Walking on Water in Twenty Ten

It’s ‘twenty ten’ for us and not ‘two thousand and ten’, but do we now just say ‘ten’ as we said ‘oh nine’?

So it doesn’t need me to point out that the northern part of the northern hemisphere is somewhat colder and has been for longer than normal. The polar bears may be losing the ice caps and the penguins seeing less white fish, but there is no doubt that the current freeze in northern parts of Europe and the US are quite extreme. Perhaps it has been more than a decade since temperatures plummeted in the glass as they have in the last few weeks. New records every day.

Having left Scotland for NY in mid December the Scottish snow arrived behind us, and included the metropolis of London, which is a bit like going to the Cairngorm Scottish moutains in flip flops. It simply doesn’t compute, and all forms of transport ground, rail or air, or skidded to a halt. Then it did what it doesn’t usually do, it stayed. A bit like a friend coming to visit, but finding that they really have no where else to go.

Vacating NY on the edge of a snowstorm for the south it seemed we were surfing ahead of the curve. In Florida the sun shone and the temperatures whilst mostly better than most Scottish summers, in the last week threatened sub zero and locals bundled up with scarves and gloves and looked like they were cold. Holidaymakers from the UK were in shorts and t-shirts. The orange crop was threatened this week because of frost.

Here we are in January and the forecasters (do they forecast or guess in an island like ours) are saying it may last another 7-10 days, and wall to wall media coverage of weather and airport security are the main headlines.

Tonight Gatwick airport is shut and it looks like London and greater London are closing down for another white out as the soft white stuff falls in that neck of the woods. Hopefully it won’t be too fluffy for the tunnel operator this time. In Scotland there is no new snow forecast overnight. It is merely cold on cold.

Anyway all of that is clearly chaotic and challenging for many and there is a seperate debate going on locally about local counciils and how they have dealt with the weather. But this afternoon, to combat transatlantic jet lag, with two children we drove a few miles to our nearert lake, the only ‘lake’ in Scotland as all others are ‘Lochs’, to join others walking, skating and sledging ON the water. We walked on the water to Inchmahome priory on the islet normally reached by boat. The depth of the ice is being measured regularly and a bonspiel (festival) of curling is expected this weekend by the grandly named Royal Caledonian Curling Club so long as another inch of ice is formed. They last had the outing 30 years ago.  Have a look here for more details. It made the Singapore Times, the Wall Street Journal and a host of global newspapers/web outlets.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2010/jan/05/weather-ice-scotland-curling

There was something defining about holding hands with your family doing something that you have never done before and may never do again. Indeed the idea was to let the kids have something to talk about in their dotage that in ‘twenty ten’ they walked on the lake with their parents.

Just this past season our pastor in Florida has been walking and teaching through Matthew’s Gospel and there can be no doubt that Jesus was a leading edge presenter of his time (using the equivalents of sound, acoustics, image and every day applications). In a small boat like the ones used on the Lake of Menteith for fly fishing he addressed a multitude and used the natural geography to speak without the aid of modern sound systems. As we walked on the water (albeit solid) today we got a glimpse of the natural beauty around the trossach hills, like iced carrot cake today, and the sheer joy of stepping out in faith.

For our kids the walking on water  might just be tomorrow’s news for school as they go back after the Christmas holiday. For my wife and me it was within touching distance of our whole family being together as we could see the small cemetery where our lost son Matthew was buried. But hey, he is with the man who really walked on water, the liquid stuff…..

Oh Christmas Tree……

Twas the night before Christmas in our house, and unlike the poem there was plenty stirring and lots of noise as two little people vented their excitement at the prospect of the big fellow with the red suit bringing some Christmas cheer to them.

Earlier that week we had arrived from snowy New York to a balmy Florida and set about decorating the home here with all things Christmassy. The tree was set and we set out for dinner with the last task of adding the many single ornaments and decorations to the tree when we returned. It is a kind of family tradition to have all sorts of ornaments and decorations we have gathered and been gifted over our time as a family. All of the little pieces have stories attached to them and family folklore too.

We returned from dinner and set about adding the story of our family life to the tree through many little pieces of glass, ribbon, wood and baubles. The music backtrack played favourite carols and songs, old favourites, many poignant reminders of Christmas past and absent friends and loved ones. As we all radiated the glow of the lights and sat back to admire the scene our daughter (now 6 and a quarter) stepped right up to face the tree and unprompted, and probably moved by the moment, sang “Oh Christmas tree’. My wife and I were stunned and delighted and a couple of tears flowed. It was a precious moment to remember as the spirit moved amongst us. Her little face glowed and reflected the light just as those first visitors to the cave where the Christ was born, Emmanuel, (God with us) saw that the Light came into the world.

