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....is exactly what I'm saying as I face twenty five pairs of beady eyes and perked ears. As much as I'd hate to admit it I think that the Virgin Mary would be the ONLY person that could make these sheep behave!

What makes matters soooooo difficult is that the entire flock knows that I know that they know I have no idea what I'm doing. As a firefighter in Alaska I have faced roaring flames and pushed myself onward through the danger. But this? This is a different story! Now I stood a very good chance of being mowed down by twenty five of the fattest burliest sheep on the Planet - and my guts sank into the vicinity of my knees as I faced off with the critters.

I had already been at the mercy of the flock - just a few seconds ago I had rushed headlong at the fat wooly beasts thinking, "Bah! Sheep are cute and stupid. I'll just chase them to the other side of the pen." Well, I guess the sheep had no idea that they were supposed to be cute and stupid because they didn't act accordingly! Instead, as I pounced at a sheep and grabbed two great handfulls of wool the animal bolted and towed me across the pen as if I were water skiing on a lake. The entire flock exploded with fright and leapt at me as one while I stood there with my mouth gaping and my hands clutching the backside of the galloping ovine. I released my quarry and tried to run for my life! I think I may have shrieked as a pair of sharp cloven hooves flew by me level with my ear! I have never in all of my travels seen an animal jump so high from a dead standstill as a sheep! BOING! SPRING! As high as my head they went - their own hard little heads aimed for a spot right between my eyes. I dodged left! I dodged right! I ducked and prayed for a swift and merciful end. Then...all was quiet. As I huddled in a ball at one end of the pen I carefully peeked around behind me.

There they stood. Silent. Watching. Me. Twenty five pairs of beady eyes and perked ears were aimed directly at me. They seemed to be saying, "You want a piece of us, huh? You're not so tough are you? Come on - why don't you try that again? Cute and stupid did you say??"

What a few seconds ago had been a quiet pen of adorable cud-chewing sheep had turned into my worst nightmare. And as far as I knew I had no way out! They huddled at one end of the pen ready to explode into action at my slightest movement. My injured ankle began to throb and I knew that I could not crouch there for much longer... (I had injured it in Alaska, not here with the sheep.)

...and I probably would have met my demise if my handsome Orcadian husband had not walked through the door at that precise moment! My champion! My knight! My very own Lancelot! I WAS SAVED!!

And I was also utterly humiliated. My husband's eyes danced with amusement as he took in the sitiuation at one knowing glance.

"I uh...was inspecting the slats(slatted floor of the barn) to make sure they are uh...still in good condition." I muttered as I stood up and brushed the dirt off of my clothes.

Erlend had raised sheep most of his life. He nimbly jumped up and over the gate, goat-like, and pounced on a sheep. In a matter of seconds (and with some sleight-of-hand) he soon had her perched up on her rump and looking slightly baffled as she sat there with her hooves sticking out before her. I stared at my husband with a growing sense of awe. He released the sheep and then showed me how he had captured the beast and sat her on her rump. He grasped her muzzle in one hand, placed her hip against his leg and then with a swift movement he jerked his leg back and turned the sheep's head towards her ribs so that she flopped down and ended up on her rear end. Her back was against his legs and her head nestled against his waist and there she sat in a rather subdued stupor. Erlend was panting a bit though and told me with a laugh that the sheep were a crazy mix: they had the short Texel necks and the size and weight of the Cheviot! He had raised Shetland cross sheep which were much smaller and easier to tackle!

The sheep had changed their tune and now stood in a tight huddle at the other end of the pen eyeing Erlend with a mixture of fear and respect. You could see that they had sized him up and declared him Boss Baa. There was no way he was going to do something as utterly insane as grab a galloping sheep by the bum and dive into the midst of the flock! Noooooo noooo nooooo, he knew far better then that. They looked between me and him and I could see that the battle lines had been drawn: the female human was a dunce but the male...well, he was worthy of the flock considering him as intelligent and therefore someone to be reckoned with.

I realized right then and there that I had to win the sheep over though means that did not requre brute force or sheep wrangling skills. As Erlend caught the sheep one by one and inspected their hooves (foot rot aarrg!!) I wracked my brain for a plan. How could I gain respect and admiration from these crafty rascals?? There was no way I could fling myself at them like a puma while my ankle was still injured and throbbing. What could I do??

Ah....food! Animals live for food. I would win the little buggers over with a bucket full of grain. Every day I would march into the byre (barn) and rattle a bucket of grain until I had them, if not eating out of my hand, at least running to me with expectant faces!

"Hey Erlend" I said as my husband dove on yet another sheep and sat her up on her bum.

"Yeah..." he grunted as he inspected another hoof tainted with that dread disease hoof rot. He grumbled and shook his head.

"Do you mind if we keep the sheep inside for two weeks so I can tame them down with grain?" My husband stared at me like I was loco. Then he shook his head indulgently.

"Yeah sure, babe." he said. "We are going to need to keep them in any way because they have foot rot."

"What's that?" I asked.

Ah. Ignorance is bliss.

(As soon as I can figure out how to shrink my photos I'll start posting pictures...)

The fields are black and I cannot see any of the sheep. There is a thin orange sliver on the horizon - hoorah! Dawn breaks!! (Thank God too because the darkness was beginning to get old...)

As the orange-tinted sun rises above the horizon I greet it from where I sit before my bright sun box. I was often crippled with fatigue during the dark winters of Alaska by the dreaded Seasonal Affect Disorder. And then I discovered the beautiful sun box which filled me with energy and woke me up.

Now I live in Orkney where the winters are long and dark. (I can't escape...) So once again I perch in front of a light box and watch the sun rise over the fields and draping the grass with a faint glow.

My attention span stinks. As I sit before the sun box I am chanting the Divine Office, my prayer book held in my caffine shaking hands. It is the second week of Advent and the prayers are lovely. Every few verses I glance at the sun box and then I gaze outside into the dark fields and try and make out the white wooly lumps of sheep. No luck yet.

Listen, heavens to what I say;
earth, hear the words of my mouth!
Let my teaching fall like the rain,
my speech descend like the dew,
like a shower on the grass,
like rain on the wheat.

Ah...what a fitting pslam to chant on a farm. As the verse ends I sneak a glance outside and behold!! I see the white lumps just now visible as morning breaks! Goodmorning sheep! How delightful it is to see you all again! God be praised for such a beautiful day! (Uh...but being Orkney how long will THAT last??)

Does my religion scare you? I sure hope it doesn't. I'm not here to pound my beliefs down anyone's throat. I am an American Catholic of the Latin Right - otherwise known by the unofficial title, "Roman Catholic."

Does this mean I'm here to espouse Christianity at you and thump my bible in your face? Nah. I'm here to share the adventures of a newlywed Alaskan living life on a farm in Orkney. My faith is a part of my every waking moment. I do not take off my Catholic beliefs and put them on a shelf during the week. My prayers are woven through every moment of my day. And about every three hours (if the farm is merciful...) I sit before my sun box or the roaring coal fire and I chant the ancient prayers from my leather prayer book.

Why? Well...why not? It makes me feel reallllllly good. It brings me peace. It helps me to relax. And because I believe in God I walk away feeling like I've just spent a few minutes with God and that makes me feel even better about everything. Do you have something that you do each day which brings you peace and joy? I hope so. We all need peace and joy.

Don't let my faith threaten you. I'm not here to preach or judge or chase after people's souls. Let us walk the path of life in peace and harmony regardless of our religions - or our lack thereof.

Besides, if you don't want to read any of the prayers or bible quotes that I post just skim over them. I'll share things the way I see them and experience them but it's up to you if YOU want to partake. Either way, I won't be offended.

Ah! The sun is out! There is hardly a breeze and no rain or hail. Wow...how long will this last?? And the sheep - they are awake and grazing happily. What a joy it is to have green grass in December. What a difference from the thigh-deep snow of Fairbanks Alaska!!!

You have put everything beneath his feet, cattle and sheep and the beasts of the field,
the birds in the air and the fish in the sea, whatever passes along the paths of the waters.

How wonderful is your name above all the earth, O Lord, our Lord!

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen.

Well, sun box time is over. Time to get those Christmas cards and packages sealed up and ready to post!!

Then hopefully I can figure out how to resize my photos so I can post them as well!

(I have figured out how to get my photos shrunk down so I can stick them here on the blog. However, it's going to take some time to get them shrunk. Bear with me!)

The divine hour of Vespers approaches as the coals in the fire place glow a warm red and the sun begins to set behind the cloud-streaked horizon. Today began as a bright sunny day but soon the lawn danced with hail and rain pelted the windows. The electricity kept cutting off and we couldn't get our Christmas packages mailed because the Post Office computer kept shutting down. No bother, I've already resigned myself to them arriving back in America long after December 25th. But that's no bother either! Being Catholic I celebrate eight days of Christmas - and also forty days of Christmas Season! Christmas does not end in one mere day for me! The Catholic Church sure knows how to hang on to a holiday and party like mad until the darkest part of winter is past and the sun starts to show its face again for more then a few wimpy hours.

I can just make out the shapes of the sheep as they graze in the fields. Soon the field will be black even while the sky is light and the sheep will disapear into the shadows. I wonder what they do out there in the bitter rain and wind all night long??? Play chess?

I had to bank the coal fire tonight as I found black mold growing on the windows in our bedroom. I've kept the bedroom and bathroom closed off so that the downstairs would heat up but I guess that let the mold show its ugly self. I have the door open and the fire roaring - it's so hot that my plastic Virgin Mary statue is threatening to melt! My sweet Dominican Nuns sent me that miniature Mary statue back when I was attending University in Alaska. I was living in a small log cabin in the woods and the snow was falling thick. The days were long and dark and I was just beginning to feel sorry for myself when a cheerful package arrived from The Monastery of the Mother of God. I immediately perked up and greed lit my eyes for I knew that this package from a monastery full of nuns would contain my ultra favorite: CATHOLIC LOOT ! Yeah, baby! Nuns know how to spoil you with brightly colored Holy Cards, Saint medals, loving letters and a zillion other fascinating Holy objects small enough to be crammed in a box and shipped to Alaska.

And now that same plastic statue is chilling on a mantle in Orkney. I never imagined that I'd be here. I never pictured myself in this place! But I am so happy to be here. I think that Orkney was a fair trade for Alaska. And Erlend...he's just wonderful. I couldn't have wished for a better husband.

My first thought as I look up at the steaming statue of Mary is HOLY COW I'M HAVING A RELIGIOUS MOMENT!! But then I realize it's just the heat from the coal fire that's beginning to melt the plastic so I swiftly move it to a safer spot and sit down in the chair with my heart racing from fright. No, what I meant to say was that this wee statue sent to me one dark Christmas in Alaska keeps me ever mindful of humility. It silently points out to me day after day, "Michelle, you ain't all that!" In this cheap humble gift I see the invitation to lay down my pride and to live in love.

