooked a lake and walked around the town, and we soon learned had a reputation for being a center for music and the arts. Even on TV (I’m always fascinated by what’s on the television when I visit a new country) had a Gaelic channel. I couldn’t understand a thing anyone was saying, but then again, if someone from Scotland starts to speak English to me in their native accent too fast I might as well be listening to Latin. I’m completely lost.

Where we stayed in Ullapool

We found a pub where we ordered fish, of course, since it was a fishing village and afterward, we walked along a pathway near the water as we tossed out more questions to each other. There was a sense of urgency for the week–in getting to know as much about each other as we could. “Where’s your favorite place you’ve traveled to?” “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” “What’s your favorite food?” “What was your most embarrassing moment?”

Stoer Head Lighthouse

Visiting the Stoer Head Lighthouse on the Stoer Peninsula in Scotland was a true highlight. This lighthouse was built by David and Thomas Stevenson—of the Stevenson dynasty—who were responsible for building most of Scotland’s lighthouses.

Stoer Head Lighthouse on the Stoer Peninsula in Scotland

Safe and sound in the Highlands

We spent our time in the highlands driving around the more rugged terrain, taking roads that were only wide enough to fit a small compact car. I must admit that I was impressed as Steve navigated the winding road, especially as an oncoming car approached. Why do things like that make a woman swoon? No accidents. No collisions. This man kept me safe.

This beginning of falling in love with a geologist opened a whole new perspective for me. It wasn’t just about castles and lighthouses or a famous loch, but learning about the geology, expanding my vision of the land. As we journeyed through the highlands, the part of Scotland that was the cliche–the rolling green hills lined with sheep–turned into something that resembled a moon scape, and I wondered if I would ever come back to earth again.

To get perspective, look at the tiny trailer/camper (the white speck) in the photo.

Go on to the next chapter.

Romance blossoms in the Scottish Highlands

04 Wednesday Jul 2012

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A Scotland Rendezvous, chapter 3

“So tell me about your past relationships–the good, the bad and the ugly.”

That’s how we began our three-day road trip through the Scottish Highlands.

There wasn’t much to tell, really. I was 39 years old and over the last decade I’d kept a pretty good distance from any relationship for a variety of reasons that didn’t make sense when I really thought about it.

Steve, I’m certain, thought I was being coy when I explained that there wasn’t much to tell.

A lesson on the birds and the bees.  Well, maybe just the birds.

Just as I was going to ask him about his back story, he said, “Hey, do you mind if we stop by this bird refuge? I’ve always wanted to see it.

“A bird refuge?” I thought. “Can’t say I would ever stop to do that.”

And before I knew it, we had parked and then he was pulling out of the car trunk a tripod and scope.  He never really said anything about what he was going to be doing with the scope.  In fact, he was pretty quiet about it.  “Hmmm,”  I paused to think and take this all in.  “He’s got a scope.  He’s kind of the quiet type. We’re stopping at a bird refuge.” I was putting all the pieces together slowly.  ”This guy looks at birds?” Oh, the horror.

I played along.  We went into the visitor center, paid the donation and walked around, looking at the various dioramas of wetlands and birds. I was scanning the place looking for a gift shop that might have something I might identify with. Like a necklace. Or a tea cup.  But I didn’t see a gift shop.  “Just go with it,” I thought.

The host at the visitor center told us about a blind nearby where we could get a good look. At what, exactly, I wasn’t so sure.  Nevertheless, I just followed Steve and we went outside and walked along the path that led us to what looked like a dilapidated shed and sat there on the bench and looked out through narrow slats.

And that’s when he made his big move. I asked him, “Have you always wanted to do that?”

“Do what?” he asked sheepishly.

“Take a girl out in a blind and kiss her.”

And then there was a castle

After catching my breath following the bird refuge we made our way to the Dunnottar Castle in Aberdeenshire. I had never been to a castle before my time in Edinburgh the day before. But this one was even better–it was just sitting out there in the middle of nowhere for people to walk through.   For a mere £5 each we were able to meander through the ruins of the castle, even sneaking away to a private corner where Steve stole another kiss.

To tell people that I felt like I had been dreaming the entire experience is the world’s greatest understatement. But imagine this: What woman really gets to fly off with very little notice at the invitation of a stranger she had just met online and get kissed in a castle? And let me add this: And actually like the guy?

