Christmas Eve

I've had a busy day today, preparing for tomorrow's Christmas dinner with my sister Maureen and her roommate Ann. I'm cooking the dinner at their house and spent today making stuffing, sweet potato pie (couldn't find canned pumpkin so had to improvise) and preparing vegetables, as well as wrapping my tiny stash of gifts. Most of my gifts are homemade, which is something I generally prefer to do, but decided would be a prudent move this year in my efforts to make up for being unemployed a month longer than I'd planned or expected.

My tiny living room and dining room are lit by candles and I've decorated a minuscule fake tree (shiny copper to appeal to my magpie tendencies) with white lights and burgundy organza ribbon with red beads, topped with a handmade copper star I found at the Christmas market in Princes Street gardens a few days ago. It all looks lovely and festive and the cats haven't interfered with it so everything's intact. I've taken pictures to post later.

One of the Christmas gifts I've made for my sister is a collection of music on a CD and, as I was listening to it a couple of hours ago, I began thinking of my kids this Christmas Eve and feeling a bit melancholy because I miss them so. Christmas has always been very family-oriented for us and I'm certainly feeling their absence keenly tonight.

Anticipating this despondency as far back as last spring, I took pre-emptive measures by inviting myself down to Plymouth where my niece, Lesley (Maureen's daughter), lives with her husband, Tony and their two kids. Tony's family are from Malta and I spent a delightful few days with them last year, when I cooked dinner at Lesley and Tony's house for a variety of Maltesers. They're lovely people, very warm and typically Mediterranean in their love of food and drink and family gatherings and I had a fantastic time.

My plan for this Christmas, therefore, was to distract myself from the absence of my own kids by having lots of fun with the mad Maltese people and, in return for Lesley and Tony's hospitality, I offered to cook Christmas dinner, which I always love to do for a big crowd. Lesley ended up with 19 dinner guests on her list and made extravagant promises to half the population of Plymouth of a lavish Canadian-style Christmas feast splendidly prepared by her Aunty Jax. I was so looking forward to this and began planning everything, right down to the floral arrangements we'd make for the table.

Well - obviously, it's not going to happen. Ann, Maureen's roommate (who's been around long enough to become a member of the family and is like a sister to Lesley) can't get time off over Christmas. Maureen didn't want to leave Ann behind and I wanted to spend my first Christmas in the UK with Maureen. So there was disappointment all around that it wouldn't be a crazy Maltese celebration and Lesley had to explain to all her invitees that the Canadian feast was cancelled.

So here I am on Christmas Eve, feeling a bit teary and torturing myself by listening to a new Sarah McLachlan Christmas song (Wintersong, on the album of the same name) which Meredith sent me. It's about missing someone close at Christmas and makes me think about how much I miss my lovely kids, as well as my dead mother and sisters, so I've tormented myself listening to it every morning and getting all misty-eyed, which is very inconvenient when you're in a hurry to get your make-up on and trying not to miss the bus. Meredith, as mad in the heid as her mother, also listens to it over and over, making herself cry for me. She said she cried so hard the other night while listening to it that she was all snottery for an hour afterwards. Now that's some serious sobbing. Amazing what music can do.

For a person who rarely has reason to cry, I've certainly had more than my usual share of weepy episodes this year, starting with the sudden death of my brother-in-law last Christmas day, the emotional upheaval of leaving my safe, comfortable life to come here, followed by my mother-in-law's death shortly after my arrival here, and a couple of bad weeks in October when things were looking a bit grim job-wise and the staff of British Telecom were collectively inciting me to commit A Violent Act.

These are rather maudlin subjects for a time of celebration, I know, but this is just me being self-indulgent and remembering my family, past and present. Tomorrow is Christmas, with presents to open, sharing Christmas dinner with my sister for the first time in 34 years, talking to my kids on the phone and having a laugh, and watching old corny Christmas movies.

I've stopped listening to sad music now and have switched to happy, traditional folk arrangements by Steeleye Span, doing songs with enchanting names like "Thomas the Rhymer". I'm off to have a wee cup of tea and read a trashy true-crime book about the I-5 Killer. That should dry up any residual tears.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Carols by Candlelight

Tonight, I took myself to a concert at the Usher Hall and enjoyed it so much, I just couldn't wait to get home and write about it.