The sun sets and my voice chants Vespers from my leather prayer book. I soon find myself quoting the words of the Virgin Mary and I look up at the statue that keeps me reminded of the fact that instead of worrying about the faults and failings of others I can always work on improving Michelle...

"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God, my salvation.
For he has shown me such favour 鈥�
me, his lowly handmaiden.
Now all generations will call me blessed,
because the mighty one has done great things for me.
His name is holy,
his mercy lasts for generation after generation
for those who revere him..."

It's amazing what a cheap plastic statue can do to keep reminding me to toe the line. Maybe I should hide it behind a book...

Lauds has arrived and I greet the sunny morning with my scratchy voice.

"O God, come to my aid.
O Lord, make haste to help me.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen. Alleluia."

I think I can hear the barn cats joining in. They must think that I am one of them...

I can see the sheep once again because the sun has risen and they are grazing in the one field that can be seen perfectly from the house. I can hear the warm coal fire crackling in the livingroom and I can't help but wonder where my black cat "Brodgar" is lurking? Usually she is inside of the house by now basking on the sofa, her glossy coat reflecting the orange of the flames. She had been found as an emaciated kitten living at the Ring of Brodgar by an American tourist who managed to win the animal's trust enough to capture her and bring her to the Orkney Cats Protection. My husband and I found her last winter awaiting adoption amongst the many cages. We took her and another young black cat which we have named "King Tut." They now rule the farm and Brodgar has quickly assumed the position of Queen Of The Sofa.

"The rivers have raised, O Lord,
the rivers have raised their voices.
The rivers have raised their clamour.
Over the voices of many waters,
over the powerful swell of the sea,
you are the Lord, powerful on high."

Sometimes when I pray I fall into a trance and think about everything BUT the words I am chanting. How many loads of laundry can I do today?? Where on earth did I put the sewing box?? My mind has the amazing capacity to wander away.

I haven't had my sunbox time yet because I have been busy preparing a lovely chicken for roasting. When I first arrived in Orkney I couldn't even boil a tattie (potato) so it is with a serious sense of satisfaction that I prepare the cold bird for its appointment with the oven. One of my neighbors told me that if I rub butter into the skin of the chicken it will stay moist. I tried this trick with the Thanksgiving turkey but cold butter and cold dead bird just don't mix. Today I felt so clever because in a moment of caffine-induced brilliance I melted the butter in the microwave. I had grinned in triumph as the hot greasy stuff slathered all over the chicken with ease. Woot! Woot!

Erlend's mother always has us over for Sunday dinner and a few weeks ago I hit upon an idea: why not share the burden with her so she doesn't have to do all of the work every week? Now we trade off and every-other-weekend I have Ma and Pa In Law over to the farm for their chance to be served and spoiled. I've finally mastered the delicious Scottish stuffing made with butter and oatmeal. I never tasted anything like it in America! I wonder though if I've overdone it with the onions. How I love onions! I chop them up and stuff them into just about every dish I make - except the apple pie or the porridge oats...

Erlend is outside feeding the cattle. We always have a lie-in on Sunday mornings but the cattle are never amused. They give us until about five minutes past their breakfast time and then the byres (barns) errupt into a chorus of difiant boggles. "MOOOOO!!! GIVE US OUR BREAKFAST YOU LAZY HUMANS!"

It's pointless to grind ourselves deeper into the mattress and attempt to ignore them because cattle come equiped with amazing voices: their moos could penetrate a bomb shelter!! "MOOOO!!!" they roar as one. "GET OUT OF BED BEFORE WE COME INSIDE THAT HOUSE AND GET YOU UP OURSELVES!!"

Being good cattle slaves we soon give in and roll out of our warm nest. Erlend is such a sweetie - every morning he goes downstairs and digs out the hot coals from under the peat ash and gets the fire going again.

"Bless the Lord, sun and moon; all stars of the sky, bless the Lord.
Bless the Lord, rain and dew; all you winds, bless the Lord.
Bless the Lord, fire and heat; cold and warmth, bless the Lord."

**Sigh** Another beautiful day begins!

Erlend is pure white. The only thing not white are his dancing blue eyes that peer at me from the layer of white concrete dust covering him from the top of his wild hair to the toe of his (now white) barn boots. Like usual he's grinning away as merry as ever. He is busy converting some of the stalls in the old stone tied byre into a large sheep pen so that we can lamb indoors. I love this old byre! it is maybe 150 or 200 years old? Part of it used to be a hoose. The outside walls are made of stone and it matches perfectly the dyke (stone wall) that encloses our garden.

Our new Angus bull is white as well! He's tied at the end stall and looks a bit freaked out. When I first walked into the byre he looked so blue-roan I thought he was one of our young heefers with Shorthorn blood! He's young so he almost doesn't look like a bull from behind when you take a quick glance at him. His hind feet danced a bit as he swung his rear around so he could see who I was.

"Hi Torf!" I said as I recognized him. He's a good-natured bull but he can be a bit strong with the head. We had a face off about two weeks ago and I think I may have won: He had been pawing the grund and shaking his head at me so I pawed the grund, stomped a few times and shook my head right back! Torf stopped what he was doing and stared at me, stunned. He shook his head, I pawed, stamped and shook my head! Again he stared... and after a few seconds he backed off and walked away. Ever since then he's backed away from me when I've walked up to him - even though he'll gladly come over for a scratch. (All of our bulls know that if they come to the gate I'll whip out a curry comb and give their shoulders and necks a good scratch.)

My Yeti Husband told me that Torf, who is named after the old Viking word for peat, refused to walk down the narrow dark passage from the upper court into the tied byre. Apparently young Torf was a bit concerned about the long dark tunnel. I don't blame him. Every time I walk down that passage I picture billions of spiders just waiting to pounce on me!

We bought Torf down in the Perth bull sales. What fun that was for me! I did not grow up on a farm so things which are normal to farmers (like bull sales) are totally exciting to me. We hopped on the ferry to Scrabster, drove all the way down to a lovely B&B called, "Glenkilrie House" and stayed for two days while we attended the Angus bull sales in Perth. Erlend spent a long time oggling bulls and watching the shows before he made up his mind as to which ones he would bid on - and bid he did! The competition for Thorf was a bit fierce for a while but he managed to win and we soon had ourselves a new deep black Angus bull!

The B&B was lovely: a big white mansion set in acres and acres of rolling hill farm countryside. When I got up that first morning and went to use the loo I found five rams peering right in the window at me! There were phesants everywhere - I've never seen so many of the long-tailed birds before! They ran in herds through every field and I wondered if the farmers were farming cattle and phesant?? I wanted to catch some so I could steal a few tail feathers but the phesants had other plans and kept far away from my greedy hands.

Erlend and I have decided we'll go back to the area for a holiday. I really enjoyed my time down in Perthshire - the landscape is eyewateringly beautiful and the people, like everywhere in Scotland, were jovial and friendly. And there were TREES!! The one thing I well and truly miss here in Orkney is trees. But at the same time I have to admit that I also enjoy the wide-open landscape! And we do have some trees in our lovely walled garden - Erlend loves trees and has spent most of his life planting them. The only prolem is that since trees are scarce it seems that every bird on the island roosts in ours and they crap all over the leaves. So the trees aren't very pretty to look at close-up. I grew up in the forests of Massachusetts and I don't recall ever seeing so much bird poo on the branches and leaves!! Ugh.

While in Alaska women hold up half the Pipeline !!!

Erlend came to Alaska so that he could drive with me across Canada and down into Massachusetts so I could be with my dying mother. Along the way we decided to enjoy ourselves so that we wouldn't look back with sadness at such an amazing trip. (Mom agreed!) So of course we HAD to stop at Niagara Falls and have a look - and eh...here's what we saw heheheh!

I can't help but wonder if Orkney's George Mackay Brown ranks right up there with our local New England poet Robert Frost. Growing up in the rural woods of Massachusetts I was surrouned by the poetry of Robert Frost. His poetry connected easily with me because I could see and experience the same things he had written about. (To some extent. Like, we didn't have a pony and sled!) ) Then, during the past years living in Alaska, I was exposed to their local poet: Robert Service. (Think, "Cremation of Sam Mcgee." There are strange things done in the Midnight Sun by the men who moil for gold...)

"My" local local poet was Emily Dickinson. She came from Amherst Massachusetts and I grew up in a town quite near by. She lived from 1830 - 1886 and her poems were not found until after her death. She never used titles for her poems! (Her poetry is reallllly strange. But what can I expect from a Victorian recluse that spent her life lurking in her parents' attic??)

It seems like everywhere I go there is a well-known local poet held in high regard by the Natives. So even though I'll always love to read the poetry of Robert Frost and Robert Service and weird Emily Dickinson I think I'm going to enjoy getting to know the work of the esteemed George Mackay Brown! I'm so glad there's a local poet here in Orkney or I'd feel like I'd lost something very special.

The poem that inspired me to leave home at 17 and explore around the world was Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken." It's a pretty good read - he's not as weird as Emily D. All of his poetry is a good read but this George Mackay Brown does seem to strike me as the Orcadian Robert Frost. (I dare say that because Robert Frost was older!! So all you Orcadians who are gearing up to throw rocks at me can relax hehehe)

"...Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference..."

**Sigh** Isn't it lovely?

Ok, I'll be honest: usually I can't stand poetry. It bores me to death. But I've always been struck by the more local poets - the ones who write about the life I'm basically living. They hit a chord within me because I can recognize, to some extent, what they are on about.

And of COURSE no "local poet" post would be complete without mentioning Robert Burns. Even though I don't have a stinking clue what the guy is saying, I just love his poetry. Why? Probably because I look cool saying, "I love Rabbie Burns!" When in Rome...

Ok, I'm kidding. I've been able to get my paws on some of his poetry in English and even though a lot of the meaning is lost in translation it has helped me to grasp with the Scots version is saying. And he sure knew how to write a poem!! When I hear a Rabbie Burns poem in Scots I pretend I know what's being said - all while trying to recall the English translation. I really enjoy this lady - I think her name is Eddie something - that sings Robert Burns songs in Scots but set to really cool modern Celticky music. (yeah, I just made that word up off the top of my head.) Eddie Reader?? Is that her name?? GAH! I wish I had the CD with me.

At the end of my wedding when everyone joined hands and sang that "Old lang sang" song I just moved my lips and tried to look intelligent. But still, I was thrilled to be enjoying yet another local poet named Robert.

Here's to local poets!!! **Raising mug of coffee in salute**

(Why is it that wherever I go the majority of famous local poets are named Robert?????)

