While I was teaching piano lessons last night, I apparently missed out on some fun: David was doing something Lego-related for school with our houseguests (did I mention it's a highly-ranked MBA Programme? Legos?!). Later he explained to me that he was talking about childhood memories of Legos or marketing or something like that, and he asked me about my Legos. To his shock, I told him I didn't have any.
"I had Lincoln Logs."

Well, this, my friends, sent him in to wild fits of laughter. "Lincoln Logs?! I thought that's what our grandparents played with! Bwahahahahah!"

I went on to explain that the boys across the street had Legos, but they never let me play with them because of the old No-Girls-Allowed rule. "I think I got one or two Legos once as a Happy Meal prize, but you can't really build anything with one or two Legos." If he wasn't rolling before, he was getting the side-splits now.

"You poor thing! Lincoln Logs Bwahahahahah! You can only build squares!"

"And other quadrilaterals!!"

Was I really so deprived?

After some research, I learned that Lincoln Logs were, indeed, invented for our grandparents -- in the year 1916. Interesting fact: they were invented by Frank Lloyd Wright's son.

David and I have had our own makeshift Burns Nights the past few years, but this year we went to our first actual real official Scottish Burns Supper. It was hosted by the Business School, an organization clever enough to celebrate on a weekend night rather than the standard January 25th.

When we lived in Louisville, we made a vegetarian haggis on January 25 and called my friend Lyzz in Texas, who plays the bagpipes. Like I said, it was makeshift. The University supper was complete with many a kilt, a lone bagpiper, an address to the haggis (featuring witty poetry in Scots and enthusiastic stabbing of the haggis), plenty of whisky, and dancing. Before you meat-eaters jump down my throat telling me veggie haggis doesn't count, let me tell you that I've yet to find a menu in town that doesn't offer a vegetarian version. (Plus, it's really nutritious and quite tasty!) It was a grand evening.In some respects, it seems like a Fourth of July for Scotland. They don't have a official Independence Day [YET] that I know of, so days like St. Andrews Day and Burns Night are good excuses to celebrate all that is Scottish. Technically, it's a day to celebrate Robert Burns, who was born on January 25. And celebrating all that is Robert -- whisky, poetry, song, lassies -- seems like a proper tribute to all that is Scotland.

I didn't do any dancing because dancing didn't even get started until 11:30pm -- late enough to be whisky-tired not whisky-frisky. I practiced my ceilidh calling in my head instead. In December, I attended a calling class where I became a pro at announcing the intricate steps to the Gay Gordons and the Dashing White Sergeant (okay, okay so those are the two easiest dances of all, but give a girl a break!). Anyway, I love dancing, but I was ready for bed after all that food. Believe it or not, I actually passed on the free drams (it was a blend -- bleghh!). I'll leave it to you as to whether I partook of the flask of Laphroaig that someone else may or may not have brought...


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Last year I was inundated with bridal magazines. This year I'm in one! How fun is that? If you were not at our wedding (sorry -- we had to keep it small for budget reasons), but you're just dying to see photos and stuff (ha ha), then pick up a the latest issue of Louisville Bride. (Their website is out-of-date, so you can't see it online, unfortunately.)

Also, in the piece I wrote for the magazine, I mentioned a funny little incident where the groom's cake we ordered (supposed to be shaped like Texas with Lone Star icing) actually arrived iced with pentagrams. Colleen, who was in charge of the groom's cake, graciously kept this little mistake to herself and crafted an entirely new Texas-shaped cake that afternoon, so there were no freakouts -- at least not by me. I never named the cake company who did this (it's a local Louisville bakery), but I want to make clear here that it was NOT the amazing Adrienne & Company, who did our main wedding cake. Adrienne & Co Indiana-based bakery makes to-die-for cakes, and they had nothing to do with the pentagram incident. Just wanted to clear their good name:)

There were so many excellent people to thank, I wish I could've just had a whole page of thank yous. But, ah, editing! You all know who you are. Although, funny, I don't think most of those people read my blog, now that I think about it...