The Usher Hall is in the city centre, just west of the castle, and was built at the beginning of the 20th century with money donated for the pupose by Andrew Usher, a whisky distiller. Although it seats almost 3,000 people, the setting feels much more intimate and the interior is adorned with hand-sculpted plaster work. The auditorium itself is all creams and soft greys with gilded plaster and cherubs (or perhaps they're pre-adolescent angels as they seemed a bit tall for cherubs).

The concert tonight was, as the title of this post indicates, carols by candlelight. Not real candlelight, unfortunately - that's undoubtedly in contravention of fire regulations. But the effect was almost the same. The programme was a mix of traditional carols sung by a choir, accompanied by the 28-piece orchestra, with most of my favourite composers thrown in. A lovely surprise for me, because I didn't pay attention to all the details, was that the audience was encouraged to sing some of the carols along with the choir. And being there by myself wasn't going to stop me from joining in.

Now most of you know me as a non-religious heathenish kind of person who worships trees and moss - a bit of a Druid really - but I'm very fond of religious music and terminology ("vespers" and "sacristy" are such lovely words). I also have an affection for churches and graveyards, but that's another story or two. I sang in my school choir for three years, including hymns every Monday morning at South Leith Parish Church, which my schoolmates and I were compelled to attend. Although these efforts to save (or find) my soul were unsuccessful and I don't remember a single word of the stern Presbyterian sermons delivered weekly, I was left with a fondness for singing hymns, psalms and carols, especially if there was any Latin thrown in. Anyone witnessing my performance tonight would have mistaken me for a very devout person. I sang enthusiastically and unselfconsciously, but did notice that I sang the words - inexplicably - with an English accent. Bit of a puzzle, that. I was a little disconcerted by "O Little Town of Bethlehem" sung to a different tune than I know, but, apparently, I've sung this version at some point because it dredged itself up from some long-lost compartment of my brain.

Instead of wearing black, as orchestra members usually do (and which invariably looks dusty and shabby under the stage lights, unless it's velvet), this orchestra was dressed in period costume from the 18th century, in keeping with their name (Mozart Festival Orchestra). It was so much more colourful and textural and they were all dressed in different colours, with differently-styled wigs. The female members were dressed as men, wearing stockings with buckled shoes, breeches, waistcoats and overcoats. The percussionist (who got to bash his kettle drums more often than orchestra percussionists usually do) apparently gave the front of his wig a bit of a haircut because it stood up in a punkish style. Most of them had their wigs tied back with black ribbon, except for the organist, who wore gold tinsel.

The conductor was a very posh harpsichordist, who spoke with a BBC accent and was quite witty. He wore a sumptuous moss green velvet jacket with gold embellishments. Very stylish. You can't help noticing the conductor at any concert, of course, because it's hard to miss someone leaping around in a controlled way at centre stage and waving a baton around like a madman. I've always enjoyed observing the other orchestra members though, especially if they're absorbed in the music. My dad, who was a self-taught, accomplished musician and worked as an entertainer (playing piano, accordion and organ) until he died, used to say he was "sent" when listening to music. You could see him being transported somewhere else when he was playing and I love to see musicians with that look of rapture on their faces. You can usually see this in the violinists because they generally have parts in most orchestral pieces. The timpani guy tonight got to clash his cymbals and tap his triangle quite a bit but wore a sullen face all night. Serves him right for choosing to play such little-used instruments. How do you end up deciding on a career hitting bits of metal together? Why not go for something more fun and noisy like an organ or a trumpet? He wore a lovely claret-coloured velvet coat and waistcoat though.

