The surprise was Greyfriars Bobby, coming upon that bccause I got us lost walking to the National Museum. We met a beautiful angel when Laura insisted that I was lost and there seemed some merit in her observation,
“Do you know where the National Museum is?” I’d asked this pretty young girl waiting to cross the street,
“Yes, I’m heading towards there if you want to walk along.”
So we did and chatted the whole way through the park along the walkway that passed the tennis club. Men and women walked dogs. Joggers ran by. There was a youth and vitality in the air , the same as shared by our angel who walked along with us asking about our travel.
She was a student and there was the University. She was studying history. And that was what this journey was in so many ways. Personal and public.
“Now if you go up this way past the light and turn right the Museum is right there. There’s Greyfriar’s Bobby statue there.”
That’s how we found the Greyfriars statue which Laura knew all about and hoped to see.
Yesterday I climbed Arthur’s Seat. I’d turned 70 the day before and bought a Pringle Harris Tweed Hebrides sports jacket to go with the Harris Tweed vest I’d bought and loved. I have a red cashmere sweater too. I say they’re gifts for my birthday. The sweater is wonderful but I fear it’s delicacy, it needs to be hand washed in cold water and laid out in a towel. Well, I’m rather hard on clothes so in truth as much as I love it I much prefer the tough Harris tweed clothing. I’d planned to buy a jacket and I did. Laura bought me more argyle socks which are amazingly comfortable.
I’m reminded at so many turns of my grandfather, grandmother and father, brother and mother. Growing up socks were important. The last few years I’ve rarely worn them choosing slips ons or clogs , Of course I wear them hiking and hunting but in the city I’m not I don’t. I go through shoes ever year or two whereas in the past the shoes lasted forever and mom darned the socks.
The Arthur’s Seat climb was an accomplishment. 70 years old and I still had what it takes. My back has been hurting and I think it’s just the carrying the extra weight. So rather than treating it as an invalid I put it through the paces and was rewarded with a sore back , stiff , but no longer having the sharp pain I’d worked something else.
I’ve prayed a lot too. I talked to my ancestors and relatives now passed.
I’ve had marvellous reminiscences of being here at 20 with the most beautiful young woman , my first wife. We separated and divorced and she went on to have her own family and remain brilliant and beautiful. Meanwhile I’m here with a brilliant and beautiful girl who is a grandmother. We’ve been close 24 years too,
I’d wanted to go to an AA meeting but that will have to wait till Aberdeen. Fitting, as Grandad was much against drinking and disappointed by Robert when he drank too much. Dad did not and Mom didn’t approve of hard spirits
I’m here admiring all the stores that sell fine whiskey and thinking how medicinal and fine they would be if one could just have a sip or a glass.In my day I’d rather finish the bottle and gravitated to those like me. My wives were so much fun and liked their spirits. We all liked wine and then one day it was no more fun. Fun, fun and trouble and then just trouble. My last wife’s drug addiction and impairment was threatening life and community. But I stopped and the wisdom of the day was separate us. I had asked for help with our marriage because the challenge for me wasn’t drugs or alcohol which I quit but marriage. 50% of men and women were finding it didn’t work and it seemed mostly children kept marriages together which was good but women were no longer ladies and the whole institution was failing like so many institutions. I was a single man and decided to study theology in addition to continuing psychiatry. Then I sober I specialized in addiction,
It was all very fitting because I was drawn to psychiatry by the study of ‘non adherence to medical regimen’ and ‘noncompliance’. That young man had died because he didn’t take the life saving medication and he’d lied about taking it. The lies sealed his fate and I cried when he died. Then on the native reserves I saw non compliance was rampant and that most of the problems were psychiatric and addiction. I’d begun with the idea of being a surgeon but instead entered community medicine and psychiatry. Mostly they prevented illness and improved so much. But there was no glory. Doing surgery and setting fractures and fixing dislocations and delivering babies I was a rock star. Convincing people that life was better than death and that drugs and alcohol were harmful saved untold lives and changed the course of individuals families and communities. It was though a thankless job except for those who knew. All the while to the government so mired in drugs and alcohol and lies were a constant battle ,
Now I’ve seen ten thousand patients, have generalist, specialist and sub specialist degrees, written countless magazine articles ,published books of poetry and a book of perspectives. I’ve three more books to write and I’ve doubted my own identity. No children , rape and bisexuality has left me wondering if a transgendered life would be better with more experiences novelty and friends, It’s like the theatre to me. I loved the green room and dance and the friends I had back then. I’d had great friends in medicine and recovery but there’s a fear of insanity and by contrast the artists life is a celebration of just that.
I want to be a writer now. It’s what I love to do any moment I can get. But I can’t seem to focus on a book. Blogging and journaling seem sufficient but I’m quite isolated. When I’m with Laura I’ve no desire for a sex change. I like being a male in her company. My poor dog tries to hump her at any opportunity. It must be pheromes. She’s a mother and grandmother and little girl. I envy women and carry the angry that society takes out on men collectively and the lies of feminism and the self centredness. They are individuals I like my old transgendered friends who described the community of women like they have a common enemy in men. Men by contrast defend their family and have common ground in tasks and activities,
I’m grieving. The loss of Hank and Scottie and Bernie and John and George and Ron. All these great men I became so close too . True friends. I miss them. I’ve been afraid to make new friends fearing the loss. I bought Madigan after Gilbert died. I bought Gilbert after Stuart died. I bought Stuart after Shinto died.
I have mentors too, But we’re growing apart with age and I’m still searching my tribe. My sailing friend became too eccentric and unsafe. My experience of others is that they have prior allegiances to family and friends. I’m an Insider and an Outsider. I have such an experience of alienation at times and at others times loneliness. I ‘m incredibly independent and so accomplished with countless skills in wilderness and in the urban even political world. Yet I don’t have a clear idea of what to do now,
This trip is to help me with that. I’m searching out the youth of my grandfather reflecting on the courage he had to leave his home and journey to a new land where he was such a success. I’ve lived in several places, had so many friends and loves even, Now I’m blessed with good colleagues, friends and family yet I’m ever ready to escape. I think being locked up by a dangerous maniac did something to me. I have fear of authority that goes with all the falsely accused I’ve met and those who know that authorities are like Arendt described them, banal and evil. Of course they can be good. I must come to terms with aging and trusting as I’m growing more vulnerable,
Laura is a fine companion. I ‘ve had companions. We’re all just walking each other home. Now Laura and I head into the high lands. The true highlands and the lands of the Hay. Clan.
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