Back in October we purchased a very fine Texel ram lamb - with the aid of a friend who has raised Texels for a million years. (Hubby and I were utterly clueless about what made up a "good" ram) We attended the sheep sales at the Orkney auction mart and I just looooooove the auction mart! Whenever Erlend sells cattle or we go to a sheep sale I'm like a little girl heading for Disney Land! I wake up that morning all excited and I bounce Erlend out of bed with loud cries of, "We are going to the Mart!!" Being Erlend he just goes along with the whole thing but I suspect he's more then a little baffled about my enthusiasm for something that's so routine to him.

Did I mention the other lure of the Orkney Auction Mart?? THEY HAVE GREAT FOOD! I love food. So it stands to reason that a couple hours of oggling livestock, yucking it up with the locals, watching the auctions and then stuffing face would make for a lovely day 'oot aboot toon' for this chica!

I named our new ram lamb "Magnus" after Saint Magnus (duh! What else would I name a ram in Orkney??) and was delighted to find that he is rather tame. We've worked at keeping him tame because this means we can walk right up to him in the field and work with him if need be. And there's often a need: we put paint on his chest so he marks the yows (ewes) that he serves. This is called "keeling" and requires hauling him up on his bum. And then of course there were the times he needed antibiotic shots and WOW was the job made so much easier because we could walk right up to him hand hey presto! stick him on his bum. (He doesn't like it but then I give him a handfull of grain and we scractch him so he soon forgets what we just did to him.)

Today Mister Magnus was not a Saint. He was a brat. He's gotten big and we've taken great pains to keep him in his place because he's going to get even bigger!! We don't touch his head. We never stand right in front of him and we always keep an eye on him when we are in the field. Even half-grown he can flatten me!

Every couple of days I take a bucket of grain to the sheep. It helps keep the flock tame. When I call out, "Sheep! Sheep! Sheep!" they all come running. Then I pour the grain into the troughs and they hoover it up like Super Sheep. (I can't believe how FAST they can eat!) Today I could see that Magnus was copping an additude because he kept bashing the Ladies with his head. What a beast! Well, after he finished his share of grain he came to me for his customary scratches and I was happy to oblige. I always stand behind his shoulder so that I don't tempt fate and then I scratch his back and handle his legs and generally keep him used to being touched. Lately I've also been checking his left knee which was swollen and infected. (It seems to be doing better!)

Well the little bugger turned on me and before I knew it he was butting me with his hard-as-rock head! I've discovered that it's no joke when a ram - even a half grown one! - comes after you with his head. They are strong and heavy and powerful and I'm no match. So I stood there wondering what on earth I could do to teach this boy not to mess with me. In the few seconds before his next attack I thought to myself, "Usually if you can overpower an animal you earn its respect." So as Magnus came at me again I gave him a ringing slap on the muzzle. (nothing nasty, just enough to get his attention) He jumped back with a snort of surprise and stared at me like, "WOW what was THAT?" When he came at me again I put both of my hands on the back of his head and shoved down until his muzzle was practically dragging in the mud. He is some strong sheep and it was a struggle for me to keep his head down low but he soon realized that he couldn't overpower me. If he made to butt me he didn't get very far! And he couldn't lift his head either. When he gave in and backed up I let go and he galloped away. As I fed a few of the Ladies I could see Magnus considering me from a safe distance. When he ambled back over to me I stood behind his shoulder and gave him a friendly scratch and he didn't try any of his butting nonesense again.

But then I discovered that the little bugger is JEALOUS! The more I'm working with these sheep the more I'm discovering about them. I always thought of sheep and cattle as basically stupid. Just a bunch of cud-chewing empty-headed farm animals that sit around in fields all day getting fat. I never realized that they had such strong personalities and were smart and ... well, I never realized that they were capable of getting jealous!

Every time I scratched any of the other tame sheep (including my two caddy lambs) Magnus would stuff his muzzle into my hand and make these strange grunty-snorty sounds. At first I dismissed his actions as hunger. "Oh, he's just looking for grain." But he never grunted or snorted when I held my hand out and he nosed it for grain. Hmmm. I would bury my fingers into the wool of another sheep and comence scratching - and here came Magnus stuffing his muzzle into my hand and grunt-snorting. But when I held my hand out and he sniffed for grain he was calm and soundless. I did this a few more times and soon realized that the bugger was just plain jealous and he wanted to be scratched and that was that!

**Sigh** Sheep.

Compline. (Night prayer.) Such a beautiful way to end a very lovely day. It's been such a good day today! We even had some **Gasp!** sunshine. When I wandered outside to feed the sheep I fell to the ground screaming "WHAT IS THAT GREAT GLOWING ORB IN THE SKY??"

Ok, just kidding. I wouldn't do that because the very observant Orcadians (no trees) would have added yet another incident to my swiftly-growing list of public humiliations. I keep hoping they just write me off as a Crazy American...

My voice chants softly as the dog sleeps at my feet...

"O Lord, teach me your paths,
and I will come to your truth.
Make my heart simple and guileless,
so that it honours your name."

The red coals in the fire place have been covered in ash and a layer of fozzy peats so that they will still be red and hot tomarrow morning. I tried to cover the coals with ash but it was so dang hot being that close to the fireplace rooting around under the grate for ash that I wimped out. (Did I mention I used to be a firefighter in Alaska?) My husband had to come in and take over. When I was first married to him I marvled at the shocking reality that his skin was soft - I had expected Man Skin to be tough as leather because for some reason men can get near the hottest stuff or the nastiest thorn bushes or what-have-you and it just doesn't seem to bother them!!

Erlend is away at his Orkney Agricultural Discussion Society meeting and I just returned from my Monday Night Visiting My Friend Frances Up The Brae (hill). I enjoy visiting Frances. When we want to talk, we talk our heads off. But if we want to just sit there and busily work away at our own things - like writing letters or doing a craft - it's no big deal. We still enjoy one another's company. Sometimes there's so much pressure to talk that visiting someone can be too difficult after a long draining day. I loved spending time in convents and monasteries because it was ok to be quiet. No one thought it rude if you walked by them and didn't talk to them. You flashed a friendly grin and that was fine and you carried on.

"Lord God, you are full of mercies, patient and true."

Did I mention I was going to be a Nun? Yeah, I was dead-set on being a Nun. I even had the goal that if I didn't find a man by the time I was 30 years old I'd know God meant for me to be a Nun and I'd go and join an order lickety-split. I spent lots of time visiting monasteries and convents as I scoped out the various orders. But when I was 29 years old, at the very cusp of the 11th hour, Erlend and I fell in love. Soooooo I did take the veil: the bridal veil that is!!

And now I am a happy fake-Orcadian farm wife! Mooooo...

"Keep us safe, Lord, while we are awake, and guard us as we sleep, so that we can keep watch with Christ and rest in peace."

Lovely. Just lovely. One of my favorite prayers! Have a blessed lovely peaceful sleep! Good night!!

Hmmm. Where do you think these Canadians came from?


"Hey could you pass the loo roll? I've run out..."



Not forgetting Bigfoot...

We started at the END of the Alaska Highway...

I didn't see a lot of cattle in Alaska - but I sure did see a lot of cow moose!!

With Christmas right around the bend and a pile of presents piled under our Christmas tree in our snug coal-fire-warmed living room I can't help but think of the Poor of this world who have nothing - all year long.

Mother Teresa of Calcutta had a very wise saying. If her words were followed by everyone on the Planet we would not have any poverty:

"This is the meaning of truest love, to give until it hurts..."

Give until it hurts.

I used to wonder what on earth she meant by this. Years passed as I splashed out money left and right for fashionable clothes and the latest music CDs and every other trendy and "must have" thing shoved at me via advertisements. TV is pretty slick - the advertisements and shows have you believing that if you do not have the latest trendy things or the perfect body, then you are the ultimate nerd. The underlying message is, "Everyone will be laughing at you!"

That hurts. Being laughed at and judged as "uncool" is extremely painful. I bent over backwards to try and avoid that pain.

I fell into the "Me Me Me" culture and became totally wrapped up in Myself. Everything was about Me And My Needs. All people had to fulfil me emotionally - or they were "bad". Everyone had to be considerate of my self esteem and my feelings. My body had to submit to my culturally-induced ideas of perfection. I spared hardly a thought for my neighbor or even my family - let alone the truly Poor of the world. How could I? I was too busy worrying about me - and getting my needs fulfilled by anyone and everyone that had anything to do with me.

In America you are considered "poor" if you don't have 300 tv channels, two cars, daily trips to Starbucks and enough (trendy) clothes to outfit an entire African tribe.

I'd fill my closet with trendy clothes while people starved to death on the streets all over the world. I'd look down my nose at anyone wearing anything less then the latest fashion. And then the styles would change so I'd toss my clothes to the charity shops and splash out more and more money to keep up with the latest trends. Never did I think of the little children all over the world who die from simple illnesses or from starvation - children who could have lived if I had given them the sixty bucks I paid for a new skirt. They didn't have TVs because they didn't even have homes. While I felt sorry for myself because I had to leave the house in last year's shoes ("What will people think of me when they see these out-of-style shoes??") there were millions of refugees wandering hundreds of miles on bleeding bare feet who would have thrown themselves on those shoes with thanksgiving.

And then...something happened. I used to ignore those "silly" tear-jerker commercials on the TV that would beg for us to sponsor little kids. I'd look away and say, "Bah! What hypocrites! They use up all the money paying their own wages and hardly anything gets to the kids." And I'd flounce into my well-stocked kitchen and help myself to expensive health food that I bought as I walked on my way home in trendy workout clothes from my pricey gym. (After all, having the perfect body was necessary for survival. People might laugh at me otherwise!)

But people were planting seeds. They asked me tough questions like, "Where do you think you clothes and your household goods come from?" I ran from the question but the answers were everywhere: Sweatshops. Child labor. Slave labor. People going hungry stitching my shoes and my clothes and making my dishes and furniture in roasting-hot shops with locked doors. No one allowed out. No one given a break. The tiny children not even given a drink of water. All so that I could buy these items and "be cool." They stayed poor so I could stay rich. I was comfortable at their expense.

How could I be ok with this?

Ah, but I found a loophole! A way out! "How much of a difference can I, one small insignificant person, make in this big suffering world? Well, since I can't make a difference I'm excused from doing anything."

That's when someone called me out on my idiotic excuse and told me a story. "One day an old man was walking along the beach at low tide. The beach was littered with thousands of stranded starfish. A younger man noticed that the old man kept bending down, picking up a starfish and tossing it into the sea. He said to himself, 'What a stupid thing to do.' He marched up to the old man and said to him, 'Old man, why on earth do you waste your time flinging a few starfish back into the sea? There are so many of them stranded on the beach that it's not going to matter!" The old man looked at the younger man for a moment. Then, as he bent down and picked up a starfish and tossed it into the sea he said to the younger man, "'It mattered to that one.'"