There was a very earnest man in the choir who fascinated me. He was so enthusiastic when singing vowel sounds that I was sure his jaw would become unhinged. His face was very expressive, with eyebrows either pulled into a frown at the seriousness of "Unto us a child is given" or bouncing up to his hairline in jubilation (or surprise at his unhinged-ness)

There was also a soloist, a recently-graduated young soprano. I'm not a fan of operatic solos and sopranos in particular get on my nerves, but they have to be endured as part of the Messiah. She was fun to look at though because she wore one of those dresses with the corset that pushes the breasts up to the throat and has big panniers on the side of the skirt. Her wig was whipped up to the sky in an elaborate style and she was all sparkly, which I always enjoy, being a bit of a magpie when it comes to shiny things. You could tell she was a novice though, partly because she didn't have the prerequisite vast bosom of the seasoned soprano (which is just as well because large chests pushed up against her larynx in that dress would've interfered with her high notes), but also because you could tell she felt a bit awkward on stage. She was clearly following the what-to-do-when-it's-not-your-turn-to-sing lesson from opera school because during the orchestral parts, she'd fix glassy eyes on some distant balcony spot and nail a big fake smile on her face. However, she must've felt she rocked with her final aria because she couldn't take the smile off. I do hope she wasn't throwing up from nerves every time she went off stage.

All in all, it was a delightful evening, with music that "sent" me, surroundings providing me with many things to look at, and the sheer pleasure of singing carols. The only drawback about being there on my own, though, was that I couldn't slap the thigh of the person next to me when I got excited about the crescendo in the Hallelujah Chorus.

Favourite Place #1 - The Water of Leith

In less than five minutes, I can walk from my flat, which is on a very busy main road, to a place that looks and feels like a country setting.

The Water of Leith is a small river which originates in the Pentland Hills, south-west of Edinburgh and wanders through central Edinburgh before spilling into the sea water of the Firth of Forth in Leith. In recent years, footpaths have been built and the Water of Leith Walkway is about 12 miles long. The footpaths run alongside the water for the most part, but sometimes diverge and occasionally lead back on to a stretch of city street, and then back to the walkway.

As I do a lot of walking (yes - you heard right - the chunkeriffic lazy girl is walking!), I try to use the walkway to get to my destination, if possible, even though it might be a longer walk. I use it once a week to get to Tesco, where I buy groceries, about 1 1/2 miles. Going in the opposite direction, towards the sea, I can walk to the library or down to the now-gentrified (but still working) docks area, where there are lots of nice little shops and a big shopping centre within reach (about 4 miles return journey). Before I was going to work every day, I used the walkway almost daily but can't do that now because it's dark by 4:30 pm.

I can tell it's going to be glorious in the spring just from all the berries on the shrubs and trees. Although the leaves have been blown to kingdom come by the gale force winds we get here, the bare branches are still adorned with great big fat rosehips, orange and peach coloured rowan berries (Mountain Ash), black elderberries, white snowberries and black hawthorn. When everything blooms in the spring and early summer, I'm sure the air will be very heavily scented.

On the water, there are mallards and, closer to the sea, in Leith, a pair of white swans. When I lived in Leith in my early teens, I remember there being a fair number of swans hanging out in the same part of the water these two are in now. I've also seen a heron a couple of times, standing on the rocks of a waterfall. Back then, the water was a black, oily mess from sea-going traffic but it's all been cleaned up now and is a lovely rich brown colour, like tea, from the peaty soil. Sometimes I take food for the ducks and, as soon as they sense the possibility of snacks, they all begin paddling madly to shore, the males all iridescent and polished with their clean white collars, their speckled brown wives alongside them. The seagulls bully them when there's food, though, and I feel bad about all the squabbling they have to endure just for a piece of wet bread. Sandwiched between waterfowl on one side and pigeons on the other, I'm surprised that the gulls stay in the water and don't bother the pigeons at all. Maybe pigeons are the bouncers of the scavenger bird world.

