One Month of Bliss......One Year of Discontent

My first view of England from
the plane.

One year ago, today, I boarded a plane for London with a massive backpack, camera equipment, a laptop, and more excitement than I could contain. I had no idea how that trip would change me or how I would struggle upon my return home.

This trip was the culmination of years of longing, planning and saving. As a teenager, I set my sights on traveling to the United Kingdom, and at the age of 55, I could scarcely believe that it was going to happen. The trip was a wonderful blend of pre-scheduled events and days left to fate..... planned stays with friends and solo adventures. The preparations had consumed my life for over a year, taking my resources of time, energy, and money. And it was worth every one of those investments.

A cliff view of the sea on my ten-mile hike
with the Highland Rangers on the Isle of
Skye.

The trip did not disappoint. My senses were on overload from the marvelous sights, sounds, smells and tastes of a different culture. At times I couldn't believe that I was living my dream trip. It often felt surreal and always magical. And while I thoroughly loved England and Wales, I have never felt so at home as I did in the Highlands of Scotland. There is something wild and rugged about the terrain, the weather, and the people. I immediately fell in love with all of it! I felt right at home in the cool, damp air...consuming cup after cup of tea...walking mile upon mile over boggy ground covered with bracken and heather...watching the clouds dance across the sky as they do nowhere else I have been...and hearing the red deer thunder out their mating call. Listening to the melodic lilt of the Gaelic language and heavy Scottish accents, I was mesmerized..... enchanted.... completely smitten.

I have felt unsettled since I returned home. I am still not sure why or what that means, but it has been almost unbearable at times. Do I just want the respite from a daily job... you know.... the luxury of being on vacation and not having to report to anyone at any certain time? Or is it that I had a clean slate with everyone I met. They knew me only as Beth from the states. No background history or pre-conceived ideas about who or what I was. People took me at face value and I could be blatantly myself. Was it that I had guarded my expectations and had established a mindset to roll with the flow, regardless of what came my way?

A reminder for tourists on the streets of London!

Was part of my discontent caused by the fact that home is so familiar... perhaps too familiar? I had spent nearly a month on sensory overload. The majority of what I saw, ate, heard, smelled, and touched offered up a new experience. Now, back at home, the familiarity of my daily life often felt crushing...anti-climatic. I know....I know.... quit whining. Many people don't have the opportunity to travel like I did. They don't get to mark something big off their bucket list. But that doesn't change how I have felt over the last year. It doesn't change the fact that I still feel a strong tug on my heart to return to the UK. There is so much I haven't experienced.

Don't get me wrong. I love my family and friends dearly. I love my acreage and my home. I love my job. But something has been off kilter. I now know something that can't be unlearned...even if I can't name what it is. My experiences changed me and I can't go back to how and who I was prior to my travels. Maybe it is to be expected. Once you see another part of the world and experience another culture, you can't return to the status quo of your former life. The dilemma is to figure out how to mesh my new self into my old life..... or how to change my life to better mesh with my new self.


A stunning waterfall on the
Isle of Skye.

I planned this trip for years and it represented a lot for me. It was a gift to myself for winning a long battle to regain my health and happiness. It was a celebration of my independence and freedom. It was a proving ground to those who said I was incapable and undisciplined. It was a bold statement to any doubters, especially myself, that I can accomplish what I want.

I had some things planned and scheduled, but many days I would simply take off driving or walking and choose my travel path as I went. Those spontaneous days resulted in several tasty evening meals in my room with cheeses, fruits, and local beverages purchased at unexpected market stops. I found a fantastic bookstore in Inverness, which was housed in an old church building. It was not on the agenda for the day, yet it offered me several hours of soulful entertainment among the books, maps, and antique prints. I did a little Christmas shopping for my sister, Becky, and purchased some souvenirs for myself. Another magical moment!

The Coral Beach on the Isle of Skye.

My first serving of haggis!

My first haggis was eaten in a small café in Dunvegan, on the Isle of Skye. My conversation with the waitress informed me that Dunvegan Castle, my planned destination, had closed three days prior, but there was a beautiful coral beach that was worth the hike. I took her advice. She was right! It was stunning and I enjoyed the stretch of my legs and being out in nature for the afternoon. Unexpected plans.... unscheduled journeys .....I can't help but love them. There is just something soulful about listening to your gut feelings and then acting on them.

