The Meaning of No End

Have you ever wanted something so bad that when you got it, you were trying to remember what it was you really wanted? 

At last complaint post, I was getting use to being 'further afield from home'.  The mastering of Scottish slang, lack of certain major household appliances, and death by dietary bombardment; i.e. fish suppers, stovies, and mince & skurlie. 

Doing what I do best, I got wrapped up in what I had pictured the romantic Scotland to be and what 'really' was the day to day norm. Resuming the 9-5 job, running for groceries and hoovering the carpet. You get the general idea? It's called l-i-f-e. 

I came across this post several months ago and I saved it. It was like a frying pan to the face (but in a good way) This is what Evan Lenz, who I have no idea who he is, wrote;

"Have you ever been in the middle of following your dream before you then came back to your senses? Did you really come to your senses, or just fall back into your fears?

Try coming to your senses instead. Look, listen, feel. Notice that the walls aren't literally caving in around you. The waters aren't literally rising. Then go back to following your dream. 

THIS experience was my 'push back to my senses'. To you it will most likely be a long, repetitious, video of a slow moving procession of pipers and their groupies. But this was the moment I jumped back into my dream and had that out-of-body experience. THESE were the moments that I could not believe I was smack dab in the middle of. I had just seen (in the flesh) Queen Elizabeth, Prince Philip, Princess Ann, Prince Charles and Camilla, (as if that wasn't chart topping enough) but yet it was this moment I recognized as being the moment that was the moment of all. 

Picture this - you are encompassed by the hum of the pipes and beat of the drums as you march through movie-set perfect Braemar. Men, woman and kids wearing their clan proud kilts. Tartan exploding as bodies march in rhythmic step.  This quine (Scottish for woman) could have been herded off the edge of Ben Nevis with nae a care in the world! 

The moral of the story -  dreams stay a dream until they become reality. Reality means, 'something that exists independently of any ideas concerning it. 

On our flight home from spending Christmas in the states I chose to watch the movie, 'The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel'. It was another one of those 'frying pan to the face' moments with dialog that sums up the means to an end, or is it really an end at all?

"But it's also true that the person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing. All we know about the future is that it will be different. But perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same. So we must celebrate the changes".

"The only real failure is the failure to try, and the measure of success is how we cope with disappointment".

 "Everything will be all right in the end, and if it's not all right, 

then trust me, it's not the end".

Go forth and live responsibly

dream a dream

Happy 2013

What are you dreaming of for the New Year?

dumbwit does exist

Life no longer eludes me, it's fallen square in my lap; a lap that's been enhanced by copious portions of macaroni & cheese pie and chips. Please don't judge.

It's about time I quit running and tell my friends what I've missed the most (besides my family), and that's YOU. Yes of course, I miss my all too many unnecessary trips to Target, anything that has a drive-thru and a Dr. Pepper in a bucket sized cup heaving with ice; o.k., throw in a big 'Fat Burger' while you're at it!  Over the months of not blogging, I've realised the real dumbwit was the one that wanted to write, connect and occasionally get someone to think differently. If it was a good day, I'd make you laugh. There has been a fear of writing again. A big fear of no one out there because I've been silent for too long.  

In all honesty, I'm trying to find my place & I'll say it out loud, "at times I feel lost." New country, new job, new home, new time zone. 'Pants' are panties, pants are actually 'breeks'. 'Pushchairs' are for babies not old folks, a 'burn' (actually spelled bairn) isn't something you get when playing with fire, but a baby, and a 'tosser', well all I can say it's not someone who throws something.

One of many personal faults I have is that the reality of life does not always imitate the fantasy, and every now and again, my expectations fall flat on their face. I moved with my eyes wide-open and I knew that life in the U.K. would be far different that I even imagined. The balance is knowing how to corral those frustrations and appreciate all that is positive. To not let all the differences you think to be 'not fair' swallow you up. 

I'd like to think I'm far from being a prima donna, and if I'm wrong please step forward now and set me straight. You do learn quickly what you thought was a basic necessity, is now a privilege; but you also learn that what you thought you needed, wasn't that important after-all. I do know it's good to shake up your life. Even the bad times are positive if you wake-up to realise that something was learned. 

At work, I understand a fraction of what certain people on the phone are saying, and I am the token American at my small office.  I've been fortunate though to be able to fit in, and although my work mates have a good laugh at my expense from time to time, (that's how I found out what the word 'tosser' stood for), they've been my safety net and above all my friends.

A few weeks ago, we sealed the deal and are now home-owners to a double-upper flat.  Buying a home in Scotland is definitely a different cup of tea. We've traded in the Texas sized pool for a shared garden with a puddle, laundry room for a washer in the attic,  large American dryer for a shared clothes line in the garden, & a bathroom the size of a pantry.  I realized that either I was too big or the bathroom was too small when I climbed out of the tub one morning, only to back my backside into the hot, sizzling radiator. Who needs coffee after that wake-up call?

