Lesser Feasts

This was a productive week, though of the unspectacular sort of productivity that involves writing replies to referee reports, writings one's own referee reports, correcting copyedited manuscript, and finally acceding to the relentless insistence of the Stanford Encyclopedia   of Philosophy  that one's article be updated every five minutes. Still, productive, so that I dropped my plan to head in to the office today and instead decided to take a proper day off. There must be nice walks somewhere within easy day-trip range, I thought, and a quick visit to my new favorite website  turned up Linlithgow, an easy twenty-minute train ride away, with a ruined palace and a loch and the whole shebang. When I arrived in Linlithgow it was raining pretty hard. Not an auspicious start, but maybe I can wait it out. I need to get lunch anyway. But it's noon, and since the pubs and restaurants are all closed, the few cafés that are open are either booked solid or packed. I end up at the Gra

Here are three videos, a little over twenty minutes total, on the connections between the (American) Episcopal Church and the Scottish Episcopal Church. It's my usual combination of gossip-over-the-back-fence-style church history with lurches into theology and liturgy. I've put them here mostly so that I can find them again, but maybe people who haven't seen them through the Cathedral will find them interesting. They would also be great preparation for senior seminarians for a highly, highly specific GOE question that I can guarantee you will not be asked. Part One Part Two Part Three

If you want to be persnickety about it, I've never actually made it all the way to the very tippy-top of Arthur's Seat. There's a point very near the top where the path becomes quite narrow and exposed, and I get that out-on-a-ledge feeling, and my fear of heights tells me not to go any farther. But if I make it that far, I count it as attaining the summit: I've managed physically to reach the highest point that's possible for me psychologically. The last time I attained the summit was in the spring of 2016, before the Late Unpleasantness occurred. It was pretty taxing for me: more so, no doubt, because I was carrying an extra twenty or thirty pounds. Even a few months of walking around hilly Edinburgh doesn't quite prepare me to spring up Arthur's Seat without pausing for breath, I find. When I was back for the Festival in August of last year, I gave it a shot again. I didn't get terribly far up before I had to call it quits. I was still too weak from m

The view from my window in the Retreat House I've been quiet lately because I was on a retreat at the Community of the Resurrection in Mirfield . I left my work back in Edinburgh and spent a week largely in silence, tending to my spiritual life, reading, playing the piano, walking through the extensive grounds, and soaking in the daily round of office and mass. I wasn't expecting any great revelations, and I didn't have any. But I left with something like the feeling you have when you've let your glasses get dirty and then give them a thorough cleaning. Everything is crisper, brighter, clearer. My meeting for spiritual direction was both illuminating and encouraging. ("There's nothing wrong with your prayer life," the brother said with a mixture of affection and exasperation. "Just get on with it.") And the Franck violin sonata is coming along pretty nicely. Now that I'm back in Edinburgh, I'm catching up on the surprisingly long list of

I'm living in the part of the New Town where all the art galleries are. I don't really think of myself as an Art Guy. Painting doesn't typically engage me as readily or as deeply as music does, and I generally walk past the galleries with no more than a quick look at whatever is in the window. But then there's this guy. (There's a better image here .) Every time I walked by the Fine Arts Society, where this painting was hanging in the front window, I stopped in my tracks. I had to take some time to look. Why am I so bewitched by this portrait? I have no idea. But I have to linger. I must go in and have a proper look at some point, I think. More pressing, though, is the desire to check out all the major bookstores. This, of course, is a potentially ruinous exercise. There are a couple of excellent used bookstores in the Grassmarket (an area also noteworthy for the views of Edinburgh Castle from "the other side" and the best gelato in Edinburgh, which is at

Saturday, 3 October 2020 I'm barely even sore from yesterday. Weird. All the more reason to go ahead with my even more ambitious plans for today. After an even more severely edited Scottish breakfast -- I got the quantities right this time -- I get ready for my walk. It's cold and rainy, and the forecast is for rain all day, but fortunately I have waterproof everything. I even remembered to pack my contact lenses, which I pretty much never wear, to avoid the annoyance of rain on my glasses. So I am very much ready to go. Except I forgot the cardinal rule: "Be bold, start cold." I have put on everything, and as I venture out into the rain and the cold I think I need it all. But a couple of miles in, I am miserably sweaty, and consequently cold. I take off a layer and then think, no, I don't think it's a great idea to risk another nine miles when I've already botched my thermal regulation so badly; that feels like a good way to get sick. So I head back, some

Friday, 2 October 2020 I edit down the full Scottish breakfast to what I think will be a manageable amount of food. It's still too much, but what I can eat of it is delicious, and I will certainly be well-fortified for my morning walk. I've decided to limber up with something easy, so I head over to the Gynack Mill Trail , which is basically flat. This will help me break in my walking boots and test the Viewranger app on my phone. The boots, which I have miraculously remembered how to lace properly, turn out to be a perfect fit. The app takes a bit of getting used to, but it's easier than trying to navigate with map and compass whenever the waymarking is inadequate and the path ambiguous. Which is often. So I don't exactly manage to follow the trail, but I do have a lovely hour's walk. The sun is out. It's warm for October in the Highlands. The sound of rushing water is the only thing I hear. I'm definitely ready for a serious walk after lunch. *************

 (This is basically a long journal entry in multiple parts, written mostly for myself, though maybe someone else will find it interesting.) Wednesday, 30 September If I'm really going to do some serious walking in the Highlands -- and isn't that the whole point of my trip tomorrow? -- I need proper gear. A priest friend from way back in my Iowa days has told me what I need. Waterproof everything, basically. And midge repellant. I head to the Cotswold Outdoor store on Rose Street in the New Town. I go in, take a look around, feel overwhelmed, and leave. I am easily intimidated by unfamiliar things. I head back to my flat and book an appointment with someone who will help me get "kitted out." It's for the next morning. You know, the morning before my afternoon departure. Thursday, 1 October CJ is fabulous. Somehow she manages to appreciate my complete ignorance and advise me without ever being condescending or making me feel like an idiot. I mean, I have to learn ho