Leaving Scotland, Aberdeen to Oxford

It was a disrupted sleep night. I’m up at 5 am.  Laura is in the shower.  Our train to London and Oxford leaves Aberdeen at 730. The taxi arrives at 630.  I slept poorly and woke repeatedly fearful I’d miss the train.  Like days on call with babies to deliver.  Now I’m up.  The bags are packed,

I’d set out on this trip questioning whether I should retire. I’m of age. I like to say I’m past my shelf life but don’t smell yet. The exhaustion and hopelessness of this winter an covid and government corruption took it’s toll. Typically 2 weeks of vacation and I’m renewed. My mind at least. The chronic back ache and stiffness and sense of old news persists.  I’m having trouble convincing myself.  

I miss my home and routine. I want to work too. I want to do another year because I like it and it seems right.  So that decision is made.  Work another year maybe two, maybe five.  Maybe less but work. I love the spring, summer and fall in BC so it’s only a matter of what to do next winter. This vacation saved me. It pulled me through, I really wanted to come to Aberdeen and the highlands before I died. Now I even want to return. Perhaps not as a luxury tourist but rather as a poor writer using hostels and cafe’s.  That will probably wait depend on my dog. I’m missing him terribly.  We like camping and there’s lots of that handy at home.  

I loved Edinburgh again, the Castle, Holyroodhouse, the Royal Mile, the Hilton,   the National Gallery and National Museum, Tweed Jackets, cashmere sweaters and Arthur’s Seat. Here I’ve loved New Slains Castle and Delgatie Castle and Aberdeen Art Gallery,St. Machar’s Church, and St.Peter’s  The train trip here was a wonder. I’ve enjoyed seeing, photographing and writing, Here both Laura and I’ve enjoyed laughing together reading Stuart McBride with his unforgettable character Steel and of course Logan. Yesterday we listened to Annie Lennox who came from here.  I enjoy travel writing. I really do.  

Since I was a child I’ve kept a journal. Somewhere I have chests of notebooks written cursive, bits of prose, and poems and confessions.  Later I learned to type and typed my journal. An ex wife ruins years of writing but that’s passed and perhaps it’s still redeemable.  Spite and loss.  I’ve not been forgiven for leaving but remain friends with the parted.  

Now I’m facing Oxford.  Laura’s just come out ,”the bathroom’s yours.”  I’ve had a coffee and now must make the next move and finally see if we can get what we have into the packs. We sent gifts on and stuff we didn’t need home.  To the shower, A Hay A Hay!!!!

Medical school