Also... today is my half birthday! And Burns Night ... I love today:)


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I'm trying to hard to pull myself out of this winter funk. It happens every year, but it's been worse in Scotland. I miss Monday night bluegrass sessions with Steve Cooley at Gerstle's (though you probably miss it too since it was canceled a couple of years ago). Those Monday nights were great stress reliefs and a good excuse to put on grownup clothes. Most of my work involves internet/Skype, so I don't technically have to change out of my pink panda pajama pants. It's a rough life, I know.
Still, I'm trying to look forward to a few things. My favorite instant mood improvers involve baking, which probably isn't a good idea considering our beltlines and budgets. So I'm looking into non-consumer alternatives (we thought buying a fancy Anthropologie quilt would satiate our ennui, but then we never ended up buying it), if anyone's got any bright ideas.

We did join Historic Scotland, which means free entry to the Castle until next year. I'm thinking about walking there daily, having tea in the cafe, and getting some writing done. I mean, if you can't get creative while writing from a castle, where can you? I wonder if they allowed pink panda pajamas there...

How do you beat winter blues?

Newsflash! I just got out my guitar and strummed a few chords. I'm thinking I might play more often if I could feel my fingers. It's cold in the flat because, well, I turned off the heat. Truthfully, I am absolutely terrified of our gas bill. No one has taken a reading since early November, and I think that means we'll have a three-month bill when it comes. Three months of winter all at once! I've been saving, but I have no idea how much to expect. I think I'm expecting the worse, but what if the worse is waaaaaay worse than I'm expecting?

On that note, anyone want to buy a CD?

This whole Scottish Independence possibility is pretty intriguing. I've got many native friends, and they seem equally divided on the sanity of the proposition -- as many who think it's preposterous, as think it's inevitable. I'm remaining like Switzerland or Kentucky in this debate.

In thinking about David's career, however, I kind of hope that Scotland secedes. Additionally, I hope that Texas (which, apparently, is the only state that can legally do so) secedes from the United States. Then, I'm thinkin David could finally put that great hair to good use as a politician, obviously becoming the Texas Ambassador to Scotland. Or maybe the Scottish Ambassador to Texas... I'd better think about this some more.

Scotland and Texas really do have a lot in common. They were both former independent nations. You never hear a Texan say they are from "The States." They always say, "I'm from Texas," just like you would never hear a Scotsman say he was from Great Britain. They both like football. Their populations both think their country is the better than yours. I have a hard time understanding many of their accents. They both have lots of oil. They both have the letter "A" in their names. Okay, I'm beginning to sound like a second-grader, so I'll let you all come up with more similarities while I go off in search of a latte. Thoughts?




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David and I have been hosting Flat Stanley for a couple of months now, and he's beginning to wear out his welcome. He doesn't cook, he doesn't clean, he just sits there in a pile of stuff -- doesn't even bother to move the newspaper before he takes a nap on top of it.

And what did we do for him? We took him to Rome, Florence, Venice, and all over Edinburgh and the Highlands. We even took him to see the Pope on Christmas Day, for goodness sake, and how does he repay us? Well, at least he doesn't make a lot of noise or eat.

I won't miss him, but I'm afraid David has grown a bit attached. So long, Stanley!




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I've never been obsessed about my weight, but this morning, while at the doctor's office, I stepped on a scale for the first time since October. October's number of kilograms was both pleasing in its double-digit numbers and also in the conversion to pounds. I attributed the weight loss to life without a car, in a flat sixty stairs from the ground. It revived sense of I-can-eat-whatever-I-want-because-I-walk-everywhere, like when I was nineteen and living in New York. The number was so pleasing, in fact, that I began to eat butter popsicles for breakfast. Well, that's not entirely true, but a few weeks in Italy was apparently not as good for my body as it was for my soul (despite walking fifteen miles a day!), nor are snacks of tatties and toast (slathered in Irish butter, of course).

In good news, however, the doctor's visit didn't cost me a penny, so at least I'm getting rich in my elastic pants.

I can't handle dieting because dieting is stupid, so I suppose it's time to start exercising. And exercise apparently means more than climbing 60 stairs twice a day.

I know I'm not fat, so please ... no pep talks. But I'm sort of bummed that my body apparently got used to walking several miles a day in a matter of months. I really like tatties, toast, and whisky. If only the Whisky Society was farther away...


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As usual, I've been doing more than just being a singer-songwriter over here. I've also been a sideman, as I have been known to do back home as well. It's nice to have no pressure/no poster-hanging gigs. I don't have the holy-crap-my-career-is-over-if-the-crowd-is-weak moment before the show starts, and I get to be on stage playing music with good people.

