The Day I Was Determined to Climb up to the Old Man of Storr

This is an image from the Trotternish peninsula on the Isle of Skye off the west coast of Scotland (this picture is from Wikipedia; other pictures following are from us). Pictured is a little road, actually the main road, that goes around the whole peninsula along the coastline. Above the road is a rocky formation called the Storr. Just in front of the Storr there is a tall rock that juts up and is called the Old Man of Storr. It's one of those rock formations that is fascinating to watch comfortably from your car as you approach it, drive underneath it, then turn with the road and see it from the other side as well. It's one of the iconic images for which the Isle of Skye is known.

When the husband and I went to Scotland almost five years ago and we drove to Skye, I was determined we should climb the path up to the Old Man of Storr. I was also 15 or 16 weeks pregnant and still on anti-nausea medication. Just three weeks before then, I wasn't even sure that I would physically make it through the airport to go on this trip. But, now that I was here on the Isle of Skye, I was determined to climb up to the Old Man of Storr come rain or come shine.

Scotland in September really is a come rain or come shine kind of month. Brisk and clear one moment, misty and mysterious the next, but most of the time just wet. The evening that we arrived in Skye, it was nice and sunny, but we still had to find a place to stay for the next two nights, so we did not have time to explore the island then. We did take a stroll through Portree at dusk, and were watched by the dark, sad eyes of a lone seal in the harbor. I had high hopes that the next day would have some good weather for us as well.

The next day welcomed us with clouds, but we had learned already that if one wants to see anything in Scotland, one has to go despite clouds. So we started driving. As we approached the Old Man of Storr along the very road pictured above, I was happy that it still wasn't raining and we pulled into the parking lot below the trail-head. From the trail, the Storr is not visible -- you have to reach the top of the trail before it or the Old Man become visible again. But with faith, we started our climb. I was wearing my brand new, never-been-washed maternity jeans and feeling very comfortable and confident. Although it was cloudy, the first half of the hike up was very enjoyable. The path meandered through a forest, at times incredibly dark and mysterious, but always with glimpses of light:

Right around the time we decided we must be getting near the top, it started to rain. In retrospect, I think we must have only been about two-thirds of the way, but we thought we were so close. We kept going, of course, and the forest started thinning out. Eventually, now very wet, we got to what we thought was the top. Except this was all we could see:

The mist had descended enough that we couldn't see the Old Man or the Storr. I stubbornly said, "Maybe if we keep going, we'll get close enough to see it." So we kept walking up, but it was getting steeper and muddier. Finally, we could just barely see the outline of the Old Man in the mist:

At this point, it was pouring rain and we knew we weren't going to see any better even if we were close enough to touch the rock. Because we were literally in the middle of a cloud. We decided to turn back. Except the path had been replaced by a slippery stream. Slish-slosh we went down the hill-side, hand-in-hand because I was afraid of slipping in the mud and tumbling the rest of the way. By the time we got to our car, our clothes and shoes were soaked. We drove straight back to our B&B.

In our bathroom, I peeled off my dripping jeans, only to discover they were dripping blue dye everywhere, so they went straight into the shower with me for a good wash. Then we hung everything to dry on the towel warmers and put our soggy shoes to dry in front of the space heater. As it was still pouring rain outside, we decided it was alright to lay down and take a nap after our morning's (mis)adventure.

In the warmth of the bed, I lay on my back in a peaceful stillness. Suddenly I felt something move inside me; gentle, unmistakable movements. I will always remember the day I was determined to climb up to the Old Man of Storr as the day I first felt my baby move thanks to a Scottish September rain.

Reflections on a Stormy Night

Written about twelve years ago.

My eyes shot open and saw only the darkness of my room. Heart pounding, too dazed to realize what had awoken me, I turned to the illuminated alarm clock next to my bed. It was 2:14 in the morning, only an hour since I had turned off my light and gone to sleep. I had been up late reading a Mary Stewart novel, despite the whole shelf devoted to Dickens and my resolve to someday read all of his works.

