Wild out in the west…
The old bridge at Sligachan, Isle of Skye.
A little snack of a story: When I was pregnant with my son, we chose a name for him around the 5th month, deciding on Seumas. In my 7th month we traveled to Skye for Christmas/Hogmanay. We were living in the Netherlands at the time, and the last thing we did, on the last day, was have dinner with good friends in a hotel bar. The Hotel was at Sligachan and the bar is attached, it’s name not known to me at the time but it did have a name. To me, it was always the Slighachan Hotel Bar. Just hours later I went into early labour and after much drama, a coast guard helicopter, an air ambulance and three other ambulances, we ended up In Alexandria and Seumas was born. The name of the bar - ‘Seumas’s Bar,’ of course.
Isn’t this magnificent? Elgol is witness to such drama and beauty daily that it’s a wonder people don’t walk around with glazed expressions on their faces. You do become accustomed to such sights. At times, you even tire of them, craving the novel. For me though, this is a dream and would feed me such as nothing else could. Bon Apétit!
I’ve had rather an epic week with a court case to prepare for and a hospital visit for my father which resulted in some very bad news. In the meantime, life continues its hurried pace, unabated. I had arranged a guest blogger, in view of what promised to be a demanding week but he pulled out at the last minute. I’m feeling overwhelmed, trying to keep my head and not be dragged under. Possibly the image is more than the prevalent mood, but the drama of it resonates. At times like this, I’ve noticed how I savour my cup of hot tea warmth, looking at the raindrop jewels clinging to the bare branches of trees - the small pleasures are not small and life goes on, there’s something of comfort in that.
(Painting “Miranda, The Tempest,” 1916, by John William Waterhouse, click on link here for source.)