Point taken.

It mattered to that one.

I remembered when I was a kid I used to set up dominoes so that when I pushed the first domino it fell forward and the entire row of dominoes would swiftly fall one after the other. It mattered to that one. If I reached out to one person, just one single person, it would matter to them more then I could imagine. And what if that one person grew up into an adult who was determined to help someone as they had been helped? What if they became a doctor or a teacher or a community leader and taught a whole group of kids about helping and giving? It would start off like the old man making a tiny difference amongst thousands of stranded starfish - and it would fall forward like a line of dominoes.

But what about me? How on earth could I afford to sponsor a child? All of my money was budgeted and I hardly had anything to put into savings - let alone use for saving kids!

And the thought struck me: what do I actually need to be healthy, happy and warm? Trendy clothes? A constant supply of new music CDs? Do I really need to replace these shoes simply because they are going out of style? Did I really need to have this many pairs of jeans and that many skirts and all of these blouses and shirts?? Could I walk instead of taking a taxi? (That would save $10...) And what about my fancy coffee for $8 a pound? If I kept these shoes I would save $45...

Pretty soon it started to add up. As I gave my life a very hard and honest look I realized that there were many things that I could sacrifice without any terrible thing falling upon me. I wouldn't die if people giggled at my shoes. I wouldn't get burned at the stake if I had a small wardrobe. And instead of an expensive gym membership why not walk almost everywhere?? And work out at home with dumbbells and a big exercise ball?

"This is the meaning of truest love, to give until it hurts..."

It wasn't the giving up of things that hurt. And it wasn't the spending of money on child sponsorship that hurt. It was exposing of myself to being snickered at by people who thought themselves so superior to me, as I walked around in last year's trends, that hurt. It was the snooty looks I got from people in the stores or on my University campus that bored into me like a thousand thorns. It pained me greatly to sit at home and sip bargan-brand instant coffee instead of perching elegantly in a trendy coffee shop seeing and being seen. It crucified me to walk around with a normal hairdo rather then a trendy $75 haircut maintained by $100 worth of name-brand hair products.

And it still hurts. I feel like I am being stabbed by a thousand spears when I walk into the restroom on the Hamnavoe ferry and see the little girls snickering at me while their mothers stare at me and then look at one another with a smirk on their faces. I want to say to them, "Who cares what I am wearing - what matters is PEOPLE ARE DYING for lack of food and medical care! And please, teach your rude little girls some manners!!!"

I want to crawl under a rock and die as I am laughed at by a group of young people in the fish and chip shop in Kirkwall. I want to walk over to them and say to them, "You think you're all that. You think you are so tough sitting in your group laughing at me - but are you tough enough to spend a year in Liberia building houses for old men and old women?"

It's not that I expect everyone to do the same thing that I am doing. I don't judge a person because they are wearing trendy clothes or yacking on a mobile phone or driving a nice car. I do not despise anyone for having a good and comfortable life. I have a good and comfortable life! You don't see me living in a byre!

What bothers me is that folks are not content to live and let live. Those who would be the first to cry "You are judging me!!" are also the first to snicker and laugh at someone they think does not meet their standards. If someone wants to wear trendy clothes and drive a nice car and have the trappings of a technological society far be it from me to say that they are doing something wrong. They are doing their own thing as they feel led. It is their choice, not mine, how they live their lives. I have my own faults and failings to work out and fix - it's not my job to go around pointing out other peoples' faults when I have plenty of my own! But please, don't look down your nose at me for doing my thing. What good are we doing in this world when we cause someone else pain?? What's the point?

What do we gain except a momentary feeling of superiority? And how does that make the world a better place?

Sometimes when I go home and I cringe because I feel so stupid and ugly after a day out in town wearing my $20 homemade outfit and scuffed shoes. My clothes are clean. They are not full of holes. I'm not walking around in a manure bag. But we have this idea that if someone isn't doing what *I* think is cool then I have the right to laugh at them.

How does this make the world a better place?

Just when I am about to give up and whip out my debit card so I can buy up a whole wardrobe of fashionable clothes and end the humiliation I see their faces. Their happy glowing faces lit up in smiles. Their eyes full of hope. Their faces fatter in the recent photo - much fatter then when I first saw their pictures.

I stop feeling sorry for myself as I read their letters and they say, "My mother (or my father...brother...grandfather - whoever they live with) sends you her most loving greetings and thanks you greatly for everything you have done for us. We had our medical checkup today and we were also given a bed to sleep on..."

"I thank you so much, my dear beloved sponsor, for paying for my school supplies so that I can attend primary 4..."

"...I passed all of my exams and can go into the next grade because you have paid for my fees and my uniform and my supplies..."

"My grandfather sends his love and thanks you for your sponsorship. He praises God that he is finally out of his wheelchair and able to walk. He is 80 years old and lives a very hard life..." (As I read his information sheet I'm shocked to find that his tarpaper shack is "unnaceptable - in deplorable condition and it needs to be rebuilt.")

"After her father died the family had no income and no hope. Because of your sponsorship this child will not have to fear being sold into a brothel..."

"And we pool the donations from each sponsor so that we can build schools and clean water points all over the country. After teaching the children and their families to wash their hands after using the toilet the disease rate has dropped dramatically..."

"We have chickens and ducks now!..."

I see their faces. I know their names. We exchange countless letters back and forth. I am a part of their lives and they are a part of mine. Even their school friends and neighbors send their loving greetings to me!

When the thorns and spears strike at me because I am not "cool" and I sip cheap instant coffee and I look like a complete nerd with my wild hair and homemade clothes I think of them.

And I smile.

"This is the meaning of truest love, to give until it hurts..."

P.S. Not everyone laughs or snickers. No, it's not that bad at all. But trust me, when one person snickers or one group of people laugh it feels like the whole world is laughing. Doesn't it? And we try so hard to avoid that pain.

I never realized that girl toads had blond hair...

Anyhoo...
It was a lonnnnnng drawn out journey getting to Orkney. After spending the summer of 2005 here on the island getting to know Erlend I *thought* I would return to Alaska and finish up another year of University before getting hitched to my farmer-man. But mom got sick so I had to get down to Massachusetts which sparked a really cool adventure across Canada. We had the time of our lives driving the King's Highway and camping along the way!! I spent several months in Massachusetts in a lovely flat in a really nice rural town, visited Orkney again in the winter, and then back to Massachusetts (If I get on a plane again I'll scream...) where I stayed several months with two of my Aunts and explored Cape Cod with my friend Liz. And finally...finally!!!...Erlend and I were married and I settled into this lovely stone farmhouse for good. (I still feel like a guest though. You know, as I walk through each room I feel like I'm in a B&B. But I moved in here with the house fully furnished and lived in for years by Erlend so what can I expect? I suppose the lost out-of-place feeling will pass with time!!)

Now I'm here, an American disguised as an Orcadian Farm wife yucking it up with the natives and pretending that I know what they are saying. I learn about one or two (twa) new words a week. In about twenty three point seven years I should be able to communicate without making a buffoon of myself...

Today's Orkney word is "Charn."

That's Pictish for "cow poo"

Whit like the day??

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something BLUE!


Walking down the isle with my handsome Husband. (WOW I'm a wife now!)


I could not kiss Erlend while everyone was poised with cameras aimed at us!!

And WOW! The crown moulding was fantastic !!

Erlend said he couldn't give me much of a honeymoon. "I can only take you doon intae Scotland for a few weeks." He said. Well twist MY arm!! I'm an American. Getting doon intae Scotland is not a simple thing for me to do from my neck of the woods! We toured all sorts of lovely gardens and slept at these lovely B&Bs in various towns.

We had a great honeymoon. Scotland was gorgeous. But I hardly met any real Scots!! It seemed as if all of the Scots were away on holiday and the country was full of Italians.

We are in the third week of the lovely season of Advent and I would like to wish everyone a VERY HAPPY ADVENT !! This is my Advent wreath (and the coal fire in the background). Every Sunday I light one more candle - there are three purple candles and one pink candle. The colors for Advent are a deep royal purple and/or a deep blue. I have blue garlands and wide purple ribbons hanging up all over the house!

Advent lasts until Christmas Eve and then CHRISTMAS IS HERE !!

And Christmas for us Catholics lasts eight days - the "Octave of Christmas."

During Advent I await the coming of the Christ Child - the Son of God. Normally my Nativity Scene would remain empty of the baby Jesus figurine until Christmas morning. But this year I don't have my nativity scene - it's packed up and awaiting shipment with my other things back in America. My lovely cousins in Alaska, whom I had the joy of living with for almost a year, sent me this wonderful Alaskan version of the Nativity Scene complete with igloo, Yup'ik people and huskies! I'll enjoy using it next year when all of my stuff will finally join me in Orkney.

I loved the reading in today's Compline:

"Be angry if you must, but do not sin: do not let your anger outlast the sunset: do not give the Devil his chance." Ephesians 4:26-27

I have decided to spend the New Year (for however long it takes) studying the Epistle of Saint James. Over the years I've come to realize it's not enough to say, "I'm a Christian" and then expect myself to be this good person. No, I need to put my faith to work - and the fruits of my faith need to be my good works!

The Eipistle of Saint James is written in very clear manner and James wastes no time mincing words. But my question is: if we can't earn our way to heaven with our good works, what part do works play in my sanctification? What exactly do they accomplish for my soul?

"Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves." (Jas 1:22)

"Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress..." (Jas 1:27)

"So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead." (Jas 2:17)

I've lived all over the world in such diverse places as the Middle East and Alaska. And I've visited many places around the world from rural Spain to the Bronx.

Each and every place that I have been has had it's good side and its bad side. And each place has it's own beauty. No place is perfect but at the same time no place has struck me as being entirely bad.

I've learned something very important in my travels: A good neighborood is made, not born. And just because I live in a good neighborhood this doesn't mean I can kick back and coast along and expect everyone around me to behave like good neighbors.

Good towns/neighborhoods are created by the hard work of the inhabitants. Good places don't just happen like some sort of byproduct of Evolution. Good places are created by the people who live within them. They behave like adults. They treat one another decently and honestly. They respect one another and consider their neighbors. They don't roar by in fast cars or crank their music until all of the windows within a twenty mile radius threaten to shatter. They don't let their disrespectful kids run hog-wild terrorizing anyone and anything in their path. Good neighbors think beyond themselves. This takes hard work and if folks are lazy and afraid of hard work then they don't bother to become good neighbors and their town/neighborhood becomes stagnant.

And then some of them move away in search of a good neighborhood because they think that good places exist all on their own and that none of it has anything to do with the actions of the inhabitants.

