Jumindthegapst a quick note today. There are several loose ends I need to tie up before I head off to Scotland.

Yesterday from 1-4 PM, I sat attentively in front of my televesion watching the New England Patriots play the Tampa Bay Bucaneers. It was the NFL’s annual game in London at the Venue of Legends or Wembley Stadium as it is better known. Pre-game coverage was as exhausting as the Democratic National Convention. Some found symmetry in the return of the pre-Tea Party Patriots to the Motherland.  In a nation, that like ours, is fascinated by celebrity, the infiltration by Tom Brady and his super model wife, Gisele Bundchen, sent the paparazzi into camera flash overload. It was a home game for Tampa Bay by draw but this was not home for either 40 man squad.

I am an Anglophile. I admit it. But  I guarantee that you have never heard me use the expression, “across the pond.” Yesterday, the pre-game and play-by-play announcers used that expression ad nauseum. Its usage almost seemed mandated by the NFL in order to psychologically reduce the distance and time zones of their newest market, London. Transatlantic or overseas sounds too far away. Lets use “across the pond!”

As I sat in front of the tv listening, I heard more “across the ponds” in 10 minutes than I heard in a lifetime. I am leading the campaign to retire that idiom.

And here are some more I hope to never hear again:

Piece of cake
Drop in the bucket
All Greek to me
New York minute
When pigs fly
The whole nine yards
Raining cats and dogs
Heat of the moment
Elvis has left the building

And the rest. Do you have any you hope to never hear again?

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mindthegapA week from today, I will arrive in Scotland for the first time in 28 months. I am hoping to play a round of golf but the primary reason for my visit is to bid farewell to our long time general manager, Angus. Angus is retiring and calls my visit the “hand over.” If you’re a long time reader of this blog, you know that a small group of us have a home in St Andrews called Monarchs House that is rented out to golfers making the pilgrimage to the home of golf. Angus has been looking after the house and all the golfing visitors for 8 years.

St Andrews is not like many other places and very far removed from any town in the States. First of all, it is a magnificently beautiful medieval town. Unlike the U.S., there are no signs of wooden structures; everything is built from stone. Throughout the town, there are ruins that tell of the violence of the Reformation in the mid 1500s. St Rules Tower dates back to 1127. St Andrews also is home to Scotland’s first university and the third oldest in the English speaking world, founded in 1413. But it’s not just the history of the town or even the golf that makes me love St Andrews in particular and Scotland in general. I love the way of life, the people and the topography.

St Rules Tower

St Rules Tower

Recently, after all my years, I finally came to conclusion about why I love where I live and why I love the other places that I visit. There is a commonality in all of the places I gravitate toward. In Boston’s Back Bay, I overlook the Charles River and I am very close to Boston Harbor. I can also walk to anything that could satisfy my needs; food, drink, shopping, entertainment, open spaces and friends. In St Andrews, I am a 2 minutes from any of the beaches and able to walk the entire town and visit its shops and play golf. Here are a few of the other places I love: Plymouth, Sag Harbor, Newport, Marblehead, Savannah, Saucelito, Puerto Banus and San Francisco. All are water centric and all have lovely walkable old towns. Bring me to the mountains, away from water, and I can feel myself silently die.

In St Andrews, I intend on visiting all of my old haunts. They can expect me at the Russell Hotel for dinner and to say hello to Helen the manageress. I will have a drink at the St Andrews Golf Club to say hello to Gordon, Oggie, Alf and the rest of the boys (all over 70). I plan to see my old friend John, the one that always refers to my wife as the lovely Christine.  I am going to have a dram with my friend Mike and commiserate about what could have been with Hamilton Hall. But mostly, I am going to breathe Scotland and all that it is to me. I never get excited about travelling until it happens but this trip has me on edge. As I found out 28 months ago, you never know when it will be your last.

* DUM SPIRO SPERO means “While I breathe, I hope” in Latin and is generally attributed to Cicero. The notable origin of the motto is St Andrews, Scotland. It’s attribution to Saint Andrew and his bones (relics) being taken to this small fishing village on the North Sea, contributed to its direct linkage between the saying, the town, the University of St Andrews and the Saint.

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Woe is Me

saltire

Woe, Woe is MeI really miss Scotland. I do. My cynical friends from England will read this and think I’ve gone off my meds. But England and Scotland have been wedded for just over 300 years and have predictably grown apart (like the US north and south appear to be doing now!).  Truth be told, it’s Scotland that is the self sufficient county. They have great cattle, game, fish, poultry, vegetables, ale, whisky and most importantly, oil. Like England, it is a beautiful country but Scotland has a much more diverse topography. The Highlands are breathtaking as are the Inner and Outer Hebrides, an archipelago of islands off of Scotland’s northwest coast. Visit once and Scotland will get into your bloodstream faster than a dram of Glenmorangie. It’s an amazing place and a place that I haven’t visited in 20 months, the longest dry spell since I visited there for the first time 30+ years ago. Go behind the tab for more…

Why I miss ScotlandSometime ago I wrote a post about the 10 Reasons I Love Scotland. You can read part one, here and part two, here. Today, I’d like to tell you, a year and half removed from the country, what I miss the most about Scotland; why after all this time is it a place I think about every single day.

I have considered this scrupulously. I know what I love about Scotland but the reasons can’t entirely be why the country is so under my skin. No, my rapturous love for Scotland is all about the way of life. One of the things about living in America that we take for granted is that everything is so incredibly convenient. We have huge fridges that store a week’s worth of food.  We live in a world where the town center is no longer important; the mall is important or the Super Stop & Shop. In Scotland (and England) the town center is the cog of life. I must admit that when I was younger, the town center was even more important there than it is now. But for better or worse (I say worse), the US way of doing things is rubbing off in the UK. I think there’s something really great about walking to the butcher, the fish monger, the produce store, the cheese and bottle shops to pick up the evening’s meal. You see your neighbors, stop for a pint, share a laugh with your pastor or make golf plans along the way. The town center has a pulse, its own life. I positively LOVE that. In St Andrews, where my home is, I can walk everywhere. If I wanted to go out for dinner, I could walk to 25 restaurants and an equal amount of pubs. If I wanted to see a movie, I could walk to the local cinema where three current movies are on offer. I wouldn’t have to jump in the car and drive to the multiplex where there are 15 films vying for my attention. OK, so I don’t have as much of a choice but is that a terrible thing? I could wait until next week when all three movies change. Even though I live today in the middle of a large city, I long for a simpler life. But I don’t want to live in isolation. A small town, where I can walk to everything, suits me. I can walk to golf, the beach, the botanical gardens, the theater or the cafe. Is that available anywhere in the US? Maybe in a resort town but then you are faced with isolation in winter. Scotland has everything I want.

Yet, I am still here.

18updateHere’s a quick joke for you:

What’s one thing you will never hear in Scotland?

Oh that car? That’s the bagpiper’s Porsche.

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