It had to be a dream, right? This was so not my life.

The pathway to the Dunnottar Castle, Aberdeenshire

View of a waterfall seen on our walk to the castle

Me with Dunnottar Castle in background,

Arranging for a romantic soundtrack in Inverness

The first day on the road was long I suppose, because we got as far as Inverness, the capital of the Scottish Highlands, all the way from Dundee and it was dark. It just didn’t feel like it was a long day. It wasn’t going too fast either, I must admit.  I think for the first time, I actually was trying to be in the experience and I wasn’t concerned with time at all. I had quit my job just before this trip and was starting at a new company the day after I was to return to the United States, so there really wasn’t anything pressing on my mind to distract me from what was taking place. No emails to check, no work to catch up on. I wasn’t attached to anything that would prevent me from letting everything happen to me. I could actually change the script of my life and write a new one.

We stayed at the Holiday Inn in Inverness, had dinner at a restaurant next door and rose early to get back on the road again. By this time it had occurred to me that Steve brought no music with him on the trip.  For me, you can’t go on a road trip without a proper road music and so I said, “Hey let me pick out some CDs for you,” and we popped into a store. Now since I couldn’t help but be romantic, I collected all the necessary artists for the perfect soundtrack for this new script.  Thank you Diana Krall, Michael Bublé and Steve Tyrell.

Yes, I have my ways.

Go on to the next chapter.

 

Walking solo in Edinburgh

27 Wednesday Jun 2012

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A Scotland Rendezous, Chapter 2

“Start at Edinburgh Castle,” he said, “and then you can walk down this road, called The Royal Mile, to Holyrood Palace.”

I learned that during my first full day in Scotland, Steve, the stranger I flew across the ocean to see, was going to have to attend an all-day lecture at the University of Dundee. But he had already decided that a day trip to Edinburgh by train was a swell solution for me so he drew a little map, outlining the route I should take. I didn’t mind, really. I kind of like being a solo traveler. Besides, it gave me some time to think–think about this man I had just met. Think about this country I just landed in. Think about how this was all going to end after five days.

Oh, and the train ride gave me time to text each of my girlfriends, “Everything going SUPER! Will give details when I get home.”

Natch.

Edinburgh, Scotland

As I disembarked the train it took me awhile to orient myself. For April it was lovely–sunny and warm and not at all what I expected for Scotland. (I expected gloomy weather. That much I did know about Scotland.) There was the token bagpiper on the corner for tourists and every building looked as though it was ancient. Probably because they all were. I almost feel a little ashamed sometimes that I come from a country that is really in its infancy compared to other areas of the world where everything is all about being shiny and new.

Edinburgh Castle

Edinburgh Castle

I couldn’t miss the Edinburgh Castle if I had tried. It looks over the city from Castle Rock letting me know that it’s still in charge. I took my time touring the castle, and took advantage of the headphones so I could learn more about not just the castle but about Scotland, since I came so unprepared.

Calling it a Castle is really a misnomer–it’s actually a fortress and includes several buildings. When I arrived at St. Margaret’s Chapel–a simple building within the walls of the fortress I actually sat on one of the benches for quite a long time. The chapel is still used for ceremonies, such as weddings, and is the one building that felt like there was life still in it. Of course, should any building feel that way, a church would, I suppose. Sitting there I tried to make sense of where I was and how I got there. If any place was going to help me figure everything out a church certainly would. After about 20 minutes and not getting any closer to making sense of it all, I thought, Just go with it. Don’t worry about it.

And that’s what I did.

Calling this a gun seems so understated.

Walking along Royal Mile

After a nice lunch at a cafe I then made my way down the cobblestone Royal Mile, descending the hill and stopping in the little shops that carried tartan wellies, tartan skirts and tartan shawls.

It wasn’t just all tartan. There was orange marmalade and shortbread cookies of course, so I bought a cookie and munched on it as I made my way to Holyrood. Clearly the street is designed for tourists and, well, I was a tourist that day. And I like shortbread cookies.