I closed my eyes again. I was just slipping back to sleep when that horrible, deafening roar and rumble, which had evidently been the cause of my interrupted sleep, invaded my room and mind. Once again my heart beat furiously, pumping out fear to every inch of my body. I was wide awake now. There’s something about thunder in the dark that had always frightened me, but only when I was alone, which was most of the time, since I had my own bedroom. After my fear reflex came the shame. I was 17 years old and about to start my senior year of high school – I had no right to be frightened of a little thunder, It’s so primitive.

There was a flash of light and I immediately clamped my eyelids shut and waited, cowering in mental silence, for the thunder to come. It came and I flinched, resisting what I knew was the only remedy to my situation. Darn this blasted monsoon season, I thought. I lay motionless, hoping fruitlessly that the storm and my fear would pass. There was another roll of thunder and I knew I had to, even though it was so embarrassing. I did it every year and I didn’t have the courage to make an exception this time. 

I waited for the next clap to fade away, and then I sat up, swung my feet to the floor, grabbed my pillow and federdecke, and darted out of my room, stumbling over my shoes on the way. I wasted no time in turning the corner into the hallway leading to my parents’ bedroom. I walked hurriedly, blindly down the hallway and entered the bedroom.

Immediately I could hear my dad’s snore and the rhythmic breathing of my mother’s sleep. I fumbled my way around the door to the couch in the corner, where I lay down and arranged my nest for the rest of the night. Once I was comfortable, I listened to my parents, laid my head back on my pillow and felt safe again. I reflected on how happy I would be the day I could stay in my own room because there would be someone there with me and I wouldn’t be alone. Just then there was another flash of light and the thunder came only moments later; it was the closest and loudest one yet. For the moment I would have to content myself with my parents.

“That one was definitely a meat-eater,” I thought with a little smile as I recollected a previous thunderstorm from my dinosaur period as a very little girl. The thunder had cried out then as it had now, and I had turned to my mother very seriously and inquired, “I wonder if that was a plant-eater or a meat-eater,” apparently convinced that whatever had made such a gargantuan noise must have been a dinosaur and just curious as to what kind.

Unfortunately and pathetically for me, the truth about thunder had scared me more at 17 than the notion of a dinosaur had at five. I guess at five I’d always known that if a T-Rex did come storming into my room, Luke Skywalker would be there with his light-saber to save me. At 17, I had enough imagination to get me electrocuted, but not enough to get me saved. 

T-Rex always was my worst nightmare in my early years, until I had the dream about my dad abandoning me on a street-corner. I never told anyone about that dream until years later. A dear teacher had once commented to my sophomore English class that the biggest fear among infants and young children was abandonment. It made sense. At least it explained why I could never watch Dumbo without my mother sitting next to me. I suppose it also helped explain this need to be with someone during a thunderstorm too – if I were with someone I felt secure, and if something were to happen, I wouldn’t be abandoned or alone. 

My dad sounded like he was about to choke himself, but the storm was dying down. And so I tried once again to go back to sleep, pondering on the Tongue Wars and wondering if Luke would or could save my dad for us.

3 AM History of Civilization

I have been going through over a decade of stuff in the last month. Here's a poem I just found from my freshman year of college, and yes, it was written while cramming for a test. Fun times.


 3 AM History of Civilization

So this guy Polykeitos
was at the Doryphoros
and his mathematical preciseness was --
-- urban.
What?  I thought
he had a spear
well not anymore.
Now he has a
door -- for us.
Are you sure it isn't urban.
No. it is marble, though
it used to be copper.
Pennies.  A one-cent spear-bearer?
No.  Polykleitos' Doryphoros.

Dublin Encounters: Episode 1

As an American pedestrian in Ireland, I never could remember which way to look for traffic. If I was a passenger in a car, I didn't have any trouble remembering which side of the road I was on and where oncoming traffic would be. But put me on my feet, and it was, "Why is there suddenly a car right where I'm about to walk?"

Crossing Drumcondra, you had to be careful. My husband had been there long enough that he had more confidence. Whereas I didn't mind taking my time waiting for the pedestrian light to see me safely across. Then I would stop and wait for a bus to take me further into the city. While waiting, I would admire the tree-lined sidewalks leading north, or wonder why Quinn's on the other side of the street was advertising American beer. Often I could people watch, and always I could enjoy the sunshine.

