Hassells in the Highlands

Ah Venice – walking your streets with GPS - a blessing or a curse?  As we have slowly divorced ourselves from our natural instincts in favor of GPS direction – we have become more and more dependent on our cell phones to tell us where we are and where we are going.  I will admit that my natural hunting instincts in navigation have been somewhat dulled by my cell phone, and in Venice I was kindly reminded how quick we can go from predator to prey when we walk away from our instincts.     When we first arrived our private water bus took us into town via one of the main arterial canals and then down the Grand Canal and up into another arterial canal and then down a couple of minor canals - and of course we were in awe (that is Gob Smacked in Scottish).  When we were dropped off the driver told us to go down, turn right, and our street will be just down the way - well having a good vision in my head from studying Google Maps before we got here I pretty ...

It was Friday, two weeks ago, and we realized we had no plans for the weekend. The next weekend we would be staying in town because that Saturday would be the Highland Games in Halkirk and we absolutely had to go to that. I expected it to be THE Scottish event and not to be missed. So we thought we should “do something.” But what? Frankly, I was not feeling inspired. beach just before Durness I rifled through a wonderful travel book of Scotland that my friend Jenn gave me before leaving WA to see what might be nearby. And a little trip caught my eye. I love the way the book puts it - “though it’s tough to tear yourself away from the coast, we recommend plunging   down the A897 just east of Melvich.” There, we would find an exhibit on the peat bogs. So should we make it just an afternoon trip or part of a bigger trip? That was the question.  I lazily glanced through a copy of the “North Coast 500” paper looking for inspiration and an ad for a B&B in Ull...

We have been here in Thurso now for nearly 9 weeks. I still cannot believe that we are actually doing this!  One of my early posts kind of ranted about having so many new  things  to learn here - about having to think about Every. Little. Thing. Things I have taken for granted for 30+ years.  So I thought I would like to post an update.  It’s good.  I have adjusted to and/or have learned the basic things and no longer feel overwhelmed having to think about   Every. Little. Thing. I do small loads of laundry about twice a week. It still takes all day.    this container holds the water that comes out of the clothes! I learned that I have to dump about a gallon's worth of water out of the dryer after a couple of loads. (still too weird!)  I learned that the numbers on the washing machine are in Celcius, which matters. Apparently. So, when I thought I was washing clothes in a cool degrees, turned out it was actually h...

We were looking for something to do a couple of Sundays ago, so we decided to go to Shell Beach to look for Groatie Buckies. Whaaat?? What is a Groatie Buckie, you ask? The first time we heard that we thought for sure it was some of that Scottish talk – where if you just had subtitles, you would realize you understood every word, but without them it was like playing Mad Gab. A Groatie Buckie is a tiny seashell. It is about the size of your pinky fingernail and is light pink and white and shiny. They are hard to find. Mostly because they are so small. And because they are not found just anywhere. But of course, Mike found one without trying. On the same day that we went to Puffin Rock, our friends Dave and Leah took us over to a small beach that looks out at the Dounrey site. You might remember this beach from an early post that included a picture of the sign that says anything on that beach might be contaminated and there were two young people collecting whelks to sell to ...

You know how smells can transport you to another place and another time?  How a smell can put you in an exact moment in your personal history?  Isn’t that an amazing thing? My grandma’s house was like that. It had a smell. A really wonderful smell. I would say it was a combination of homemade bread and cinnamon rolls and ham loaf and carmel icing and Davenports and humidity and horse and buggy and rain on the tin roof. These are smells (ok, and sounds) of my grandma’s house. When I walked in, it smelled like her.  It was a definite smell that defined her house. Even after Pappy and Grandma were long gone, the smell remained. It is their smell. And unfortunately, is gone forever, since the house had to be torn down a few years ago due to extensive termite damage. But the memory remains inside me. I cannot recreate it, but I recognize it when I smell it. It has come to me once or twice when I was far away from their house, and immediately I was 'in' their kitchen. How ...