People are always moving to the country because they think that they will reach some kind of paradise far from the city. But I've found out that just because I live in the country doesn't guarantee that I will dwell in a good neighborhood or town. I once lived in a beautiful rural town where everyone knew everyone. The postman greeted you by name when you walked in to mail a letter. It was great! Or so I thought. Within a few months I was ready to get the heck OUT of there because there was so much bitterness and gossip and nasty un-neighborly behavior. I felt like I was living with a bunch of bratty kids!

The best places I have lived are places where my neighbors and I acted like adults. I couldn't just kick back and expect everyone to "be nice" - I had to roll up my sleeves and contribute my own good neighborliness. I have learned that I get out what I put in - and there are no free rides just because I happen to move into a good place.

I have experienced some of the most wonderful neighborhoods within the stigmatised inner-city ghettos. I always thought that inner cities were nothing but war zones and no one of any worth could possibly live within a city. "They all act like animals!" I'd say and then I'd dream of living in the country where it was "safe" and "perfect." Imagine my surprise when I found huge portions of love, generosity, joy, friendliness and a tight-knit sense of family in the depths of big cities. Wow!!

I live in Orkney and folk are always saying to me, "Oh you are sooooo lucky! Orkney is such a good place! I wish I could live there!" I suppose folk could pack up and move here in the hopes of finding their own neighborly El Dorado but I am willing to bet that even Orkney would become a wretched place to live if the people here quit working at being good neighbors.

If I moved here (or to any good neighborhood) and had an additude and acted like a brat I don't have the right to complain that no one likes me and the neighbors are snobs. I can't have my cake and eat it too!! I have to make just as much of an effort at neighborliness as the locals.

It's not where I live that makes a good neighborhood. It's how I live.

I am Michelle White Horse of the Wind and I've dubbed my Orcadian husband (the most handsome man in the Universe!) "Erlend of the Trees" because he looooves trees. He's outside at the bottom of one of the fields planting a whole bunch of them right now - including lots of native Scottish trees like Rowan. We have several stands of swaying willows around the farm and I am so glad because I miss trees a lot. Even though I love the wide open expanse of Orkney. (Isn't it odd that I can love something and yet miss something at the same time??)

I wonder if anyone else on the islands love trees?

I have been wounded by an apple. Yes, a harmless unarmed little apple has gotten the upper hand with me and now I sit here bandaged and traumatized.

We are going to visit one of our friends tonight and we thought it would be lovely to bring a homemade apple pie. I just so happend to recently purchase this wicked-looking apple slicer thingy. (It resembles something the may have used during the Inquisition...)

You put it on top of the apple, press downward and hey presto! the apple falls into neat slices and the core stays behind.

I had pressed down on the unarmed little apple but the slicer dowahdiddy didn't quite finish the job. So I flipped the apple over and carefully tried to push the apple through and HELLO! I started to do the Pain Dance around the kitchen. And from the amount of blood decorating the floor I figured I had myself a wound worthy of being shown off to my friends and neighbors. Heck, I thought I had probably cut off half my thumb and would now be able to witness for myself if the local doctor lived up to his reputation of excellence at minor surgery. (Husband had nearly sliced off the top of one of his fingers and said doctor had stitched it up no bother and it's as good as new!)

But after I staunched the bleeding (that medic training still comes in handy!) and cleaned my hand all I found was a teeny weeny little cut. Deep yes, but still it was pathetically tiny. It is so tiny in fact that one regular sized plaster (bandaid) has whipped it into line and it hasn't dared shed a drop. But wow it hurts like I've chopped my hand off! Go figure. All pain, no glory. There'll be no displays of war wounds over hogmany. (Or however you say the word of the intriguing holiday I am about to experience for the first time...)

Husband had to come inside and finish slicing the apples for me because I'm pressed for time: I had a (tiny) wound to deal with and a floor to clean!

And now the apples are being heated up and Brodgar is stretched out before the fire. What a life she lives - never attacked by apples, just sleeping and eating and being petted. Lucky dog! er...Cat! She's a wee beastie though: she's discovered that the kitchen table contains an array of delights that can be pounced upon when I'm distracted. Zeb the Farm Dog is in cahoots - he makes sure that he walks across the freshly washed floor with his muddy cow poop paws and this gives Brodgar her chance to zip onto the table and steal the butter while I'm not looking. (Or the cheese. Or the cream.)

One time Erlend and I came home from toon and while we were unpacking some of the bags inside of the house the barn cats jumped into the pickup truck and snatched our bere bannock and Orkney Smoked Cheese! We found the bannock, half devoured, on the flagstone walkway and the remains of the cheese, riddled with fang marks, abandoned on the lawn. (Not a barn cat was in sight the slinky buggers.) I would have never imagined that a cat would like a bere bannock but these ones sure did. Must be their Orcadian blood...

Speaking of barn cats - we are awaiting the arrival of a batch from the Orkney Cats Protection. The rats have become a bit bold and have been chewing holes in our barley bags. There's nothing worse then spending all summer growing, harvesting and bruising barley only to leave a trail of it across the wet ground because there's a hole in the bag. What a waste!! So I put in a "Barn Cats Wanted" ad with the Cats Protection. I really like cats and I would adopt ALL of the cats if Erlend would allow me to. But he has his limits. I told him that barn cats were excellent to adopt because they earn their keep!! Just as long as they leave the bere bannocks and cheese alone...

Dag nab it! I cut myself again. And again! Sheesh!!

I am totally new to cooking and it's great fun. But I'm discovering that these kitchen gadgets are dangerous objects! I innocently stick my fingers into someting as I thinkg, "I'll just grab out that bit of onion.." and SLICE!! I've learned my lesson: no exploring kitchen gadgets with my poor vulnerable fingers!!!!

I didn't even know I cut myself! I was sitting here clicking on stuff and trying to figure out why on earth the computer mouse was so slippery. I won't go into detail but suffice it to say that when I looked at the mouse all I could think was, "Thank goodness the sight of blood doesn't bother me!" Otherwise I would have keeled over onto the floor to the amusement of the cats. (King Tut and Brodgar, adopted from Orkney Cats Protection, are our two hoose pusses.)

I'm cooking an onion-laced chicken Risotto using my awesome red cast-iron roasting pot that Erlend's Aunt bought us for our wedding. I LOVE THAT POT!! I love onion so I am also frying up some zuccini (you UK folks call it something that sounds like "core-czh-ette") with olive oil and oinions. I fell in love with olive oil while living in Sicily and I use every excuse I can to use it as well as onions!!

I'm just learning how to cook and I LOVE IT! It's like...art. Just like art. Only with cooking I create with flavors instead of colors.

OOooops I think my zuccini is burning!!

Typing with three bandaged fingers is quite an adventure...

I suppose I could claim to live in the wee toon o' Dounby (Doonbee). There are not a lot of towns in Orkney though! Kirkwall, Stromness, Dounby...I can't think of any other places that qualify as towns. But that's because I'm still new here.

(Blasted bandages!! Grrrrrr!!)

Dounby is so cool! I just love this little town. The main (only?) street is lined with lovely old stone houses and there is the Plout Kern (spelling?) where we have the pub quizzes and the Smithfield Hotel. Erlend and I spent our wedding night at the Smithfield and we kept laughing because our house is so nearby! It was a lovely hotel though - they left the key in the door for us because weddings in these parts don't end until LATE. We crept upstairs to a lovely room with a big bed, cheerful wallpaper and a large bathroom. I peeked out of the window and looked right down at... Dounby Shop!

Right now Dounby is lit up with zillions of colorful Christmas lights, Christmas decorations on each hydro pole and even a Christmas tree!

Today we went "doon by" to pick up eight bags of coal from the Dounby Shop.

(I'm beginning to be able to translate some more of my husband's language: When he says we are going "doon by" he means we are going into Dounby and to go "tae toon" means to hit up Kirkwall.)

Our farm dog "Zeb" rode along in the back of the pickup - we have a chain in there so we can keep the canopy door open and he can see the world zoom by. He's such a lovely dog and everyone gets a kick out of him. He got plenty of pets while at the Dounby Shop getting fuel and loading up on coal. We got a free bag of this stuff with every two bags of coal: I can't remember the name but it's coal dust I think??

We went into the shop and stocked up on veggies and some cream for our Christmas apple pie. I snatched up the rice and chicken and also the zuccini and onions for today's meal. I always enjoy tooling around inside Dounby Shop plucking up this or that item. They have a wide variety of things and we hardly ever have to shop in Kirkwall because we have our own beef and lamb and we have the Dounby Shop! The folks there are always cheerful - and the shop is the place to see just about everyone that lives around here. We always bump into a bunch of friends and neighbors. They should open up a coffee shop seeing as how they are the hub of the social life in Dounby hehe!

Our next stop was the Dounby Butcher to pick up our Christmas ham. We are having the in-laws over for Christmas day gifts and dinner and I wanted to serve ham because we've already had turkey for Thanksgiving!

We went inside to find two of the ladies wrestling with a side of beef. They were sawing away with much hilarity as we customers bantered with them back-and-forth. The third lady produced a ham about the size of a small car and asked us how much we wanted. I had figured about four pounds because I want to have leftovers to freeze. (Don't tell Erlend this but it gets really old eating beef, beef, beef...)

While she took the ham away to be cut one of the hacking-away-at-side-of-beef ladies came out and poured everyone a glass of warm mulled wine. I had discovered a chair and greatfully plunked down onto it because my ankle was throbbing. Our chunk of ham soon appeared and I asked how on earth to cook the thing! Everyone stared at me. "Look!" I replied in self-defence, "When I first got here to Orkney I didn't even know how to boil a tattie! (I'm not kidding about that)" Everyone had a good laugh at that and then the customers and the three butcher ladies all chimed in and gave me instructions. Hopefully, now that I'm armed with instructions, I'll be able to produce a lovely (edible...) ham for Christmas.

I *think* that we are done with all of our Christmas shopping. We went intae toon yesterday (Kirkwall) for Erlend's 2:20pm dentist appointment. We decided to have lunch at the Orkney Auction Mart first but when we stopped by we found it closed! So we had fish and chips. Then we walked from the chip shop up to the dentist office. Along the way we passed Saint Magnus cathedral and Erlend, who has lived here all his life thus far, looked up at the red sandstone building and said, "What a magnificent building that is! Every time I see it I am struck by how amazing it is - and how and when it was built!"

It's true. The Cathedral strikes me with awe every time I see it. And I'm really enjoying having Sunday Mass there!

We showed up at the dentist only to be told that the appointment was at 2pm, not 2:20. Ooops. We sheepishly slunk away.