What I don't have to tell you is Scotland is a land of drink. Think Las Vegas without the flashing lights and the heat, but with the primped and well-dressed crowds of the young, and not so young, out for a binger.  When women go out here, it's not in their jeans and t's, but in sky-high heels and short dresses. I give huge kudos to those woman that after a few cocktails can remain up-right on their 5" heels navigating the cobbled streets of Aberdeen. Orthopedists must do a bang-up business here?

After living on the West Coast, the healthy life-style had sunk into me me more than I realised. I quickly noticed that you rarely see anyone toting around bottled water, but you do see plenty of Starbucks cups. Cakes and sweets are not only plentiful, but beautiful. Fish and chips have replaced burgers and fries,  and the fried chicken of the south. Chips (french fries)  are served with lasagne, chips with pizza and chips with your Swedish meatballs at Ikea.  

In Sept. of 2010, the Guardian reported that Great Britain alone consumes 6 billion crisps (potato chips) per year. But all that said, Scotland has the most beautiful food in it's markets, especially Marks & Spencer's. I dare you to stay clear of fruit scones served with clotted cream and raspberry jam, sticky toffee pudding with warm custard, or lemon sole and fresh chips from the fryer. 

As I look back on almost one full year of photos, I don't regret our choices.  I do think with each move I become a better version of myself. I'm more tolerant of others, and more appreciative of the things I have, and the people I love. A better conversationalist, and hopefully slightly more interesting?

It's hard to live here and not be affected by the abundance of beauty every time you leave your front door. The sun is not out often, so when it is, you leap for action. Now it's fully clear to me why the Scots I've known through the years have had a Weather Channel addiction.

As I wade through the next 12 months of the tartan life, I hope to be better adjusted to work and home. I feel like the girl late to the party, and no one to dance with. I feel as though all of you who have become my friend through this life of blogging have been my dance partner. You've danced the waltz with me to get me through the tough times, and the tango to wish me well onto this new adventure. Without being in touch, I feel this great void.

I'm not real sure what direction this blog should take? I'm not clear who this dumbwit is that wears a kilt? What interests you? The world hardly needs another travel blog, design blog, or 

just perhaps what's needed is a whisky expert? 

I know there will be stories to tell as we take our 102 year old flat into this century. 

I do know there will be no DYI when the sun is ooot! (as they say in Aberdoanian).  

Every conversation here starts with a "Hi-ya", and ends with a "Bye for noo". 

Please write me and tell me about

YOU?

[Go forth and live responsibly}

friendships are immeasurable

photography by dumbwittellher

Music, a Man and a Town

It’s the holiday season. As many of you are basking in the glow of your beautifully decorated tree, your stockings all hung by the chimney with care, I have done none of the above. It’s been the most unorthodox of Decembers for the Dumbwit, and believe me, I’ve had too many to publicly admit.  There’s been no hanging of lights, no bounty of boughs, not even a cleverly penned Christmas letter in which I humiliate my 4 children.

Although I feel a bit displaced not doing what I love best about this season, I have been given the greatest gift of all this Christmas, I have been given the gift of love.

The 25 year old Dumbwit would have cringed reading what the “cough..sputter...” (today’s) Dumbwit has just written. She would of uttered an indignant “let’s just go out to the shed and grab a shovel”.

On November 23rd, I narrowly missed my flight from Aberdeen to Seattle. I was quite the sight as I sprinted through the airport. Looking ever so chic (*!#@!) as I gasped for air & panting as I dragged my over-stuffed carry-on up the too many steps to the Air France plane parked on the tarmac. As I entered the cabin, passengers strained to catch a look of the idiot responsible for delaying the plane, only to realize by the look of me, that I could perish while in flight.  To add fuel to this already flamed post-mid-life gal, I had 4 check points to pass through once I claimed my luggage at Seattle’s Sea-Tac airport. It was the suitcase chocked full of Tunnocks Tea Cakes and Carmel Wafers that looked sketchy, sadly I now know.

Not only did I have the joy of celebrating Thanksgiving with my family, but I had the unbelievable experience of attending a special night in which 415+ people gathered to celebrate the 43 year music/teaching career of father in my home town of Snohomish, Washington. Yes sure, the little city named after a native Indian tribe is a small one, but the accomplishments of it’s high school’s music students reached world wide, from the their first international trip in 1969 to their last in 1996, under my father’s direction. From being the first U.S. band to perform on the Great Wall of China, 1969 Berlin, Glasgow’s Hampton Court for 90,000 footballers for the 1980 Scottish Cup, for the King of Norway, President Regan, the Montreux Jazz Festival, Euro Disney, to wining over-all first place in the St. Patrick’s Day parade in Dublin, and on.... Huge accomplishments for kids that many had never traveled from Snohomish to Seattle, a 45 minute car ride, let alone fly to Europe.

With this story, it is so easy to get carried away with facts, and testimonies, and hilarious stories. As the daughter of a bandman, I felt as though my childhood had been celebrated that night. Musician, after musician performed; the alumni choir sang, and the band belted out it’s tunes; soloists inspired, brass horns swayed, a drum line brought us to our feet, while several pianists left us in awe, including 2x Emmy award winning producer, composer, arranger, Nick Manson. All this and more orchestrated perfectly by the evenings master of ceremony, Anchorage Alaska's KTVQ CBS 11 News Anchor Dave Stroh (and fellow Snoho) who kept us in tears one second, and belly laughing the next.

But you see, the moral of this story is not just the tales of a teacher and his students, but what we all had in common to bring us all together from far and wide. It was about the love.
If I were to confess to you that in all my days I have never felt such feeling of love in a room, a large performing art center, would you understand? I’ve not witnessed so many tears of happiness from so many people over simply ‘seeing each other’. I’ve never hugged so many, heard so many laugh, and felt so many years melt away. We had all been swept back in time to a place, a time, a memory that we all seemed to have a common thread woven to join us all together. We felt love, as simple as that four letter word. Our love of music and our love for a man and each other.

As you take a look at the photos, I hope you see into the expressions on the faces of my peers.  

And for a brief moment, I hope you too can feel the love.

old memories

new ones

click here

I’m still today in Seattle as I have also been waiting for my British visa to come through to allow me to reside in Scotland as a spouse. It’s come through with flying colours, and I’ll be be home before Air France can say, “oh no, not again!"

Wishing you and yours a festive holiday season filled with joy and happiness.

From my heart to yours.

xx

{go forth and live responsibly}

support the arts

***In the New Year, if you find it your heart to donate towards the arts, I encourage you to research the needs of your local community schools to keep the music alive. Another organization is VH1 ‘Save the Music’ which is a non-profit foundation dedicated to restoring instrumental music education in America’s public school.

my favourite photo of my parents / band bus Taiwan Trip

photo credits - Lisa Foxworthy Stine, Carey Cairns Andray,  John Pulliam

Bits and Bobs, Style and Spirit

Life is all about the details. You and I know that when there's something 'big' coming up, we agonize over what to wear, down to the colour of our hose, or the pattern of our tie.

It's the most minuet details that can set us apart, make us look our finest, and speak volumes of 'who' we are. Aren't there scores of us women that dress for 'other-women' and the brave few that dress for themselves; men, well..we all know nothing is finer than a finely tuned male dresser.

Is all of this not true for where we live? It's the bones, the architectural details, all the way down to the jewellery - the light fixtures. It's how we live, much like a savvy suit, that expresses who we are.

Are you conservative, or is it retro, or flamboyant; or not so much rock and roll, but a little bit country?

Those that can see beyond the trends, but set them. That buck the system, and have insight to see a 'diamond in the rough' are those I applaud. These are the few who have a style that sets them apart from the followers.

I knew at a young age that I wanted to be different. Not following the norm was my mantra, but yet always wanting to fit in. It's knowing how much to edit ourselves and differentiate our style to obtain that aesthetically pleasing balance; and to not have the neighbours talking behind your back!

As I sit in my flat itching to get started at polishing this wee-gem ( and I mean wee), like most things in life I need to slow down, take in the details, soak in it's history and have a plan. As a person who wants to jump in, I believe a home needs to speak to us first for us to understand it's true language. Yes houses do talk to us, and sometimes they are saying, "what the heck were you thinking?"

 On the other hand as soon as I can whip out a paint brush and rip up a few carpets the happier I'll be. There isn't enough Fabreeze in all of the U.K. to make things right in my lounge. I can learn to love Haggis, much easier than learning to live without the comforts of loving where you lay your head.

Isn't it all about understanding the rules and knowing when to break them; if not shake them and giving your rooms a stir? "Le style est l'homme même" (style is the dress of thoughts).

So as I am, I try to focus, observe, and resist dipping into the nearest paint can I get my hands on; stifling back the urge to wave that paint brush like my freak-flag, One day at a time, one paint swatch to reconsider, I'm trying on my new look, the look of patience.

After all, life is all about the details?

The Dumbwit details. 

Notice the stairs that go to nowhere; what was once to the downstairs coal bin and servants quarters. Who has touched that railing and were they servants catering to the people of the house? What's their story?

They details are few but I think once finished, they'll be mighty.
I want to wish all who are celebrating a joyous Thanksgiving. I'm jumping a plane on Wednesday to Seattle (yes I get to change planes in PARIS!) to spend time with my family and attend a special event held in my father's honour on the 26th.  I may be slow on getting the moments needed to wish you all a hot 'cuppa' tea, elastic waistbands and whipped cream on your pumpkin pie.