We celebrated Christmas Eve (my own particular favourite day of the year because of its hope, promise and expectation) with friends at Summerport as we sang carols and songs and listened to the old story from the Gospels that can be and is all too often forgotten or lost in the hubris of ‘Christmas”. The next morning came early, particularly to our son and the day was Christmas Day.

As I write we are in the middle part of the last week of the year, and the scent of cinnamon, orange and cloves is still pleasantly filling the kitchen and lingering like a good friend. These simple elements were a gift from a dear friend and have been fragrantly sharing the Christmas scent we can all associate with this time of year.

Some friends from Scotland are also in our neck of the woods and we have had great times with them. Their presence has also reminded us of the frozen snowy place we call home part of the year and the family and friends we have there. But you know what? It doesn’t matter whether you are near or far, ’skype-able’, text-able, huggable or miles apart, the same Emmanuel arrived to be near us all.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year, or as we Scots say a ‘guid New Year’.

Andrea Bocelli – the voice of an angel

The maestro blew into Scotland over the weekend for a sell out concert in Glasgow, setting pulses racing and leaving those who were there in awe at his gift.

This man, who at a young age lost his sight, has been criticised by opera purists on his style and technique. They should pay attention and realise that this is a voice to talk about. His breath control is simply awesome and the legato dreamy. Even in the high tessitura his voice remains strong, robust and sweet.

Forget comparisons with the older generation of the trio of Pavarotti, Domingo and Carreras. I’d argue that Bjorling was better than one of them, and del Monaco would have been something to witness. I was reminded more of Carlo Bergonzi, a ‘tenore’ of some style I was lucky enouugh to see on what was his farewell tour sometime in the early 1980’s.

Here is the point – Bocelli is at ease in both the serious operatic tenor repertoire (the Boheme was top drawer, and to open with la Donna e Mobile must have meant a 2 hour warm up pre show) and the sacred aria set (the Ave maria was simply splendid and Panis Angelicus tingling). He then sang a version of White Christtmas, with “Blue Christmas’ thrown in. This tethered to some italian folksy songs and the set was complete.

This concert ticket was part of my birthday present earlier in the year from my wife who came along with me. She happily indulges my love of the bel canto, knowing I’m really a frustrated singer at heart! Who would be a merchant banker if you could sing….

I had the happy chance of singing with the Joe Loss orchestra once in nineteen oatcake (1998 actually), and it was a brilliant experience (for me, if not the audience) to have that full big band sound behind me.

Now singing with a full orchestra would be something neat……

North to Noroway (Borrowed from A.A. Milne). It is Norway, of course!

After a spectacular day at the foot of the Scottish highlands and a view as far as the eye could see to the Grampians, sitting in behind Ben’s Vorlich and Ledi, the sun is setting quickly behind Ben Lomond, of the loch of the same name, and the mercury in the glass will fall quickly in the next few hours bringing perhaps the first frost of autumn. The high pressure weather front brings sunny clear days and cool clear nights, albeit the stay is set to be brief and the driech damp weather most closely associated with a Scottish autumn will return. It is half term for many schools after all and there can’t possibly be a correlation between good weather and school vacation.

I have the prospect of a 4am start to catch the first flight out of Edinburgh to Amsterdam and then on to Oslo, the fjord proud capital of Norway, a beautiful country I have a habit of going back to on business, where the people are friendly and the sights at this time of year are spectacular.

Norway, being the North country was once tied to Scotland, has had various disagreements about borders and ownership over the years and was over run by the Nazi’s in the second world war. It has been a settled democracy, the home of the Nobel prizes, most notably the ‘peace’ one bestowed on President Obama last week. I had the good fortune of lunching in the Nobel Institute on my last visit, and whilst school children toured around, ate the excellent fish soup. But I digress, and Norwegian food is worth a blog entry all of its own some day.

The Norwegians were beneficiaries of an act of God with the large hydrocarbons found on the Norwegian Continental shelf, and the Barents sea (an inhospitable place from next month until around March). The smart people of Norway held control and bestowed the benefits for the people.