One of the best parts about my walks here are the dogs. The walkways are used just enough to make a person feel safe but aren't in any way overcrowded. One of my favourite things to do is to be out on a cold, dry day (warmly dressed, of course), plugged into Bach's Brandenburg Concertos on my MP3 player, marching along in my typical little sergeant major way (the Brandenburgs are quite lively in places and, therefore, well-suited to a brisk trot), and watching all the dogs have a lovely time off their leashes. They're all accompanied, of course, although I've seen the occasional terrier taking itself for a walk. The young labs, retrievers and collies are the most fun to watch because they're SO excited by all the smells, the squirrels and the other dogs. I often see one particular collie herding its mum and dad all the way along the path, zig-zagging behind and in front of them all the way, making sure they don't wander off or get abducted by foxes or aliens. There's another collie who comes flying down the steps in one spot to hide behind a tree, crouching and poised to leap. Then, when its mother reaches the bottom of the steps, the dog hurls itself into the air from behind the tree, landing beside her and then running on ahead, stopping every now and then to make sure she's still following. I've witnessed this comical scene a few times now. Collies are very busy, with no time for chit chat.

There are cats too - always the same ones in the same places, sitting on an old stone wall or in the branch of a tree. They're not sociable at all and are far too sophisticated to show excitement like the dogs do. They just watch, in that way cats do, as I walk past, ready to bolt if I pay them any attention. In the midst of all this are magpies, robins, starlings, thrushes and sparrows, and very noisy they are too. The magpies seem to always be arguing with each other and flouncing out of their tree in a huff. The smaller birds generally mind their own business, singing away to themselves and gorging on all those fat berries.

For those of you who have mocked me mercilessly in the past for my devotion to mosses and lichens and, to a slightly lesser degree, ferns and infant evergreens - you'll be pleased to hear that the place is thick with all of them, except the infant evergreens. And, best of all, they grow on old stone walls, another of my passions. I'm even considering adding fungi to my list of eccentric things to be fascinated by, after spotting a couple of beauties snuggled up against a tree. Such are the joys of living in a damp, chilly climate.

Here's the website in case you want to learn more:

http://www.waterofleith.org.uk/index.shtm

At Last!

Although I arrived in Edinburgh more than two months ago, this is my first post, for a variety of reasons, the main one being an endless wait to get internet. There are also no photos yet because the USB cable for my camera was left behind and Evan (my son) is trying to find it so he can send it to me.

I haven't figured out yet what the format or style of this blog will be but I'm sure it'll sometimes be written in the same way I talk: digressing all over the place and full of opinions on a diverse range of topics. I'll try not to swear too much (no promises though). Although most of my readers will be people who know me well and who have been kept up to date with what's been happening in the last couple of months, there are a few acquaintances who asked to be included in my distribution list who may need some background information. For those who know me only in passing, here's a brief summary to fill you in:

The aforementioned acquaintances have all had more than one conversation with me so they already know that I never shut up, I'm a bossy little bugger who curses like a sailor and who has a black sense of humour. Some stuff you might not know: I've returned to live in Edinburgh because this is where I was born and grew up. I emigrated to Canada at the age of 18 and lived in Calgary, Airdrie, Gabriola Island, Nanaimo and Burnaby for a total of 34 years. In 2004, I returned to Edinburgh for the first time in 27 years and, within 24 hours of my arrival, was having an epiphany among the graves in Greyfriars Churchyard: I'm home, was what I thought. And so I applied for a one-year leave of absence from my job, saved some back-up money, sold my condo, abandoned my kids (Meredith, 25 and married, and Evan, 21), left a whole bunch of wonderful friends and family behind, packed up two of my cats and dragged my life halfway across the world to try and get my accent back and reconnect with my one remaining sister.

Two months on, I'm just as delighted to be here as I was two years ago and, in some ways, feel like I've been here all along. I've experienced a couple of job-search disappointments and my battle with British Telecom in the quest for an internet connection took years off my life. However, I've had no regrets, haven't missed Canadian life yet (although I really miss my friends and family) and just can't get enough of my beautiful surroundings. Being here reinforces for me every day how lucky I am to have the freedom and the options that allowed me to embark on this adventure. I'm working as a temp (legal secretary) while looking for a job where I can use most of my skills and experience and which, ideally, I'll find gratifying. I'll keep you posted on that.

For now, check out this link to get an idea of where I am and what it looks like:

http://www.edinburgh.gov.uk/heritage/

Next time, now that we've got the vital statistics out of the way, I'll tell you a wee story about one of my favourite places in Edinburgh.