 Hard to believe the dreaded, yet exciting 'Black Friday' is just around the bend. As I just typed those words, I had a sudden urge to see the nutty blond Target lady in her mad pursuit for BF bargains. She could make me laugh blindfolded.

Happy times folks!




{go forth and rejoice}


Some hae meat by Robert Burns

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thanit.
                                               
Amen

*single photos courtesy of admirationtolove.tumblr.com, video-via youtube, collages - dumbwittellher.com

Grab your wellies, the Dumbwit lands in Scotland

All designs/photos credited to Nicky Haslam of NH Designs 

What is it about us humans that there are those who desire constant change, and those that do not? People that get the 'itch' to move every few years, and those quite content with staying put, roots firmly planted. I suspect there is a small population to whom the gypsy lifestyle might all just boil-down to the insatiable addiction to the searching, planning and executing their next home (Ally of 'From the Right Bank' promptly comes to mind; creating beautiful homes where-ever life takes her).

What colours to use, furniture placement, trends, and the piece de resistance, lighting. All accomplished by heaps of research, and the thrill of the hunt. The true cherry on-top, making it all fall into place to define who you (both) are, and in my case, on a well-tailored budget.

 I very much understand both sides of the coin of how to live ones life.  Is it our experiences as children that map out our course, or is it perhaps the lack of experiences? I'm convinced there is no specific formula, although in my case, a vivid imagination must of been a key element. I was a dreamer, not a planner; one who lived to laugh and never thought of seriousness; planning was for those who were boring, not the incredibly wise people that I later found out they were. 

If I could be two people, two completely opposite people, then life would be ideal. I could be that mom that lives 15 minutes away, with my Sunday pot roast in the oven, and Saturday shopping dates with the girls, and the one son who is mad about the shops. Not thinking about my life-clock ticking and all the adventures out there to be had, and so little time. Not having to miss my family every hour of every day. Would someone such as myself grow old and regret those precious hours missed being so far away from home and loved ones? You hope that your children will live the kind of lives that really calls to them; calls to them, but is executed without pain to those they love.

I can vividly recall a moment in time, when as a child I sat in my Grandparent's Montana basement, and dreamed of what life as an adult would be like? I had decided on that hot summers day, circa 1969, that I would leave high school to live in Europe; work to live and live to wander. Did it happen? Not by a long shot, but those childhood dreams are some of the hardest to fade away, even with time, lots and lots of time.

Moving to a foreign country on a budget is not for the faint of heart. It's not how we laid out our plans, but that's what life planned for us. Our flat, although in a swank neighbourhood, had been a rental to younger professionals who obviously didn't have a notion how to clean. It was the aroma of boys locker room infused upholstered furniture and years of baked on curry in the 'hob' that almost sent me on the next flight anywhere away from Aberdeen.

After my panic attack subsided, I gathered my pride, slapped on the rubber gloves, and I began to scrub; bleach is now my new best friend and good hard work releases anger.  When you think of me living in picturesque Scotland, don't think it's all toffee pudding, warm-custard and champagne. I have no tumble dryer, no dishwasher, no car, and few personal belongings from home. The flip side - I just have to recall the previous 15 months that I bored-to-tears, anyone who'd quite frankly, would listen. You poor souls patiently lifted me up as I droned on about the complexities of selling a home in 2011. It became hard to just look @ myself in a mirror.  Here & now, it is the most unusual of 'occurrences' that make me realise, when I see that face in the mirror, that I'm very fortunate, despite the addition of wrinkles.

I was standing at the bar of the 'Prince of Wales' pub one Friday night ordering a pint, when this friendly fermented elderly fellow asked me, "do you come to this pub often?" I replied that I had just moved to Aberdeen a week ago. He struggled to figure out just where my accent was from, and after determining I was not Canadian, he asked me, "Is America a big city?" His excuse, quite possibly his love of drink, where as the teller @ our local Houston bank asked us if in Scotland do they speak English, and if it was a tropical climate? I smiled at both people and politely answered their questions, although you'd like to really say, "REALLY?" How exciting it is to live in many places; to meet people, and to experience the differences in something as simple as day to day life. We all are truly a like and yet different enough to make life fascinating. 

* I've been out of the blogging world for far too long whilst we moved house to the U.K. I thank sincerely those that have stopped bye to say hello and politely ask what had happened to me. Many thanks to you for reading today. Life has been fast and furious, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I hope to get caught up soon to what is going on in your part of the world.

Have a wonderful weekend and it's good to see you again!

Cheers my Dears x

{go forth and live responsibly}

tomorrow is today

*this weekends plans - The Genesis Oil & Gas Autumn Ball, and Guy Fawke's Night!