Sadly, the once insulated society of seagoing people who went around the world and are considerd as honest brokers the world over, are now facing the same global challenges of high levels of immigration, economic uncertainty, drug dependency and alcohol abuse. The Central Station area is now less than savoury of an evening and is the key arrival point from the Airport express train (Flytoget) which is one of the best pieces of joined up thinking between an airport some distance from a city centre and the city centre itself. Some local cities in Scotland should take note.

Anyway, the early start means an early finish to the weekend, and saying farewell to what will have been the best weekend in October before we head to Florida in the coming week. It will be nearly hallowee’n by the time we get back, almost November, and the nights will have drawn in as they say in these parts – the evening will start sooner as dusk falls, and when we get back it will be dark by 6pm or thereabouts. That will shorten sooner, falling to 3.30 or 4pm by December and the ’shortest day’. As the clocks ‘fall back’ at the end of the month the mornings will be slightly lighter for a while and then the pattern will develop. It will be late February and into March before we see longer days again. In Norway it is even more pronounced, so this week will mark the last sunnier visit of 2009 for me, before the dark cold winter sets in and won’t vacate until around April.

I have a precious aunt, a widow, who was married to an uncle, an elder brother of my late mother. He was a guiding light for me through teenage years, taught wisdom and truth, now that I can look back and recognise it. They loved Norway and went there often. I’m glad in some ways to be following in their footsteps. So should you. It is a delightful place.

Eye, Eye!

Hot on the heels of my daughter’s birthday last week, the school both children attend cranked up its fundraising efforts for a number of good causes this past week too. The children would be taking part in a sponsored walk, and with sponsorship assured the early indications were that the school would raise around £50,000 for multiple good causes. A tremendous effort.

On the route around the course the children visited staging posts and had a laminated piece of card stamped to show that progress was being made and good order preserved. It was the combination of those things plus the youthful exuberance of the children in getting stamped that led to a fluke accident and my son’s eyeball coming into contact with someone else’s laminated piece of card. Ouch, ouch and ouch! Sharp, painful and unexpected.

His mum was there as a helper, albeit with another group of children, and was able to comfort him in the exceptionally far sighted (no pun intended) first aid facility which in previous years had proved invaluable. A visit thereafter to the optician showed his eyball had been sliced top to bottom and was very painful. Thankfully there was no immediate threat to his sight and the healing process is quick (they reckoned a few weeks) albeit he was patched up (literally) after some antiseptic was adminsitered.

I then received all of this news, or the upsum of it really, via SMS on a train whilst travelling home from London. That was hard, as any of you who have been away from home when an accident with children happens. The information is patchy (that word again) and you feel terrible for not having been there, although that is an impractical thought. As parents we would all rather bear the pain of our children and find it distressing to see them distressed. My wife coped brilliantly well as ever and by the time I arrived home he was sound asleep in pirate patch land.

All is well so far and after a return visit to the optician after the weekend of the flower fairy party, pantomime rehearsals and a sleepover at a friends house, he toddled off to after school soccer none the worse. A piano lesson and homework session later he was heading to bed but asked for a photo of his granny, my mother, who lost her remarkable battle to cancer just over a year ago. He takes solace in the memories of what was a deep and meaningful relationship for him from the day he was born until she passed on to glory. She is still able to comfort and care for her grandchildren in her physical absence because she was present so much in their lives. Those memories are strong.

Our much wanted son and private miracle will be fine, the effects of the eye accident will pass into memory and there may be a faint line on his eye to deal with in life.

As parents we wince and hurt as our children hurt, and I was just thinking about how much more our Creator winces and hurts when we hurt.

Cam, you were a brave pirate and both mum and dad love you very much. Granny does too. XX

Flower Fairy Party

When you are five and a half, or five and three quarters and you long to be six, the days just seem to slope by. Can you remember when the days used to drag when you were waiting for a birthday or even Christmas?

After what seems like a very long time in waiting,  my precious daughter was 6 this week and aside from the huge squeals of delight on opening presents and cards mid week, there was the carry over of the celebration to this weekend when a number of gossamer and silk clad fairies arrived to share in a magical afternoon of fairy games and tea. Only little girls can make this happen and it was a sight to behold and enjoy as they entered into the whole theme with gusto (a great word).

As the friendly wizard I set them off on their quests to find various things in our family room which had been magically transformed into a fairylike forest and grotto. My wife had so beautifully transformed the room that it was like being in a leafy woodland and all but the coldest heart would have wept at the joy it brought to our little girl.

