Gray Skies

While I am not really a fan of Arizona's endless sunny days of relentless heat, I must say after seven days at sea and seven more in the UK and seeing about four hours of sunshine total I think I prefer the former. For those readers contemplating emmigration to this lovely isle in the wake of last Tuesdays election, may I suggest Australia instead? Aussie politics and social prejudices might not be much better than America's current embrace of the Orange Fuhrer but at least you will see the sun more often than Scotland.

We are currently in Stirling, an ancient city with (wait for it...) another fantasic castle which we will visit later today. The town itself, in the city center, is a nice mixture of shops and services presented in a movie-set like array. After checking in to our hotel we went across the street for a great meal in an Indian restaurant and a pint of beer in the corner pub. At the latter we were invited to take the only open seats across from a quartet of charming Caledonians who engaged us in conversation. It was delightful! When they learned we were Americans, of course the conversation turned to our country's recent folly and all four sympathized with our feeling that we needed to apologize for our national origin. They can't stand Orange Julius either, and consider the presence of his golf club on their soil to be a national insult. Thus, they displayed more intelligence than the millions of our fellow countrymen who thought reelecting a man who has boasted of his racism and sexual assault escapades was perfectly fine. When we rose to leave the men shook me warmly by the hand and the female member of the quartet embraced Jayne in a spotaneous display of sympathy and affection. Thinking back on it this morning almost brings tears to my eyes.

During our hair-raising drive to Stirling yesterday we paused for a visit to the Falkirk Wheel, a marvel of modern engineering built entirely to service a centuries-old mode of transportation. Canal boats traversing Scotlands's uneven terrain depend on a series of locks to raise and lower the boats. At Falkirk the elevation change required at least eleven locks

and and an entire day to accomplish. The Wheel shortened that time to one hour. It consists of two huge boat-length troughs of canal water mounted on opposite ends of a rotating wheel. A boat enters one of the troughs, the gate is closed, and then the whole thing raises the boat to the upper level while simultaneously lowering the other. It is strangely quiet as it does so and only takes about three minutes. It does not matter if there is a boat at the opposite end becuase the water dispacement equalizes the weight to the exact ounce! (Think Archimedes here.) It is a stunning example of Scottish ingenuity and a wonderment to witness.

You Take the High Road...

We left Edinburgh yesterday and picked up a rental car at the airport to drive to our next destination in th Scottish border regions. It was certainly not our best day. Driving on the wrong side of the road is difficult enough, but when you add a navagaional device that is too low of volume to hear along with confusing traffic circles along the way, you have a recipe for disaster. Ourdestination was less than 100 miles away but it took about three hours due to many wrong turns and driving as slow as possible through the deepening fog. We got to Drumlanrig Castle where we checked into a small apartment in the former stableyard before nightfall and had enough time to go to the nearby village of Thornhill to get some groceries. It gets dark around here at 5:00 pm so we were content to make a very early night of it.

Wash, Rinse, and Repeat

Yesterday to take our minds off of what was among the worst days in American history, we took the city bus to a genuine Edinburgh neighborhood unexplored by the crowds of tourists to do our laundry. The clothes were not the only thing that went to the cleaners; my wallet was lightened to the tune of 36 UK pounds (about fifty bucks US) just to wash and dry two loads of laundry. At this rate we might as well walk around in sweat stained shirts the rest of the trip. What made matters worse is the somewhat-addled proprietor wanted to display his support for the orange lunatic running for president in our country, a disgusting attribute that detracted from the charm of the four little Scottie dogs that shared the space with him. But all was not lost. We discovered the street we were on had numerous second-hand thrift stores which delighted Jayne. She purchased a light summer dress and I managed to score a leather-bound 1902 edition of Charles Dickens's Domby and Son.

After depositing our refreshed raiment in our hotel room we went out again to visit the Scottish National Museum. This huge facility is like all of the Smithsonian museums in Washington DC rolled into one and we were simply unable to do it justice. I felt every one of my 70 years after only an hour or two into the exhibits and we needed to retreat to a nearby pub to fortify ourselves for the walk home. This watering hole was named "Blackfriars Bobby," and a statue of a little Skye terrier sits out in front to remind visitors of the legend of the canine that refused to leave his master's grave for more than a decade. The story is of doubtful authenticity but, as Rick Steeves has theorized, local merchants in the nineteenth century recruited any stray dog to play the role for tourists to increase visitation, a strategy that continues to work to this very day. We then strolled down Victoria Street, supposedly the inspiration for the Harry Potter books. There I threw away good money to buy an authentic Glengarry hat totally unsuitable for the Arizona climate and that I will likely hardly wear. I couldn't resist--it was in my size!

The sun came out yesterday, the first bright day we have seen in the UK since we arrived. Ironic, since at the same time the light was being extinguished in our own country. The reelection of the orange lunatic fills me with a sadness I cannot adequately express, and I cannot help but to feel that we will likely need to apologize for being Americans for the remainder of this trip. This election, probably the last the US will ever see, was truly a "wash, rinse, and repeat."

