The past month or so I’d spent still working, so there was no free rein to explore too far afield. The time difference meant European evening teaching was now morning or afternoon where I was, so that at least left evenings free to socialise a bit. A conference in Lithuania, in my final week, offered workshops and presentations in the wee small hours – hours I’d normally only see when I got up for a wee in the night. But all in all the work rhythm carried on mostly as before. And the month went by quickly. No sooner had I arrived, it seemed, but I was leaving Jackson and Becky to fend for themselves and lend each other support, distraction and diversion as necessary. Well that was the idea.
The day I left to return to my travel job in the UK and Europe, something was in the air well before my flight. Like the three musketeers, D’Artagnan Jackson literally in the air, four dogs burst into the bedroom and three landed not quite in unison on the bed, 250 canine pounds or so directly on me. Something was up. Judging by their chorus, I should be, soon, and they’d got wind of my departure. Sorting clothes, packing bags, passport panic, all pointed to too much change I think, and even the big guy, Vulcan, commando-crawled up from my legs to make sure I’d at least washed my face before my trip. Jackson deferred to seniority. I gave in. As I heard mid-flight, it turned out I was soon supplanted in the bed, with Jackson taking up ‘my half’, Vulcan sleeping sentry on the floor alongside, and Luna supervising at duvet level. Mars carried on sleeping, confused as ever, not sure what was amiss.
Returning to the flat in Scotland, alone again for the first time in nearly six weeks, was a strange experience, particularly as I’d arrived sleep-deprived after flying for a good ten hours with only a couple of hours’ doze. The flat itself was still in disarray after a quick exit the night of Jackson’s departure from Perth. Debris from the walking holiday immediately before was soon supplemented by the bits and pieces from the car – sleeping bag, blankets, towels, clothes, dog paraphernalia that wouldn’t fit in the suitcase over a month ago. Vacuuming to do, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom to clean, and importantly trying to eliminate the dog hairs from the past month or so’s Jackson-in-residence. Popping along to the recycling station on foot, seeking the dual benefits of fresh air and planet-saving, I was reminded by a plaque on the wall that the building in Scotland that I was currently living in was almost exactly the same age as the borough of State College, and thus presumably Penn State University itself, the catalyst for creating the town in the late 19th century, growing to the enormous size it is today.
Although you’d think I’d be recharging my batteries before an upcoming tour of nearly three weeks, I had three days to do quite the opposite – a battery of tests, trials and trauma. I was due, the day after my return, to get a tooth extracted, having discovered a crumbling, grumbling molar just before heading stateside. The tooth had survived my trip but I couldn’t risk leaving it another month, so having arrived in the country on Sunday morning, 24 hours later I found myself in the dentist’s chair as she wrestled the offending item out. 90 minutes in which I tried to suppress thoughts of the movie Midnight Express. But 90minutes of success, and relatively pain-free. No chance of eating, or even concentrating, for the next few hours at the very least, so I took myself for a drive (yes, it was a local anaesthetic) and reminded myself why I love Perthshire in the spring.
While Pennsylvania had been springing into colour as I left, Scotland was way ahead, and Perthshire showed up its colonial cousin with hues of burgundy, pink and purple, and bright yellow fields of rapeseed (canola) abruptly contrasting with the browns and greens of adjacent fields and woods. The sky was vying with the erupting bluebells cascading down through roadside wooded banks, and each it seemed was eager to gain the upper hand. This was something I found inspiring but challenging. Recent life changes would mean I’d see this far less often than I’d have liked. It would be tough to leave it behind.
Of course, with limited ability to eat even after 24 hours, painkillers every 4 hours and a deadline or two to keep, you’d think I would be keeping things simple. But no, blood to be given and tested the next morning, and then this bright spark decided to alight on the house that was currently up for sale, and that I still owned half of, of course – to check out the garden I’d worked so hard on over the past couple of years, while the cat was away, if you will. Again I found myself facing something I’d be missing, although it gave me a degree of pride and joy, seeing the fruits of my gardening (I should remember to call it yard work) efforts come together. Brooms of gold and scarlet, shades of bugle and ceanothus purples and blues. Lilacs in flower, bushes burning with red and gold foliage and ferns in glorious frondage too. The fruit trees, whose fruit I’d no longer see, were doing well, and the white and red japonicas looked a little forlorn like a funereal wreath to the past. Finally though I spotted the clematis climbing to blend into the clouds with its mound of white flowers, so maybe the show was less funereal after all. And as I noted this, the rain arrived to drag this field mouse from his reverie and send him packing for the day’s work still to be done. Tomorrow I’d be London-bound to meet the advance group of a 35-strong group of American strangers destined to become friends if only for 18 days on the road.
International-Eyes.org 