It made me think and reaffirm the view that we are merely guardians of them for a short time until they make their own way in life. That time is very short, so we should enjoy it all.

So now that the fairy is 6, we fully expect a focus on being 7 to emerge after a few weeks and inevitably she will be ‘6 and a quarter’ by Christmas.

It is hard to believe that it is 6 years since she was presented to me that night and our family completed. So many things have changed, loved ones gone, the world changed and significant happenings. If only we adults would see through the eyes of children so much in the world would be right, where it is wrong.

I can remember my 6th birthday and having a party at home with the rumbustious boys from my school class, all scattered to the four winds these days. It was 1970, March and Spring of a new decade. Someone gave me a corgi toy model of a Porsche Targa, and I fell in love with that car there and then. I had no idea of cost, I just liked it. It is a memory that is precious and locked in for good. I truly hope my daughter’s 6th birthday will be the same for her in adulthood.

Fifi, daddy loves you. xx00

For the Merriest Fellows are We! (Tra la)

This past week saw the performances of the StD Music Group annual show – this year the pacy Gilbert & Sullivan operetta “The Gondoliers”. After many hundreds of hours of rehearsals the company delivered three performances over three nights to very warm and happy audiences. More than one G&S officianado in the audience each night and the spirit of the G&S tradition was upheld!

The medium of G&S`may be tired, hark back to a bygone age of British Empire and deal with old subjects that in  their day were topical, but after the initial hurdles of getting enthusiasm levels up the entire company launched itself into delivering a sparkling show. Tremendous singing from the girls got the whole performance off to a flying start, and some exceptionally good character parts brought the humour to the fore.

But set aside the show for the moment and concentrate on the motives for doing it. This group of people is incredibly busy with their day life, hugely talented and you wonder why they give up time for no reward (at least in earthly score terms)? It’s simply this – it is for His glory and the cameraderie of being part of a very large family.

The programme is reproduced in PDF form and you can read their comments for yourself.

St D Music Group Gondoliers programme 09

st david’s music group gondoliers programme 09

st davids gondoliers prog 09

They are all delivering their time and talents in a conscious effort for His glory and the good cause selected. This year it happened to relate back to the sad loss of a former member (see Blog passim) who lost his short battle against cancer earlier this year – he was in his late twenties. The audiences responded warmly to the appeal and a great sum was raised for the Samantha Dickson Brain Tumour Trust (David Crooks).

The performances, the 2009 cast list and all of the effort are now sadly confined to the archive, but a warm feeling that the mission was accomplished and the preparation for winter and spring concerts will now begin. Then there is the prayerful consideration to be given to the 2010 production – the groups 10th show.

The whole company is like a family and as we do life together through rehearsal times from April, share meals and family time together the relationships grow and bonds are created. That is the unique quality of the group. Many will now go on to University and College, some older members will retire, but both groups safely holding the warmth of our devotions, the roar of the audience and collective memories of another production.

There are so many thank you’s to those on and off and back stage who collectively bring so many wide and varied talents together to deliver something truly blessed. They are brilliant people and having something like 70 people in the whole company doing their bit makes it all work.

Our text from Matthew’s Gospel (Chapter 5) talks about shining like a beacon on a hill, and that this particular group did.

With a glad and sad heart we say ‘goodbye cachucha, fandango, bolero, we’ve danced a farewell in that measure” and turn the page on 2009 and look to 2010.

Here are some action shots from the performances.

“Folsom Whisky Blues”

There is nothing like a good ceilidh (pronounced kay lay) to set the pulse racing. A friend of mine once said that ceilidh (a Scots gaelic word) translated to English means ’a distillery set to music’.  If you still can’t imagine it, check out this link to an old TV ad loosely based on the excellent film version of the book ‘Whisky Galore’ by Compton McKenzie.

Click on this link…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DbmvdWNxwQA

So a TV ad of a film, of a book – try that one in charades. As an aside, there is now an excellent musical based on the book. All that remains to be done is a Pixar Animated Studios cartoon version……

The central theme of the Book is the large tidal wave (literally) of whisky arriving on a fictitious, remote, Scottish Island during the war, after a near desperate situation where all but the last drop of the ‘water of life’ had run out. A cat and mouse game with the Custom House (The Exciseman made famous by Robert Burns) ensues as all sorts of unlikely places are used to hide the golden liquid.

