Merry Christmas to One and All.

The following excerpt was taken from my Scotland journal.

Christmas of '72 in Edinburgh was kind of strange. I had been away from home before, during the holidays, but for some reason this was a hard one. Sitting down for breakfast one morning, Mrs. Lawrence, very apologetically broke the news, "you will need to move out for a week during Christmas. We have family coming to visit". Maybe it was because I had really grown close to Smitty and James. They were good people and yet I was losing my little corner of home, my base camp. I was devastated. My days were spent in a panic, trying to figure out what to do, and where to go for Christmas. Mrs. Lawrence would ask me each morning, with genuine concern in her voice, if I had found a place yet. She finally offered a possibility for me. Thank goodness, because for some reason, I could not come to grips with finding new digs for Christmas. Smitty had written down a telephone number on a scrap of paper and after breakfast, went into the living room to make a call to her friend. This friend owned a working farm, up north, in the middle of nowhere. The deal was sealed. I think we all breathed a sigh of relief now that that was done. I remember getting there was challenging. Train, bus, then walking. After getting off the bus, I asked directions to the farm and was told they were miles down this, basically, single lane dirt road. I didn’t mind walking miles, as that was my usual mode of transportation. While walking through long stretches of country rolling hills, a postman (mail man), stopped out of the blue, and offered me a ride. Evidently this was a normal practice. Arriving at the farm, I introduced myself as a friend of the Lawrence’s and the matron of the farm showed me the available rooms. These turned out to be converted horse stalls. They were actually not that bad. I was left with information on serving times for breakfast, lunch and dinner and as I was exhausted from traveling, laid down for a rest before dinner.

I was the first guest to arrive for our three-day Christmas holiday at the farm. Later on, at dinner, I would be introduced to a doctor and his girlfriend, a troop of Girl Scouts and their leaders and a fellow about my age from New Zealand.

The day before Christmas, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts of home and family. I was still feeling a bit displaced and melancholy, so I decided to go for a walk out through the heather covered countryside. There were no trails and no fences or buildings,  just open countryside. As nearly as I could tell, none of the land had been "improved" or farmed for as far as I could see. Maybe it had been this way since the beginning of time. My best recollection was I wandered aimlessly for the entire day, returning to the farmhouse just before the evening meal.

My stroll through the heather had not diminished that yearning to be with my family for Christmas. I recalled the wonderful foods Mom would prepare. The fitful nights sleep before Christmas Day as a child...the thrill of anticipation. That Red Rider BB gun. The gas engine model airplane. The model boat on a string we took to the pond in Denver City Park. You could say it was just stuff...except for the love that came with each special gift.

Upon entering the farmhouse dining room, there were "party favors" and a small, wrapped gift next to each plate. I was a little embarrassed by this thoughtful gesture. I had nothing to give in return. Our hostess invited me to sit right here, as she ushered other guests to their seats. The Girl Scouts had been working on these handmade gifts all day, while I was out walking through the heather, feeling rather sorry for myself. As mentioned before, the farmhouse was self-sustained, so the Christmas goose was from the back yard, vegetables from the root cellar, milk from their cow, etc. It was all delicious, as long as you didn’t think too hard about where it came from. 

After dinner we retired to a cozy room, fireplace ablaze, and participated in a group sing along. We all made suggestions for songs we liked the best and there was that unique Christmas warmth that filled our hearts. This turned out to be a very memorable Christmas for me, even though I was not home with my family.

A Gift of Sailing.

In the Bleak Midwinter

O Come Let Us Adore HIM.