Auld Reekie

Travel guru Rick Steeves explains that the city of Ediburgh was so filthy in its past that people referd to its stinky presence as "Auld Reekie," but we have discovered a delightful, if somewhat gray, town that looks like a Harry Potter movie set. What an interesting place, with more pubs per block in the Royal Mile area than cannibis stores in Santa Fe (and that, my friends, is saying a lot!) The only reek I have notices is the distinct aroma of the aforementioned herb which is still illegal in this part of the world but apparently heavily used nonetheless.

Yesterday we took a walk from our hotel up to the famous castle and took a self guided tour. The view from the top was fantastic, and the crowds were light since we were among the first to be admitted. We saw the various cannon batteries and walked along some pretty steep cobblestone pathways as we explored the place. Of particular note was the display of Scotland's crown jewels and the famous Stone of Skone on which every British monarch has been crowned, including Chuck just a couple of years ago. We saw the royal apartments and the "Great Hall" where lavish banquets and affairs of state have been conducted. It had an interesting ceiling that looked like an inverted boat hull. One touching sight was the Scottish War Memorial where the names of all the fallen from World Wars I and II are listed in a very somber church-like building with bronze friezes and stained glass. We also went to the War Museum and saw artifacts from conflicts the Scots served in from the 1600s to the present.

In the afternoon we went to various places in "New Town" Edinburgh, the area on the other side of the railway station we arrived at on Sunday. There we mailed a postcard to friends, had a look at the very impressive monument to Sir Walter Scott, and ended up at a pub where Jayne had her first taste of haggis. Our server, Joseph, was a real hoot, dressed as a gentleman in waistcoat complete with a pocket watch and chain. Of course he recognized me as a kindred spirit since I was similarly attired an he kept us amused with his patter delivered in a delightful Scottish brouge. I tucked into a steak and ale pie and washed it down with a glass or two of the local lager, Tennents, "brewed with the fresh highland water from Loch Katrine." After lunch we went to tour some of the National Gallery and saw paintings and sculptures created by Caladonian artists from 1800 to the 1940s. Fortunately this museum was close to our hotel because we were exhausted!

By Land, Sea, and Air

This dispatch is being written from a hotel room in Edinburgh, Scotland, where we arrived after a marathon journey from Tucson on October 22. This is our big 50th wedding anniversary blowout trip and we are thoroughly enjoying ourselves. should have been posting all along the way, but somehow there was always something else to do more appealing than sitting at this laptop and composing a recap of the day's events. Now it is time to catch up.

First, we took a hire van from Tucson to the Phoenix airportwhere we caught our flight to JFK in New York City. Apart from staying in the most wretched acommodations for the next three nights we had a delightful time with our son Benjamin enjoying a few things this exciting city has to offer. (For our review of the motel under the psudonym "Karen F"click here) We visited the USS Intrepid, a decomissioned aircraft carrier now serving as a museum and home to the space

shuttle Enterprise. It was very interesting to us, especially since we were about to board a large ship ourselves. We also visited the 9/11 monument, Alexander Hamilton's grave, and took a cruise around Manhattan on a Circle Line boat featuring a very entertaining narrator. It was Ben's 36th birthday and I hope he enjoyed it as much as we did,

On October 25 we got on board of the Queen Mary 2 for a trans-Atlantic passage to Southampton, England. The ship was massive, likely as big as the Intrepid, and carried about 3,000 passengers. For seven days we crossed what seemed to be an endless expanse of water. On board were so many restaurants, lounges, and recreational facilities it is hard to imagine how anyone could be bored by this liesurely trip across the ocean. Jayne joined a

volunteer choir that practiced every day prior to their performance on the last day of the voyage and I spent a lot of time in the pub lounge playing darts. There was a competition every day, with different rules, and the same group of people showed up to play. It was delightful, and I actually won once. On the seventh deck there was a boardwalk all around the ship where one could accomplish a mile in three laps, and there was a library at the front of the vessel that featured 10,000 volumes and a daily newspaper (printed on board from AP news and other sources). On our last evening we attended a theater show that featured a painfully cheesy music review that I enjoyed very much; it was a lot like the old Bill Murray nightclub singer sketch he used to do on Saturday Night Live. If you like Lawrence Welk you would have liked this show. Using this show as an example, many of the venues on the QM2 are filled with the gray and infirm, and at times it felt as if we were residents of a floating rest home. Still, it was the trip of a lifetime and we are glad we took it.