Such is the folklore and mystique of whisky and it seems to draw people in, even today. Pick up any of Alexander McCall Smith’s books set in Edinburgh and you are bound to read of the Scottish Malt Whisky Association and the goings on of its tasting evenings.

The recent passing of Willard S Folsom, the renouned whisky collector, has prompted one of the most sought after sales of a collection in living memory. His collection of 3000 rare bottles of single malt will go on sale through Bonham’s in Edinburgh in November and already is drawing interest.

Mr Folsom was a wealthy man and after reading about single malt and sampling it locally in San Franciso in 1988 he embarked on a a quest to gather in rare and unique bottles of single malt whisky, many from little known or closed distilleries. His passing at 64 years old after a short illness is in itself sad, as will the likely breaking up of his entire collection to various corners of the globe. Nothing of our making lasts forever.

So wherever you are, and if it is your tipple, raise a glass to Mr Folsom and the old Scottish toast ‘may your soul get to heaven before the devil knows your deid’

The summer breeze……….

The days have flown and before you know it some seven weeks (yes one, two, three, four, five, six and seven) of summer have passed. Seven weeks of fun, memories, doing things, doing nothing, going here, going there, friends, family and fellowship. Inevitably food too.

The cases are packed and situated in the hallway by the front door, the cab is booked, the flights rechecked and the house made over ready for a return in a few short six weeks. In that six weeks much will happen at home, at work, and the preparation for the annual musical production in mid September. The children will return to the Playfair designed school and lessons and activities will begin in earnest next week. Routine will return.

In short, these last seven weeks and the action filled activities will be memories to carry forever.

It is a melancholy state to be in, that ‘waiting to go’ phase, when you really just want to ‘go’. No-one really enjoys the pre-travelling part of travelling. It is in our destimations and arrivals that we are focused.

It is therefore, in the ‘going’ that we are best.

We had a joyous email from a Granny in Massachusetts yesterday, who has gone there from Scotland with her husband (the grandad) to see their first grandchild. The enthusiasm, love and excitement bristled off the screen on reading it.

Hurricane Bill has also ‘gone’ from the lower region of the U.S. and is heading up the eastern seaboard. The irony is, the forecasters can predict where he is ‘going’  he will probably blow out (a lot of water) on the west coast of Ireland and Scotland on Thursday.

Summer 0f ‘09 we salute you and say thank you. Fall, or Autumn in old world speak, is just around the corner.

A Scotsman Abroad….

This year, 2009, is designated as the year of “Homecoming’, where Scots and anyone with Scottish links the world over, are encouraged to return ‘home’ at some stage and renew their links with the old country.

I haven’t seen the stats, don’t know what the definition of a ’success’ will be, and am braced for all sorts of political types to line up along partisan lines and be taking pot shots at the marketing budget spent when the details emerge in January 2010.

As a small nation perched on the northern edge of Europe, Scotland has a lot going for it but many well publicised social issues around health, obesity, drug and alcohol abuse and poverty. Most of the positive is historic and it is over 200 years since the ‘Enlightenment’ and bold brave thinkers like Hume and Smith emerged from the dark.  Of late is has been about busting the myth of the Scots being careful with money as the largest bank had an inglorious ending like some of the characters in Tarantino’s most recent release.

This morning the US media is reporting the likely release of the Lockerbie bomber and the outrage of the surviving families of the victims murdered over the small Scottish town. The prisoner is near to death, suffering from an aggressive form of cancer, and languishing in a Scottish prison. He is being released on compassionate grounds and the Scottish law lords have ruled it appropriate. What they haven’t done is pronounce innocence or acceptance of an appeal. This is on compassionate grounds, rather like the compassion extended to the robber Ronnie Biggs who was released this month too.

I can understand why there will be those vehemently opposed to this and there is no right answer, besides which there is a political dimension, it could even be about energy policy and the fact that Tripoli is no longer a destination off the menu.

It also seems to avoid the creation of a so called ‘martyr’ as those with more than a little intelligence realise that one man couldn’t possibly have masterminded the complex operation to bring down that Pan Am flight on his own besides, who was he acting for? That question, its answer and the real story seem forever lost in time and the whole political machine has moved on. I look forward to the BBC’s Reival Alderson’s book as he seems to have covered this story most of his career.

There is a chime of something I can’t quite describe, as the country of my birth is calling its folk ’home’ and at the same time is sending a convicted murderer ‘home’.