Sunshine in Ireland is a rarity, and I was lucky to be there in the sunniest and perhaps warmest weeks of the year. It was June, and the sky was a brilliant blue with sparkling white puffy clouds. I was going into town to see something of great import. There was the Book of Kells to study, or perhaps St. Stepehen's Green to enjoy the sunshine with poets and dreamers. Maybe I would also eat some fish and chips at Beshoff's.

There was a bus approaching, and I stuck out my arm at a 45-degree angle to the road. The bus slowed, stopped. I stepped on, scanned my bus pass, and decided to stay on the lower level as there were only a few other passengers. I sat down a couple rows behind a thin, silver-haired old man in a black blazer and blue shirt. He hadn't looked at me as I passed, but he had pleasant wrinkles in his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes. He was holding on to the seat in front of him, as if he might start a conversation with the occupants across the aisle. The bus continued down the road, and I turned my eyes to the other occupants.

They looked like a father and daughter. She looked about six or seven years old, and she kept pointing at things out the window and chattering. The old man said something cheerful to the pair, and the girl smiled at him. The father responded with something friendly and respectful. A small conversation ensued, and I enjoyed listening to their voices, though I didn't hear the words. At the next stop, the father and daughter stood up to go, and they said goodbyes to the old man. As they hopped off the bus, the old man cried a farewell at them and sat back, letting go of the seat in front of him.

A couple teenage boys in athletic wear boarded the bus and clambered upstairs. The old man turned his head toward the window and started to whistle as the bus resumed its course further into the heart of Dublin. The whistle was high and clear, but his sweet vibrato added a gentleness that captivated me. His tune was nothing I was familiar with. The more he whistled, the more I guessed that his tune was in fact nothing in particular. It went wherever he willed it.

Soon I was unaware of where we were. My eyes blurred as my memory flashed through twenty years of that very same whistle. Too soon, the bus slowed again, and the old man stopped whistling and hesitantly stood up. I wiped my eyes and saw the bustle of O'Connell street outside. I jumped out of my seat, and followed the old man out of the bus. Only when we were on the pavement did I notice his long, thin cane. He had started to whistle again, and was tapping the ground around him with his cane. My heart ached as I watched him turn toward the expanse of O'Connell street. It was filled with buses and cars and a median that also served as a pedestrian thoroughfare. There were merchants selling flowers to tourists near the Spire, and further down toward the Liffey sat Daniel O'Connell himself with tourists and Dubliners alike.

My old man didn't even hesitate as he stepped forward to cross the mighty O'Connell, his cane tapping along. He walked into the street just barely after the last wave of traffic, as if they hadn't been there. I watched him safely make it to the pedestrian median. I hadn't meant to cross O'Connell there, but I found myself following. Just as I reached the median, the old man was about to step into the thick traffic on the other side. I was poised to run, I thought I could feel my heart stop. Just as the man learned forward to step off the median into the stream of cars, a younger man pulled his arm back and steadied him on the median. Staying back, I watched the young man wait with the old as the traffic cleared. They exchanged words as the young escorted the old across the rest of the street. I saw them shake hands, and I watched the young man watching the old man walk down O'Connell street. I turned my eyes to the old man, and in my mind I could hear him whistling again, drowning out the noise of the busy street. He turned a corner and was gone. 

The traffic of O'Connell street flowed this way and that. When I decided which side I wanted to be on, I looked in the proper direction for oncoming traffic before crossing. I was going into town to see something of great import. I couldn't remember what it was.

Q through Z

Here's the last batch of names. Enjoy!