We landed in England on November 1 and took a bus provided by the Cunard company for our ride into London, about sixty miles away. We then took a cab to our hotel situated right across from King's Cross railway station in the heart of the city. We were pleasantly surprised to learn the Charles Dickens home and museum was right around the corner and we paid a visit to see the digs of the great writer. Amond many of the documents and artifacts on display was the desk he wrote some of his novels on. Looking at it gave me a particular thrill I must say. Later that night we took a cab down to Buckingham Palace and walked over to Parliment Square to see Big Ben chime 6:00 pm. Another sight in this area effected me deeply; among the statues of all their past prime ministers the British people have placed a very fine sculpture of Abraham Lincoln. It almost brought tears to my eyes to contemplate the greatness of that man in comparison to the orange lunatic who is also numbered among our past presidents. (I am writing this the day before the US election. Jayne and I voted before we left and we fervently pray our beloved country is spared repeat of that orange lunatic in the White House.)

After our day and two nights in London, we took a high speed train for Edinburgh which we reached in four hours. Amazing! Today we will tour the famous castle and I will report on it afterwards.

das Ende

How much longer will any of us be able to express our digust with the orange colored lunatic who appears likely to once again befoul the White House? Today's Supreme Court ruling will be a loaded gun in his tiny hands once he removes them from the innauguration Bible next January. I fear for anyone who has spoken out against this monster, be they late night television comedians, editorial columnists, Democratic Party officials, or even the humble composer of an online blog such as myself. Poor fellow, my country!

The Idleness of Retirement

Among the accusations that many soon-to-be retirees hear is the tired old question “What are you going to do to keep busy?” While those making such an inquiry might mean well, the implication of the question is that they believe the old codger about to get his gold watch has little to no life or interests outside of the profession he intends to leave. I was the object of more than a few such inquiries about six years ago when I was anxiously counting down the remaining days of my employment as an archivist for Montana State University. “Nothing,” was my reply to all, “I intend to do nothing,” and I was quickly warned by my interlocutors that such an empty post-retirement existence would drive me insane. I can now confirm from my own vantage point that the dire predictions of my colleagues were grossly exaggerated, but you will have to judge for yourself (if you continue to read this essay) whether or not these are the ravings of a madman. What I have discovered since I left the working world behind is that some things have not changed, and others have changed for the better. I will begin with the former.

I used to walk to work and back every day, a pleasant twenty minute stroll through Bozeman’s historic district lined with beautiful mature trees. I always appreciated this alone

time because it allowed me to examine, in my reverie, any number of things from the books I was reading to the tasks that awaited me at work. Often I was so consumed in my own thoughts that I would arrive at the library front door with no clear memory of what had transpired since I left my house. This situation has not changed for me since I put down the working tools of academia. Starting first in Bisbee, where we moved shortly after retiring, and now in Tucson, I walk anywhere from four to seven miles every morning at dawn. My favorite local path takes me deep into Sabino Canyon, a rocky creek bottom in the center of the Santa Catalina mountains and I usually share the stroll now with friends.

Researching people and events was part of my job responsibilities when processing collections of personal papers and over the years I developed a real skill for ferreting out information on the most obscure characters. This was often the most enjoyable part of my working day, and I continue to practice it now. If not the genealogy of my own family, I often spend hours looking up information on a variety of topics that have caught my interest, including the history of our home, neighborhood, and of course all of Southern Arizona.

Finally, writing and reading were both features of my life in academia, and I managed to add dozens of articles and essays to the tally I was forced to maintain to earn tenure and promotion. Although that sword of Damocles has now been removed from over my head, I still get a great deal of satisfaction from both. Readers of this blog might justifiably question the volume of my literary output after months of silence, but my scribblings these days are mostly handwritten letters and rough drafts of works I intend to publish elsewhere. One of my long term projects is writing a book-length discussion on just how harmful the western myth has been for American Culture, a book which I am sure will require my own financing if it ever appears in print. Reading, too, is something that has declined but not due to any lack of pleasure on my part while so engaged. The simple truth is that my eyes tire easily after about an hour with a book and it takes me longer to finish volumes than I used to. I have rediscovered a fondness for English fiction of the Victorian period, a type of literature that requires time to absorb. I have plenty of time now.

What has changed for the worse for me since retirement? I can honestly say “angst.” If I am not fretting over my own health I am anxious for Jayne’s, and every new ache or pain triggers my concern for us both.

The national political situation is also a crushing worry, with a madman running for president and a myriad of his deluded followers seemingly ready to confront anyone with a bumper sticker that might criticize their Orange God King. None of the aforementioned apprehensions are linked to retirement, however, since I would have had the same headaches had I remained in harness, but now I am free to notice them more without distractions.

Overall I feel I must reassure those kind people who had so much concern for my mental health declining as the years of idleness stack up. Retirement is a blessing to me, and I am so grateful I have had the opportunity to enjoy these years doing whatever we feel like doing, whenever we feel like doing it. Perhaps the single most attractive thing about not working is the feeling I get every Sunday evening, a time when previously I suffered a vague uneasiness about the week to come. Now when the sun sets on the Sabbath, I smile with the realization that tomorrow will be most likely exactly like today, and that is completely fine with me.