Susan, Andy, and I braved some
chilly weather for a hike in
Snowdonia National Park in Wales.

I had to depend upon myself on this trip, but I also relied upon others. Obviously my hosts in London, Daley and Liam, and my hiking hosts, Andy and Susan, played a huge role in the success of my trip. In addition to their assistance, I had help from a variety of other people, which didn't surprise me.  I prayed daily for two things.  I prayed that God would send helpful people to me when I needed them, even if I didn't know I needed them. And I prayed every day that God would cover me and my transportation with a bubble of protection. He repeatedly did both of those things. That is the topic for another blog post!

Daley and Liam with me at the top of
St. Paul's Cathedral in London.

A deep, relentless longing continues to call. I feel as if I have no choice....I have to return.  Until recently, I wasn't sure when or under what circumstances that would happen. Then, during a Facebook Messenger conversation, I learned that my London hosts, Daley and Liam, had set a date for their wedding in the summer of 2017.  And.....I would be receiving an invitation!  I immediately starting planning a return trip to England for their wedding. I am planning to venture out for a few days, but I will stay within a much smaller area of the UK this time.... probably southern England and perhaps Wales. While there are no definite plans for my trip in 2017, the excitement is already building.

The Scottish Highlands will get my undivided attention on my next return trip!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daddy's Pickup on the Backroads

The sun is warm on my arm and the wind whips my hair, lashing it wildly across my face. I don't mind. I am on a sentimental journey. I am driving my dads pickup. Technically, it belongs to my mother, but in my mind and my heart, it will always be my dads. I borrowed it to do a few tasks on my property, but I find that I am in no hurry to exchange it for my little HHR....despite its horrific gas mileage!

There is something solid about that old pickup. It is heavy, a 1997 Ford, and it seems to lumber when it moves. Daddy's collection of cassette tapes is still in the console storage and behind the seat. They generate their own trip down memory lane... The Statler Brothers, Bob Wills, Johnny Cash and Jerry Clower. (If you haven't listened to the southern comedy of Jerry Clower.... you really should! The antics of Marcel Ledbetter are hilarious, assuming you can understand the southern references!)

I love the feel of the steering wheel as my hands grasp the worn leather cover. It is smooth with tiny cracks in random places. My fingers catch on the peeling edges as they slide around the wheel, guiding the pickup around the corner. I can still see his large hands wrapped around the wheel, exactly where mine now rest.

I have very fond memories of my dad and this truck. Actually, I have memories of trips with my dad in all of his trucks. There were trips to livestock shows, swap meets, auctions, and 4-H events. And I have special memories of a trip to get a black Lab puppy as a surprise Christmas present for my youngest daughter. Growing up, we never stopped for lunch at a restaurant or drive-in. Instead, he would stop at a convenience or grocery story, and he would buy a package of chocolate cookies and a quart of milk for us to share. They don't make that type of cookies anymore. They were chocolate sandwich cookies with a chocolate frosting between the flaky cookie layers. Not healthy at all, but it sure made for some strong memories.


As a young adult, I remember riding with him to Nardin, Oklahoma, where he was raised. We were going to salvage some weathered wood off a barn that his grandfather had built. As we chose the best boards and carefully removed them from the structure, my dad started to cry. One of a handful of times I saw him cry. When we were finished, we drove to the tiny gas station in Nardin. We each selected a "cold pop" from the old metal cooler. You know.... the kind with the lid on top that slides over so you can access the cold beverages inside. Sodas may be consumed regularly in today's society, but at that time, they were a special treat.


I know I drive his pickup much faster than he did. And my music choices are not only different than his, I guarantee you, I play them much louder.... seriously..... much, much louder. But I feel close to him when I am behind the wheel, window down, left arm resting on the bottom of the window opening, singing loudly while the wind makes a complete mess of my hair. I slow down then speed up, driving just like he did. Enjoying the moment.




I drove the old highway home from Guthrie tonight. That red truck hugging the curves along the creek and under the dappled light which filtered through the trees. I drove well below the speed limit, because I didn't have any place I had to be. I sang along with those old-school country songs on cassette tapes and to honor my dad, I even made up some new lyrics. Then I laughed. Because he used to do that all the time. Next time, I might have to stop for a package of cookies and a quart of milk!