We went searching for gifts for Erlend's sister and her family. We tooled around the Judith Glue store and then ended up raiding a shop called the Longship where I loaded up with some nifty little gifts. I just LOVE shopping in Kirkwall! Once again the streets are lined with old stone houses. There all manner of curious narrow lanes leading here and there via clean flagstone paving. There are a huge variety of nifty shops containing all manner of things from old-fasioned stuff to modern "Retro" and "Shabby Chic" items. Jewelry, books, clothes, sewing notions, perfume, wool yarn, knick knacks, shoes, household items, wine, music...you name it you can find it in Kirkwall! I had thought that moving to a small island in the north of Scotland would mean giving up good shopping. Boy was I wrong!!

I had a delightful time scurrying around with about 75% of Orkney's population as everyone mobbed Kirkwall in a desparate attempt to finish their Christmas shopping.

No trip to Kirkwall is complete without hitting up the Pamona Cafe - our favorite haunt. It's such a humble little cafe - you can miss it very easily because there are no huge signs to grab your attention. Just a brightly painted door set back a bit between the front windows. It's such a normal cafe: no fancy decorating or frills, just simply tables and chairs and a counter loaded with recognizeable eats. Coffee, tea, sandwhiches, pies, cakes and an array of incredibly sinful fancies. But nothing so fancy that you look like a bufoon because you can't pronounce its name. There is no trendy music playing or modern art hanging on the wall and the people working there do not look like they just stepped out of the glossy page of a fashion magazine. Not that I mind trendy music and art on the walls but sometimes I just want a down-home ordinary place to have my cuppa. (The Pamona Cafe is by no means plain and boring. It is just...down to earth, homey and relaxed.)

This day the cafe was bursting with Christmas decorations and the counter was bursting with Christmas fancies. An (incredibly beautiful!) blonde-haired girl was serving behind the counter (we think she is Polish maybe?) and we ordered tea, coffee and, in keeping with the Christmas spirit, two of these incredibly sinful-looking fancies. We also purchased a festive box of mince pies. After enjoying our relaxed cuppas and puddings we took leave of the Pamona and headed home. On the way to the truck we stopped at the pet store and bought Zeb a big bone to chew and bought the cats two jingly playing balls and a catnip mouse. (All three of these toys are being ignored by the basking cats as they lay in the livingroom soaking up the heat from the fireplace.)

We got home just as the sun was setting and Erlend turned on our Christmas lights that are strung across the stable. MERRY CHRISTMAS !!

I have the world's most stubborn Advent wreath. In an attempt to save money I simply purchased an artificial wreath that would normally hang on the wall. Then I rigged up some candle stands inside the wreath using bits from an egg carton and lots of tape. I stuck the candles into the egg carton bits and viola! An Advent wreath!

But instead of a nice wreath I've ended up with a wreath with candles going in every direction - listing to starboard, listing to port...falling inwards and outwards. I can't light the candles for long for fear of setting something else on fire!

I have tried every possible solution to keep those candles upright but they have defied me endlessly. Tonight as I sat before the fire sipping a cup of green tea and feeling full of Advent cheer I happened to glance over at the wacky Advent wreath. Suddenly a thought struck me: Duct Tape!!! YES!! Duct tape!!

I bolted into the mudroom and dug out our brand-new roll. Then I proceeded to tape the daylights out of the wreath while King Tut watched me curiously from where he lay nestled amongst the presents under the Christmas tree. I deftly applied the tape in the same way they had taught me to secure an I.V. line during medic school and then I sat back grinning in triumph as I eyed the upright ramrod-straight candles. Ha HA! I had finally won!

"Look at THAT King Tut!" I said as I pointed at the Advent wreath. We both looked over just in time to see two of the candles listing to port.

...and to me that is perfectly acceptable!

(Something has happened to inspire this rant but I won't gossip about the details.)

I can't help but think that a lot of interpersonal strife could be avoided if we refrained from forcing our opinions onto others. Note that the key word here is "forcing." There's a difference between rudely forcing our opinions onto someone and politely sharing our opinons with someone.

It really really helps when we take the time to ask a peron if they want to hear our personal take on things, rather then sharing our opinions uninvited. Just because someone doesn't want to debate this does not make them narrow minded or ignorant. Maybe they just don't have the time or the energy to debate or maybe they just can't handle having their convictions shaken at that point in time. Perhaps I am struggling with some powerful situations and I just really need all of my mental energy to endure.

If we are convinced that we are right and then we attack other people in order to force them to agree with us we are trying to control them. Also, we are removing their freedom to be themselves.

We all know the Golden Rule. You don't have to be Christian in order to apply it to life - it's so basic and simple. "Treat others as you would want them to treat you."

Controlling, bullying and punishing people because they do not believe exactly what I believe is not ok. I don't want it done to me and so I must try my hardest not to do it to others.

I was very gratified to receive a polite message from a gentleman that had read something on my blog and wished to discuss it with me. But he did not just launch into his point of view - he asked first if I would be interested in discussing the topic. This kind of respectful additude is to be admired - and thanked! It has deffinately smoothed my ruffled feathers and taken the sting out of recent (yet not connected to the gentleman) events.

"The stone that the builders rejected
has become the corner-stone.
It was the Lord who did this 鈥�
it is marvellous to behold.
This is the day that was made by the Lord:
let us rejoice today, and be glad."

Lauds on the morning of Christmas Eve. The sun has not yet risen so I cannot see the sheep as I sit before the sunbox and soak in the fake rays. I chant my morning prayer with scratchy voice and a big smile.

This is the last Sunday of Advent and tomorrow is CHRISTMAS!!

Adeste, fideles,
laeti triumphantes,
venite, venite in Bethlehem!

Venite, adoremus!
Venite, adoremus!
Venite, adoramus Dominum!

O come let us adore Him...O come let us adore Him...O come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord!

Later that evening I dress in my bright regalia. I live in Orkney but I am still a Crow woman just the same. I shall soon celebrate Midnight Mass (at 5pm due to space restrictions) and I have a lot to be thankful for this year. I have decided to honor God the best way I can: by wearing my most ceremonial of clothes for this most holy of days.

The Christmas Vigil Mass is lovely: celebrated in Saint Magnus Cathedral with all of us singing lovely hymns and Father at his liveliest. The street in front of the Cathedral is all lit up with dozens of Christmas lights strung back and forth across the road and a tall tree decorated from top to bottom. Our church Advent wreath is lit up and the chapel soon fills up. Father leads us in prayer and then blesses the Nativity cr猫che - the holy water is contained in a little silver quaich.

(Is a quaich an Orcadian thing?? And how on earth do you pronounce "quaich" anyway???)

When Mass is over I return to the farm to find that Erlend has switched on the Christmas lights that hang cheerfully along the top of our blue stable. Several barn cats scurry across the steading courtyard and one of them yowls at me for food - it's Barn Cat Tea Time and how dare I be late! Christmas Eve or no Christmas Eve the Cat Slave must still serve meals on time - or else!! As I walk into the upper court where Davie (our Limosen bull) dwells I can see several pairs of beady eyes glowering at me from the rafters. The barn cats are not pleased! **Sigh** Cats.

When it is bedtime Erlend and I sit up in bed singing Christmas carols (when we can figure out the tune...) until we are ready to snuggle down and go to sleep. I had stuck a big sprig of fake holly into Erlend's bedside lamp and it adds a note of Christmas cheer to our otherwise ordinary yellow bedroom. As we lay facing one another we grin in delight and picture the pile of presents that are waiting to be torn open the morn. And then...we fall asleep.

Venite, adoremus!
Venite, adoremus!
Venite, adoramus Dominum!

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL !!!

"In times past, God spoke in partial and various ways to our ancestors through the prophets; in these last days, he spoke to us through a son, whom he made heir of all things and through whom he created the universe..."
Hebrews 1:1 - 2, NAB

"By this hath the charity of God appeared towards us, because God hath sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we may live by him. In this is charity: not as though we had loved God, but because he hath first loved us, and sent his Son to be a propitiation for our sins." 1 John 4:9-10, DRB

"God rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay
Remember Christ our Saviour was born on Christmas Day!"

I woke up to daylight and peeked at the clock. 8:00am!! Wow we slept late! Time was a-wastin' when we could be diving into the pile of gifts that waited under the tree!! Erlend lay sound asleep so I let out a loud cough in an attempt to innocently rouse him.

"Zzzzzzzzz..." he replied.

I rolled over rather bumpily and watched as my husband was jostled about.

"Zzzzzzzzzzz..."

I forgot. This guy was a farmer. After 40-some-odd years living with roaring cattle right outside his window even The Second Coming of Christ would fail to wake him up!!

Finally I decided it was time to utilize more invasive tactics: I stiffened my first two fingers and gave him a generous poke.

"Zzzz..Uh? Wha?" I heard from the depths of his blankets where he lay rolled up like an enchilada.

"It's Christmas morning and time to open presents!!" I boggled through the layer of downy in the vicinity of where I guessed his ear to be located. An opening appeared in the blanket and a pair of drowsy blue eyes blinked at me. I took this as an invitation and burrowed my way in. "It's Christmas morning!" I announced again. "Merry Christmas!!!"

Hidden message: Get out of bed you lump on a log! There's LOOT to be had downstairs!!

While Erlend went outside to check on the kye I hurried about the kitchen making a special breakfast of fried egg, porridge, sliced apple and banana, yoghurt and hot tea. My husband wolfed it down with an amazingly huge appetite. (Usually he eats like a bird) and then we attacked the gifts before a blazing coal fire.

For the rest of the morning Erlend fed kye and then we tacked some housework and scurried around the kitchen cooking Christmas Dinner. (Baked honey-glazed ham, home-grown tatties, broccoli, mashed neeps grown on a friend's farm, grilled pineapple, homemade apple sauce and for dessert: peach cobbler!)

Ma and Pa In Law arrived at 1pm so we could give them their gifts and we could open the ones they had brought by. Pa In Law got a kick out of Zeb playing away with his new toy. I engaged in a bit of tug-o-war and when I grew tired and hooked my end of the rope to the doorknob and the dog kept tugging away Paw In Law just about pitched off the sofa he laughed so hard! It was pretty funny to see Zeb tugging and growling - and getting nowhere. He soon caught on and gave up and curled up at Pa In Law's feet.

Dinner was grand! We ate like starving wolves and decimated the feast in ten minutes. (To my disgust I've come to realize that it always takes forever to cook a meal and clean up after a meal but the meal itself lasts a nanosecond!!) After stuffing ourselves to capacity we retired back into the livingroom for our cups of tea and coffee. Paw In Law wanted to see the barn but he has a hard time walking. I listened as he and Erlend discussed the possibility of driving the car through the passage. But, alas, it wouldn't fit with all of the silage in the way. I made a comment to Pa but my American accent makes no sense to him so Erlend translated loudly in his ear:

"Meeshell sid we cuid tak thoo in the byre wi the wheelbarrow, dad!"