Holyrood Palace or HolyroodHouse

A little less hectic than the Ediburgh Castle. Fewer tourists and I was half expecting the Queen to make an appearance at any time. The palace buildings are a mish-mash of well-maintained buildings ranging from ancient to really ancient.

Holyrood Palace

Holyrood Palace

After the tour I looked at my watch and realized that I needed to catch the train back to Dundee. These are the moments when I’m traveling alone where I have to admit I’m rather proud of myself that I can navigate my way around, in spite of the fact that I usually don’t get it right the first time. This was one of those times. I found myself on the wrong platform and nearly ended up on my way to London. Thank goodness I wasn’t in a rush. Before I crossed over the “Mind the Gap” warning, I made sure I was on the right train back to Dundee where my new long-distance romance was waiting for me.

Go on to the next chapter.

 

Finding love through travel

21 Thursday Jun 2012

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Never in my entire life did I think this was going to happen to me. If you had told me before it happened that it was going to change my life (let alone do it) I would have laughed at you.

But it happened. It really did. I did the most epic thing that a woman could do: I quit my corporate job over the phone and then 20 minutes later booked a flight to Scotland to rendezvous with a man I had only met online six weeks before.

Me in Scotland. Wonder why I have that big grin on my face?

If you’re a woman, admit it. You’ve always wanted to do this. If you’re a man, well, yes, we women dream about these sorts of things. It always happens in movies or to people other people know. But this time it was happening to me.

[Enter swelling Ennio Morricone soundtrack]

I write about this today because this past week I stumbled on two thought-provoking blogs that address love and travel, both which caused me to pause and wonder what I could add to the topic. Spencer Spellman’s Lessons in Love: Perspective Found through Travel shares with gut-wrenching honesty about how travel has allowed him to rediscover himself after divorce. And it was a retweet from Spellman, himself, that directed me to the Blonde Abroad‘s post from last May, A Life of Travel and Relationships. Kiersten Rich, the Blonde Abroad, writes of the challenge of traveling and relationships, but explains that her dream right now is what she’s living: that travel is the best gift she can give herself.

I wish I could have found travel much earlier in life. But alas, I’m late to the party. I’m no Spencer Spellman or Blonde Abroad. I didn’t even have a passport until I was 30 where I took my first trip to Rome with my mother for a weekend. (Yes, you read that correctly: a weekend. Long story. Later post. Promise.)

The funny thing about travel is that when you deeply discover it–when you turn vacation into travel, it creates a moment of epiphany. Perhaps it’s the exploration of new places that enables you to explore your own soul. For me, that epiphany was when I woke up one day and decided at age 39 that it was time to figure out what I needed to be happy.

I said countless times I would never fly across the ocean to meet someone online. But I did.

I also remember saying that I would never be in a long-distance relationship. But I did end up doing that–for two years.

We rendezvoused in Scotland, London and Bath England, Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, Grand Canyon National Park, Moab National Park (yes there’s a theme here), Niagara Falls, Toronto, Calgary, Costa Rica, Okanagan Valley in British Columbia, Banff National Park, Jasper National Park and my home in Salt Lake City, Utah where this long-distance suitor introduced me to Antelope Island, where I had never been to before, but was right in my own back yard.

A rendezvous at Niagara Falls. So cliche, I know. But we’re loving it.

The thrill of travel exploded exponentially every time I boarded a plane. The thought of meeting up with my long-distance suitor was like putting a filter on my camera lens that would help me look at these places a little differently while also adding a little extra color to the whole picture.

For me, I couldn’t have done this in my twenties or even my thirties. I wasn’t ready for it. My forties seems to be for me the right time to find love and a companion. And I did marry that long-distance suitor after two years of courtship amid obstacles of miles between us, an ocean separating us at times and inconvenient time zones.

Our wedding day. Steve was in the Royal Canadian Army, hence the swoon-worthy uniform.

I know it’s possible to intermingle love and travel. I’m lucky and I know it. I was willing to throw out all those things I said I’d never do and I just went for it. Getting on that plane to Scotland is admittedly the bravest thing I had ever done in my life up to this point. And guess what–we still travel like crazy. It’s the DNA in our marriage and we have passport stamps to prove it.

So through travel and in finding someone else I actually found myself. It’s a little bit different route than Spellman’s or Rich’s, but I think we all get there somehow on the same train called “travel.”