I've mentioned Adam before, but I thought I'd point you to some of his tunes today. He's barely 21 and has received more accolades than most songsters I know. He also sings with a Scottish accent and happens to be a good guy. I'm terribly jealous that he has bandmates who do things like his website and booking and social media (artist friends, can you imagine?), but he's just too nice to hate on.

Have a listen at:
http://soundcloud.com/adamholmesandtheembers

I'm not on any of those recordings, but if my tummyache goes away, I'll be recording with him a bit tomorrow. Oh, and we're playing the Traverse Theatre (next to Usher Hall) tonight at 8:30. It's "Free entry," as they say over here.

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My parents and I were never big on Christmas. I wasn't deprived child or anything, but we just only ever exchange a few gifts -- usually a Hawley-Cooke gift certificate and some clothes. This year was a biggie though, even if I got it a few weeks after Christmas: My parents came to Scotland!

They also came bearing gifts -- wee, but mighty. We have needed various material things, but we refuse to buy them for several reasons.
1) We don't want to buy anything we can't take home with us. And we aren't shipping boxes. Everything comes back in the same suitcases that came with us.
2) We don't have the money to spend on little Ikea marketplace items that cavemen lived without. Student budget, anyone? In a country where the dollar is basically worth a shilling?

Here's what they brought:
A wooden spoon (technically, a wooden spork):
Our kitchen is "furnished," but not to the spoiled American standard. It's not even furnished to a spoiled Scottish standard. I can live without my Kitchenaid Stand Mixer, but the lack of a simple wooden spoon was torture.

A spatula that actually gets underneath things:
There are two spatulas in our weakly-furnished kitchen, but both have been loved by previous tenants. They were burned and crusty long before our arrival. I'm pretty sure the neighbor thinks David & I get into shouting matches at breakfast, but it's just me screaming expletives because I cannot flip an egg. Thanks to my parental units, we now own our own spatula.

Chocolate chips:
A few ex-pats have told me they have found chocolate chips, but I've yet to experience that thrill. Until my parents showed up with two bags. It's cookie season!

Hugs from home:
Hugs are worth ten billion wooden spoons.

Something rather spectacular happened over the Christmas holidays: I received two donations for my blog via Paypal (handwritten thank you notes to follow). Like, from people who read my blog. Then, what did I do? I took a week off from blogging. How horrible is that?

The winter has been hard on me. It's not very cold in Scotland (no matter how much the natives complain), but the darkness is intense. Even with my SAD lamp and a trip to Italy, I've been fatigued and weary for months. Writing is both my biggest stress relief and the hardest thing in the world to do. That goes for writing a blog or responding to an email. (Sorry, I know I owe you a response. I've been thinking of you and harboring more guilt than you know.)

If I'm going to accept these generous donations guiltlessly, I need to find a balance between collecting stories and writing about them. It's the same with anything that's good for you. Discipline is required.

I've got loads of stories, not-so-deep thoughts, and photos to share. And I shall share them this week.

Look forward to: a cooking lesson from a lovely Scottish woman who taught me to make a traditional Scottish pudding recipe, a day-trip to St. Andrews, several evenings at the Scotch Malt Whisky Society, deep thoughts on spending 24 hours a day with your husband for five weeks in a row (we are still gooey in love, ladies, so don't get any ideas!), and maybe even some music here and there.

New year, new resolve.

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My parents are coming to visit today!* We haven't had nearly as many visitors as I thought we'd have, especially based on the "Hey, we're going to visit you in Scotland!" cheers we heard last summer. That's not meant to guilt-trip anyone; I know how hard an international trip is to plan (believe me). People seem to be afraid of Scottish winters, but I still contend that it's Baby Winter compared to Kentucky. And I know Kentucky's had some freakishly warm days lately, but I also know that it will get down to single-digit Fahrenheit at some point there. No chance of those numbers here.

Anyway, my parents do not fear the weather nor the flight, and I cannot wait to see them. They were here once about ten years ago, when I dragged them on another European trip. I'm betting they never thought they'd come back to Scotland. Now I must find adventurous ways of keeping everyone occupied without exhausting them. In remembering that not everyone can keep up with my sightseeing pace, I also note that I must have gotten the tourist gene from someone ... we'll see who can keep up this week.

*Prospective burglars, you should know that BOTH of the beasts are still at their home (see photo), along with several housesitters. I'm not kidding when I say "beasts." They will sit on you, then eat you: