Beware: this is a long blog. Sorry. I wrote yesterday’s blog earlier than I usually do to fill you in on our tour of the Northern Highlands. After hitting send on the blog button, I headed to the spa for a facial fit for the Queen of England. Relaxation time finished sooner than I wanted and we were off to explore more of the city and find the perfect kilt. Four or five miles later, we had wandered through three more museums and I purchased two little adorable kilts for Bella and Aslyn. I know…I’m fooling myself thinking that, at seven, they are more pliable than the older granddaughters and will appease me by wearing it. We’ll see. Certainly, I can beg for at least a picture.
You see, I have a history with kilts fueling my desire to see my youngest granddaughters wear one. My incredible mom, who can make anything, made me a kilt when I was in the fourth grade. It was orange-ish colored with a yellow thread running through it. She paired it (to use new fashion speak) with a yellow blouse. I loved the way it fit my skinny waist and I felt certain the pleats across the back gave me somewhat of a shape. The extra-large safety pin, true to the modern Scottish kilt, made the perfect fashion-forward statement. Then—the news came. We were moving to Louisiana. For a shy, nervous, stick-thin child this news was similar to hearing a tornado had just landed on our house and I had to be the one to notify the police. Move we did, in February, in the middle of the school year, to Alexandria, Louisiana. Wanting to make the perfect first impression, I chose the orange kilt and yellow blouse for my first day of school. Anxious, scared, self-conscience, and terrified are mild words to describe me on the first day of my new school, but, thanks to mom, my outfit was nifty (remember that word?).
Now being seasoned train-travelers, we did a little better judging our time to the station this morning. However, trashcans and bathrooms, easily found in America, are hidden in England so a new dilemma awaited me. I innocently told 2 Papa I was going to the bathroom. The train station is like a little village under a covering similar to the interior of an exhibit at Epcot. It is fully equipped with restaurants, grocery stores, pharmacies, bookstores, as well as taxis and buses running through it. (See photo above)Finding the bathroom wasn’t an easy task. Once I did find it, I discovered it would cost me thirty pence to get in. I knew we had no coins, but I thought I saw a machine that would give me tokens from bills so I went back to get a five pound bill from 2 Papa. But, that wasn’t a token machine after all, so I had to walk back and decide if I needed to go bad enough to buy something and get the change. Yes, I did. Now, I was on a mission akin to finding the Holy Grail. I went to the bookstore, bought an English fitness magazine thinking that would be interesting anyway and headed to the bathroom with my change. Thirty pence later I was in. It was quite impressive, even having a curling iron you could put money in and use. Curling iron or not, by then the thirty pence was money well spent.
There was no attendant to be sure you’re on the right train. Our particular train never showed up on the screen so we almost missed it. When the train pulls up, it’s like a school bus with a impatient bus driver-- you have to be ready to jump on. There’s no waiting for the slow, elderly, or absentminded. It simply stops; the doors open, and in you go. Truly, the trams at DFW allow more time. But, we made it. We put our luggage in its place and took our seats, much more comfortable with the whole thing. Someone checks tickets five or ten minutes down the road, like there’s anything that could be done about it at that point! In each car, half of the riders ride backwards, which means at some point, someone must face someone they don’t know for a long time. AWKWARD! Across from us was a very prim, middle-aged woman, looking like Jane Hathaway from the Beverly Hillbilly’s TV show. She wore a chin-length bob with straight bangs and not a trace of makeup (more on this in a future blog). She looked down at her book the whole way, which made her have more chins than she should have. I wonder what she said later about the middle-aged woman in a pony-tail and a Gap sweatshirt that sat across from her.
In this country that appears to be somewhat disheveled and unorganized (by other’s definitions, not just mine), the train is right on time, every time. Our train arrived back in Oxford at 4:14, exactly on time. The train is like our constant, perfectly timed God. When life seems to go passed us in a blur, when we’re unsure of ourselves, when illness and tragedy change our plans, God arrives right on time, wrapping His protective arms around us. With perfect timing, He carries us safety to our next station in life.
“When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know of you, from Jordan depths to Hermon heights, including Mount Mizar. Chaos calls to chaos, to the tune of whitewater rapids. Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers crash and crush me. Then God promises to love me all day, sing songs all through the night! My life is God's prayer.” Psalm 42:6
One more thing. Scotland is 2 Papa’s 47th country to visit. He used to find every phone booth in a visiting town to continue his business while traveling. He found these in Edinburgh and used them to prop up against while he used his cell phone.
