“Friday night we walked to dinner. Up the stairs we entered a vaulted room – like a church – lit dimly with candles and pink and purple lights in the high, arched ceiling. We had champagne or whisky, then beer and food. Afterwards they cleared the floor and music began on the colorfully lit stage, fast Scottish music complete with an accordion. We danced and laughed and had so much fun. We danced in a circle and I shed my introverted nerves, threw my head back in laughter and danced with all sorts of people as we traded partners going round and round…my husband, our friends, Scottish girls I didn’t know, Scottish boys I didn’t know, and an old man who kept saying “oh! oh!” like he thought he was going to fall over! I haven’t felt like that in, well, ever…”
This glowing, swirling plunge into Edinburgh led to a carefree journey full of child-like exploration.
We got up early and poked around gardens and churchyards. I scampered up and down the skinny Closes (alleys) between stores. We sat on stone walls listening to bagpipers and we took a late night tour of the spooky underground homes and rooms of the buried Mary King’s Close.
We stuck our heads in the huge cannon Mons Meg on top of Edinburgh Castle, feebly attempted to use some new Scottish phrases with our poor accents, made new friends and shed the skins of our “grown up” responsibilities, at least for a little while.
My Stephen took the opportunities to get in costume, dressing like John Knox in the oldest house in Edinburgh and posing for pictures, and later having a fake sword fight in chain mail with an actor playing Robert the Bruce. He lost this “wee skirmish,” and we couldn’t stop laughing.
I left Edinburgh with full memories of light-hearted fun and games, with lessons and practice in letting go and living life in joy and laughter.