Quanita
Quasar
Quirtsquip
Rain
Raleigh
Randilyn
Ransom
Reagan
Redeemer
Reed
Remedy
Rider
Rio
Riviera
Rocket
Rogelyn
Rousseau
Rumor
Rusty
Safari
Saffron
Sailor
Salome
Samosa*
Sashlyn
Savvy
Sedona
Senorita
Sequester
Sequin
Sequoia
Serendipity
Shadow
Shammis
Shazzwa
Silence
Skate
Snow
Sonnet
Sparkle
Springer
Sushi
Symphony
Tamber
Terpsichore
Timberly
Tosca
Tropica
Twilight
Tyanne
Unique
Utah
Utahna*
Utahnette*
Valkyrie
Verdi
Whisper
Xanadu
Yale
Yancy
Zandeleigh
Zealand
Zephyr
Zion

*Once again, everything but those marked with an asterisk came from the aforementioned baby names site.

K through Peanut

Here's K through P:

Kachina
Kendrix
Kerry
Kiffany
Kimberlina
Kindle
Kipling
Korma*
Krishna
Lasharon
Lawanda
Limon
Lithany
Logan
Lovette
Mab
Mahogany
Masala*
Mesa*
Medusa
Meliffany
Mohanna*
Monet
Murgatroyd
Myrrh
Mystery
Nevaeh
Nishelle
Ohio
Olive
Ona
Ova
Oxide
Pagan
Paprika
Peaches
Peanut
Pebbles
Pemberley
Persia*
Persis
Phoenix
Placenta*
Pocahontas
Pooky
Porsche
Prissy
Psalm
Puma

*Names marked with an asterisk I added myself -- everything else was from the babynames site.

My Thanksgiving

In the spirit of gratitude and thanksgiving, I wanted to take a moment and talk about what I am feeling most grateful for this November.

1. My husband. I am grateful for my husband. He does all sorts of things for me and really takes care of me in my current "condition". He genuinely loves me and cares about my physical, mental, and emotional well-being. More than that, I am grateful for who he is, what he thinks about, his own interests, and our common interests. I love hearing him laugh, whether it's at something I said (he actually thinks I'm funny) or at something on the television or at something on his computer that I would never understand until I had his level of computer-savvy. I love that he encourages me in my personal interests. It might sound strange, but I am also very grateful that he doesn't need me. He doesn't rely on me for food, for laundry, or for his spiritual welfare. Ours is not a Gretchen saving Faust relationship. I am grateful that our marriage is one of partnership and interdependence. I think we each do better together than apart, speaking from experience. ;-) But I don't feel pressured to be the "perfect" wife or to be his savior. For that I am very, very grateful.

2. My mother. My mother has served and sacrificed for me from the time I was in the womb, risking her own life in the process of giving me mine. More recently, I have come to appreciate her even more. Not just in light of my own feelings as I am about to become a mother myself. But also because I have witnessed how truly the calling of a mother never ends. I don't think I ever can express what it means to me that my mother drove across the country and cared for me for an entire month this summer. I can only say that I hope to have that same selfless love for my own children. And that I miss her. I am grateful for my mother, her love, and her friendship.

3. My father. After we found out we were having a girl, I tried to explain to Linus how special daddies are to their daughters. They just are, and mine is no exception. I was reminded of this very strongly this summer during my illness. Not only did he go without my mom for over a month, my dad was also there on the phone any time I needed or wanted to talk with him. It amazed me how much better I would feel after our conversations. His straight-forward medical advice was always comforting, and he was always upbeat and encouraging. I know he had a lot on his plate at the time, with work and my mom being gone. But he was always so supportive of me, and so excited for me. I am grateful for my daddy.

4. My baby. My baby has taught me a lot already, and she's not even born yet. I just feel so grateful for her. Ever since I've been able to feel her moving, she's constantly reminding me why I'm doing this. She helps to comfort me when I don't feel good, and she has helped me move beyond my physical discomforts to feel excited for her. I am excited to meet her, and I am grateful for the love and the bond that I already feel growing between us.

5. My body and my life. Bodies are miraculous. I am truly in awe of them. Everything that they can go through and still function -- and in some cases support a new life at the same time. I am so grateful for my body and my life. While they may not be perfect, they are miraculous to me.

6. My faith. I am grateful for my faith in the Lord. Without that, and without Him, none of these miracles would be in my life. I might still have a body and a family, but I would never have recognized them for the miracles they are.