You see, I have a history with kilts fueling my desire to see my youngest granddaughters wear one. My incredible mom, who can make anything, made me a kilt when I was in the fourth grade. It was orange-ish colored with a yellow thread running through it. She paired it (to use new fashion speak) with a yellow blouse. I loved the way it fit my skinny waist and I felt certain the pleats across the back gave me somewhat of a shape. The extra-large safety pin, true to the modern Scottish kilt, made the perfect fashion-forward statement. Then—the news came. We were moving to Louisiana. For a shy, nervous, stick-thin child this news was similar to hearing a tornado had just landed on our house and I had to be the one to notify the police. Move we did, in February, in the middle of the school year, to Alexandria, Louisiana. Wanting to make the perfect first impression, I chose the orange kilt and yellow blouse for my first day of school. Anxious, scared, self-conscience, and terrified are mild words to describe me on the first day of my new school, but, thanks to mom, my outfit was nifty (remember that word?).
Now being seasoned train-travelers, we did a little better judging our time to the station this morning. However, trashcans and bathrooms, easily found in America, are hidden in England so a new dilemma awaited me. I innocently told 2 Papa I was going to the bathroom. The train station is like a little village under a covering similar to the interior of an exhibit at Epcot. It is fully equipped with restaurants, grocery stores, pharmacies, bookstores, as well as taxis and buses running through it. (See photo above)Finding the bathroom wasn’t an easy task. Once I did find it, I discovered it would cost me thirty pence to get in. I knew we had no coins, but I thought I saw a machine that would give me tokens from bills so I went back to get a five pound bill from 2 Papa. But, that wasn’t a token machine after all, so I had to walk back and decide if I needed to go bad enough to buy something and get the change. Yes, I did. Now, I was on a mission akin to finding the Holy Grail. I went to the bookstore, bought an English fitness magazine thinking that would be interesting anyway and headed to the bathroom with my change. Thirty pence later I was in. It was quite impressive, even having a curling iron you could put money in and use. Curling iron or not, by then the thirty pence was money well spent.
There was no attendant to be sure you’re on the right train. Our particular train never showed up on the screen so we almost missed it. When the train pulls up, it’s like a school bus with a impatient bus driver-- you have to be ready to jump on. There’s no waiting for the slow, elderly, or absentminded. It simply stops; the doors open, and in you go. Truly, the trams at DFW allow more time. But, we made it. We put our luggage in its place and took our seats, much more comfortable with the whole thing. Someone checks tickets five or ten minutes down the road, like there’s anything that could be done about it at that point! In each car, half of the riders ride backwards, which means at some point, someone must face someone they don’t know for a long time. AWKWARD! Across from us was a very prim, middle-aged woman, looking like Jane Hathaway from the Beverly Hillbilly’s TV show. She wore a chin-length bob with straight bangs and not a trace of makeup (more on this in a future blog). She looked down at her book the whole way, which made her have more chins than she should have. I wonder what she said later about the middle-aged woman in a pony-tail and a Gap sweatshirt that sat across from her.
In this country that appears to be somewhat disheveled and unorganized (by other’s definitions, not just mine), the train is right on time, every time. Our train arrived back in Oxford at 4:14, exactly on time. The train is like our constant, perfectly timed God. When life seems to go passed us in a blur, when we’re unsure of ourselves, when illness and tragedy change our plans, God arrives right on time, wrapping His protective arms around us. With perfect timing, He carries us safety to our next station in life.
“When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know of you, from Jordan depths to Hermon heights, including Mount Mizar. Chaos calls to chaos, to the tune of whitewater rapids. Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers crash and crush me. Then God promises to love me all day, sing songs all through the night! My life is God's prayer.” Psalm 42:6
One more thing. Scotland is 2 Papa’s 47th country to visit. He used to find every phone booth in a visiting town to continue his business while traveling. He found these in Edinburgh and used them to prop up against while he used his cell phone.
Hope you all are having a great day. You are greatly loved.
Hugs, 2 Mama
Hugs, 2 Mama
Johnny looks very good. Is the walking and English food contributing to that slim look? How nice -- to be on vacation AND lose weight!
ReplyDelete