This caused Pa In Law to roar with laughter and then, gasping for air, he replied, "Aye theen Ah'd be coop'id owar tae the kye!!!" And we all dissolved into hysterics as we pictured him being dumped out of the wheelbarrow onto a pile of silage under the noses of the astonished cattle.

Suddenly I realized something. I HAD UNDERSTOOD THAT! I had actually understood everything that was said!! Wow. Usually Pa In Law and I confuse the daylights out of one another and don't get much said between us without Erlend around to interpret. Yahooo! I was cracking the Orcadian code!!

After a lovely visit Ma and Pa In Law returned home so that Erlend could feed the kye. After he was finished we sat before the fire while I read through the book Erlend had bought me last Christmas: "Wit like the day?" and the book he bought me this Christmas, "Orcadiana" both written by Gregor Lamb. Erlend was in stitches as I tried to read Orcadian words out-loud. But I got him back when I did as Gregor Lamb suggested in his book ("Whit Like the Day?") and had Erlend attempt to pronounce "bars", "cars" and "purser's" in the English way. I was screeching with laughter as Erlend screwed up his face and made a grand attempt to pronounce the "s" with the "z" sound that I use. Ho ho! Now he knows how *I* feel when I am trying to pronounce Orcadian sounds! It's not as simple as a native speaker would like to think!!

Testing this re-sizing thing...

MERRY CHRISTMAS!! Hooo hooo I get to say that about five more times!!

I belong to the Lost Generation of Catholics. I am 31 years old. I was born after the 1960's had had their heyday and all of the hippies had basically started having kids and settling down. They made a lot of changes in the Catholic Church and brought in the clap-your-hands-and-feel-good folky songs that have largely replaced the heavy Latin hymns. Which is sad because there's room for both so I don't see why the Latin hymns have had to basically disapear. The 60's generation is still around and nearly every Catholic parish is full of their music and their way of decorating the kirk and their way of doing things. (There's no sign of my generation to be had.)

Now it's the Youth Generation and the Catholic parishes and the Church at large are spending lots of time focusing on the Youth. Which is great! Pope John Paul II did a lot to get the Youth involved. The Youth need to have a place in the Church. They are not just mini-adults that need to stay silent until spoken to.

But...my generation seems to have been skipped over. We are invisible! We don't seem to exist.

There's nothing wrong with various generations being reached through their own particular style and context. But what happens when you've been skipped over and you don't have anything that reaches out and hits a chord within you? What happens if all you have to choose from is the Kumbaya Style of the 1960's or the "Let's deal with being a teenager!" style??

I've caught a wee glimmer of my generation shining through - in the music of bands such as "Crispin", "Critical Mass" and some of Father Stan Fortuna's songs. (He is geared more towards young Catholics but some of his songs reflect the funky jazzy style of my generation. All of his music is absolutely fantastic!!)

But...even with these glimmers peeping through I still feel as if my generation is invisible and we've been totally skipped over by the Church.

I would have to say that my generation is a mix of the Hippie era and the rock and roll era with a generous sprinking of the jazz and funk styles and a dash of the modern and sacred art genre. We are a great mix and have a lot to offer the Church! So...why are we so invisible??

It seems that many Catholics around my age still have a great love for Latin and for intense sacredness - but we are not caught up in that dark Victorian Catholic culture. From the gatherings I have attended where many of my generation have been present I have seen a great love of Eucharistic Adoration, public recitation of the Rosary, classic hymns, Marian devotion and many of the other practices you don't often see in post 1960's parishes. Why is this? Why can't we have both the fresh freedom style of the 1960's and the sacred devotions and practices? It all seems a bit greedy to expect that only one type of Catholic is allowed to be supported within the Church.

My generation seems to enjoy fresh music and we also enjoy having a voice in the Church - rather then being silent observers. We can thank the hard work of the folks in the 1960's that worked so hard to make a place for us lay-people in the Church. But from what I have seen we tend to keep the fresh music out of the Mass - we enjoy these things on the side at lively gatherings. We are not much into having a band performing beside the altar. We'd rather have the band perform in an extra-Mass event. We also seem to prefer to spend the minutes before Mass in silent preparation - rather then talking and visiting. These things we tend to save for after Mass. From what I've observed as I've traveled around the world is my generation likes to focus on Jesus at Mass and community after Mass. So things like having a coffee/tea social hour after Mass and having fun musical/artsy gatherings outside of Mass is right up our alley.

We also love churches that are decorated - we don't seem to be into the bare empty church thing. Give us statues! Give us stained glass windows, Stations of the Cross and side altars! We don't necessarily need to have *only* the old fashioned style of art. The modern art deffinately has it's place. But having an empty bare kirk with two token statues, miniature Stations of the Cross you can barely see and no high altar removes that sense of the sacred that we seem to crave. It feels more like a meeting hall then a Catholic church. We aren't Hippies - we don't need to "get back to bare basics" or find some kind of psuedo-Nirvana through emptiness.

The problem with being the Generation That Never Was is that there are very few parishes where my generation can find this mix of modern freshness, lots of beautiful art and yet a quiet sense of sacredness in the acctual church building. We basically have the choice of the Traditionalists who have broken from Rome or the 1960's generation who have gutted the kirks, filled the hymnbooks with folky clappy music and replaced the crucifix with some artist's interpretation of "what Jesus must have felt like at the resurection" because, as I've often been told, "The crucifix is disgusting and we don't like to look at it."

What about us? Where do we belong? Can't there be a compromise - can't the 1960's generation, who have had their fun for the past 47 years, move over and make some room for us late 20 through early 40-somethings??

You can have your Holy Waterfall bubbling merrily away in the entrance to the kirk. You can keep your artistic rendition of the Gospel played out in vivid color across all of the windows - it's beautiful! You can leave the orange metallic wallpaper behind the altar and have face-to-face confession in Father's office. You can have a generous mix of happy-clappy music in the books. But can we have the crucifix back? And the decorations?? And the confessional where we can indulge in anomnimity?? Can we save the band for after Mass - and have the organ returned to its place in the choir loft? (with a choir as well??) And the kneelers - I really enjoy kneeling when I pray and I don't feel that my self-esteem has been damaged by such a humble posture - If anything it's kept me from getting too full of my own liberated self importance!

Can we save the socializing for after Mass (Like my new parish here in Orkney...it's so refreshing!) Mass is a sacred time - and the half hour before Mass should be a quiet time to reflect and pray and prepare ourselves. Not all of us want to hear folks shouting into mobile phones and people discussing what Aunt Ethel did last week when she visited the Virgin Islands or how long your sister was in labor. These things are great to discuss and it will be fun discussinjg all sorts of things with everyone - after Mass.

I think that there are more then enough Catholic parishes dedicated to teenagers and the folks from the 1960's. Isn't it time to move over, make some room for us...and share??? I am tired of being invisible.

Hmm. I need to learn how to resize photos so that I can post them here on my Island Blogging blog. Apparently the Kodak PhotoShare program we have on this computer creates photos that are too big. (anyone know how to resize??)

If anyone is interested in seeing pictures of my wedding you are invited to go here:

www.orkneywedding.blogspot.com

And lots of photos about life here on Orkney:

www.thewalledgarden.blogspot.com

I'm working on posting our honeymoon pics but it takes FOREVER for each photo to post to the other blog.

www.scottishhoneymoon.blogspot.com

Meanwhile I'll find a way to shrink my kodak digital photos so I can post them HERE!!

(If something is bold and italicized in any of my posts I've linked it to a webpage - just put the curser over the word and click.)

For the past ten years I have been drooling over the four volume set of the Liturgy of the Hours in leather covers. (Leather lasts a LOT longer then the plastic covers!)

This four volume set of the (I finally figured out how to linhk!!) contains the prayers for all 8 prayer times throughout the day plus all of the readings. I have been using a small 1-volume book for years and while it's lovely it has its disadvantages.

I was given a 4-volume set of the while staying with Nuns in Chicago and I used it all of the time in America. However, it's falling apart and I thought that perhaps, now that I can afford it, I would invest in a new set and keep the older set to share with others if they ever wanted to join me in prayer. Or I could give it to someone if they very seriously wanted to pray the LOH. (These sets aren't cheap! Nearly 拢100 !! So it's not something to just give away to a person that won't ever use it.)

This new set will last a long time - longer still if I can figure out how to keep the leather covers hydrated. Does anyone know how to keep the leather covers of books healthy??

I don't pray the LOH in order to somehow save my soul or make me holier then everyone else. I'm obviously Christian so I'm going to engage in Christian-oriented ways of taking a wee meditative break through the day in order to de-stress and refresh myself. Taking a few minutes to step aside from the stress and busy-ness of life gives me this time to let go, relax and take a breather - both physically and, since I am relgious, spiritually as well.

The works the same way. (This linking stuff is SO COOL!)

It is a nice 15 - 20 minute meditative prayer. I am not worshipping Mary as I pray the Rosary - as I say the "Hail Mary" prayer I am meditating on specific sections of the New Testament. The Rosary is made up of five sets of ten beads. These sets of ten beads are called a "decade" and each decade has a passage from the New Testament attached to it. There are four different sets of five New Testament passages. Each set is assigned to a specific day. So on Tuesdays and Fridays I would meditate on the "Sorrowful Mysteries" which are passages from the New Testament that focus on Christ's agony in the garden, His being whipped at the pillar, His being crowned with thorns, His carrying the cross and His crucifixion.

So even though I am honoring Mary the main focus remains on meditating on the life of Jesus.

"And coming to her, he said, "Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you." Luke 1:28

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...

Elizabeth, filled with the holy Spirit, cried out in a loud voice and said, "Most blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb." Luke 1:41-42a

...Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus...

"And how does this happen to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?" Luke 1:43

...Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

One of my favorite quotes. They are such simple yet profound words!

(If something is bold and italicized in any of my posts I've linked it to a webpage - just put the curser over the word and click.)

"I will give everything to Jesus. When I have nothing to give I'll give Him this nothing." - my Patron Saint.

She also goes by the name .

Saint Therese of Lisieux taught a very simple way of approaching God that did away with all of the usual pomp. She called this her She taught that we can persue holiness in everyday ways - rather then going after grand and heroic things. Just being nice throughout the day is heroic enough! How can we call ourselves good if we give lots of money to charity to the admiration of others but in private we act rude to our family members or co-workers??

Jesus told us that we should love our neighbors as ourselves. I think that loving one another is the most difficult "charity" we can participate in. It's so much easier to show love to some cause that is not sitting under the same roof as we are. Even the most routine and ordinary life can offer endless chances for us to act in kindness and love. This is what attracted me to walk the path of the Little Way. I can live out the Gospels right here at my house in my ordinary and routine life. I don't have to kid myself with doing heroic showy acts of charity.

I just LOVE living here in the !! My worst fear while falling in love with Erlend was that I'd move to his island and I'd hate it. Instead I have found Orkney to be absolutely beautiful and the Orcadians to be absolutely wonderful.

Folk around here love to visit! Before our wedding a zillion people visited Erlend's house because here it is traditional to have a "showing of the gifts" for about a month before the wedding rather then a one-time gift-giving party like we have in America. Then, at Christmas, everyone makes the rounds passing out cards and finally there is this Hogmany thing coming up where we are all going to go out and visit one another some more! I can see that I will never be lonely in Orkney!

I've noticed that the Orcadians enjoy experiencing me experiencing Orkney. No one ever seems offended when I bungle up their language or when I have to say, "Huh??" a thousand times throughout our conversation. We have a hearty laugh at my mistakes and they get a total kick out of me speaking their words. (I just cannot get any of those Norse vowels and the accent...it's impossible for me!!)

Whenever Erlend and I visit someone we are treated like royalty! About an hour after we arrive the woman of the house cracks out this lovely supper of biscuits, cheese, sweets and drinks all round - not to mention hot tea! And then we are urged and urged again to eat up and drink up. And boy do we need the supper because Orcadians stay up LATE when they visit! It's rare to leave someone's house before midnight. Which is fine by me because we are always having such great conversation! (Even if I can only understand parts of it haha!)

Saddam Hussein has been murdered and I am very sad. You can disagree with me. That's ok. We all have our views.

I have lived in the Middle East and I loved it there and I feel a strong connection to the Muslim people and the Arab world. I can still smell the desert air and hear the prayers sung over the mosque loudspeakers. My mind's eye roams over the undulating sand that stretches for miles and miles. Arabic words echo in my ears. I can hear the music and the voices filling the marketplace. Ohhhh...it is paradise on earth!

I wept today when I heard on the news that Saddam Hussein was executed. I felt cold and horrified. I heard that he had spoken the shah膩dah (兀卮賴丿 兀賳 賱丕 廿賱賴 廿賱丕賻賾 丕賱賱賴 賵兀卮賴丿 兀賳 賲丨賲丿 丕賱乇爻賵賱 丕賱賱賴) and that he had died holding a copy of the Qu'ran.

I hope that is true. I pray that he died at peace with God and with the hope and peace that belief in God brings.

Speaking of praying, I prayed for years that secular Saddam Hussein would find God and would repent of his sins and would make peace within himself for the things he had done. Hearing that he said the shah膩dah and was often seen holding the Qu'ran, and died holding the Qu'ran, brings me such joy. Secular men don't often tote a holy book about with them. Thank you God!

His death brings me severe sorrow. I don't believe in the death penalty.

I find myself asking is this how we cure violence in the world - by using violence? Is this how we end murder - by murdering?

Saddam Hussein could very well have spent his life in prison. Why wasn't that good enough? And what about rehabilitation? Now he will never have the chance. He's been snuffed out like so much trash and now he'll never have the chance to help bring healing to the people that he wounded.

And for goodness sake talk about bad timing killing the man during the first day of the holy Haj!!

And killing an Elder at that - a 69 year old man! An Elder - executed!! It gets worse the more I think about it. What a wretched situation.

And why wasn't President Bush awake holding a respectful vigil in honor of the man who was being executed?

Before anyone launches into me about all the awful things Saddam Hussein did let me assure you that I know. But who amongst us is perfect?

Like Jesus said as the adultress was about to be stoned to death:

"Cum autem perseverarent interrogantes eum erexit se et dixit eis qui sine peccato est vestrum primus in illam lapidem mittat." (Latin Vulgate)

"." (Douay-Rheims Bible)

Oh God, have mercy on his soul. And have mercy on us.

Eternal rest grant unto Saddam Hussein O Lord.
And may perpetual light shine upon him.
May the souls of the faithfully departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.
Amen.

The sixth day of the Octave of Christmas!

I will listen to whatever the Lord God tells me,
for he will speak peace to his people and his chosen ones,
and to those who repent in their hearts.
Truly his salvation is close to those who fear him,
so that glory may dwell in our land.

Rejoice! REJOICE! Oh how I love Christmas!!

I haven't heard her voice in over a year. She died October 29, 2005 in her apple-green house back home in Massachusetts. A few minutes before she died I swear I heard her whisper to me, "Sit with me - you won't see me in this life again." She wasn't afraid. She did not fight death. She lay there thinking mostly of the rest of us. Earlier that day she had gasped out to my Aunt Deb, "I'm all right. I'm going home to be with Mama now." And that's exactly what she did.

The other day I received a package from my grandmother-in-law. It contained several of mom's Christmas decorations. Mom loved Christmas! She always decorated the entire house and filled the tree with zillions of ornaments. She would pinch and scrimp so that she could drown us in presents.

Today I hung the decorations on our tree. As I stood there alone in the livingroom and hung up each of her hand-painted ceramic ornaments I remembered all of the Christmases I had spent at home. I never knew that mom's time was so limited. I thought that she would be here for a long, long time and that we'd spend many Christmases together. But my mama went home to be with her mama at the age of 47. She wasn't around very long. I only had her for thrity short years. Strangely enough mom lost her mom when she was thirty. I feel bad for my two sisters - they only had her for 22 and 24 years. At least I had 30.

And now all I have of her for Christmas are a few ornaments. I'm glad I have the ornaments but I'd much rather have mom.

Hmmm. It seems that the fairm is conspiring against my first Hogmanay. It's one of those warm rainy nights that's just perfect for being indoors visiting folk. Erlend says it's traditional tae bring a lump of coal when you go first footing - so we are going to bring some coal tae friends that have fires and we'll see what they say.

But...the fairm is no cooperating. This morning we discovered that Pepper's calf died. Pepper is a very tame heefer and this is her first calf and it would have made a fine coo in the future! The poor lass is depressed just laying there in her pen lo-ing for her calf. I took the curry comb and gave her a good brushing doon. She liked that. We are going tae try and buy a dairy calf so she can have a calf tae care for.

As if this wasn't bad enough Erlend found a boatload of calves up at his sister's fairm (Erlend rents the land and byre) that are sick with pneumonia. He's spent most of the day separating the sick from the healthy.

Then we spent the afternoon shifting sheep. We took Magnus (the ram) and my two pet weathers Sigurd and Swain oot of the flock because breeding time is over for Magnus. (He's a big brat these days - always dooshing me and charging me!)

We noticed one gimmer limping very badly - one of our best gimmers!! - so Erlend pounced on her as the sheep went through the gate into a fresh field and then he flipped her ower and we could smell something nasty. When he pared her hoof he found a TERRIBLE case of footrot - so deep and nasty! We've treated her and treated her but tae no avail and now we have tae cull her which really really annoys me. She's a lovely sheep - big and healthy and tame! We had tae wrestle her intae the pickup truck and tahk her tae the byre while she nickered for her flock all the way. (Thankfully she has kye tae keep her company in the byre.) We gave her painkillers and put her in a pen bedded with fresh stray. We'll keep her comfortable and manage her pain until we have her butched - or sold for butching.

The rain is lashing against the windows as the sun sets and darkness arrives. We had tae wait for the veet tae get here with a supply of pnuemonia jags and now Erlend is up at his sister's fairm dosing the calves. He said he might not get done until 10pm and he still has to feed the kye which will take about three hours. So my first Hogmanay just might be spent here on the fairm rather then gaan oot.

But! I told Erlend it's nay bother. I knew that when I married a fairmer that I'd have tae deal with whatever the fairm threw at us! I told him it's no bother if we can't do much first footing tonight and we'll bring in the New Year together and then go and visit folk over the next few days.

I just hope nothing else gets sick or dies or has to be culled. That's the downside tae a fairm!!!!

Well, I'd better have a kip just in case folk first foot here! Erlend topped up the coal bucket so I can keep the fire going till late.

This house is so strange to me still. It's nice to have some Christmas decorations hanging around making me feel festive as I continue to adjust to moving here. I cannot wait until this house and this farm becomes familiar to me - and I finally feel like I am home. Right now I feel like I am living in Erlend's house - a guest!! But one of these days it will all click and I will feel this is OUR house and I am no longer a stranger! (It will help when we re-decorate with new walpaper and some new carpet. Then we will have created something homey together.)

The Orcadian people (and my non-Orcadian neighbors) have nothing to do with me feeling like a total stranger. I have never felt so welcomed and loved in my life - and I've lived in some really nice and hospitable places! I think that the only place that compares with Orkney is the Middle East and Asia. The Arabs and Asians are extremely friendly and hospitable. The Orcadians and my non-Orcadian neighbors are the same exact way!!

I'll tell you, nothing boosts my already high spirits like having one of my neighbors say to me, "Come on down to (insert place name) and visit with us!" I just LOVE that! What better way to make a person feel like they are welcome and that they belong here? And that's important - it's not enough to feel welcome, I have to also feel that I belong here. That I haven't made a mistake leaving my country and my culture behind.

I think my main problem that keeps me from going out and visiting without first being invited is an understandable case of insecurity. I have a very hard time understanding folk when they talk. The place-names of the houses are so Norse-Scotts that I have a hard time remembering them. So when someone says to me as we bump in to one another in the Dounby Shop, "Oh come by bladyhoosewatsy and have a cuppa!" I totally forget the name five seconds after I leave the shop!!! And of COURSE I don't remember THEIR name either! So I end up with lots of really friendly wonderful invitations to visit and then I can't remember who invited me and WHERE they invited me. And poor Erlend cannot read my mind. Saying to him, "A nice lady invited me to visit her - can you tell me who she is?" doesn't cut it. Not enough information!!

I'm sure folk are beginning to think I'm half mad because I've devised a new plan: I mumble the person's house name over and over and over until I can get to Erlend. Then I pronounce a totally wacky version of what I was told (because the names are too difficult for me to clearly understand) and Erlend translates my babbling. As he tells me the correct name of both house and person I swiftly write it down, sketch a wee map and then put the note on the kitchen table. "Visit so-and-so from such-and-such house."

Last night I was given another friendly invitation to come visit. On the way out of the door I whispered to the host, "How do you say her house-name??" and then offered my mangled version. In the time it took me to leave the house and walk to the car I had to ask Erlend three times to repeat the lady's name and house name. Then when we got home out came paper and pen and I have a new note sitting on the kitchen table!!

If I keep not turning up when folk invite me to visit they'll just quit inviting me - without knowing that the reason I haven't been showing up is because I CAN'T UNDERSTAND THE LANGUAGE!! And just recently have I gotten brave enough to A) ask people to repeat themselves 27 times and B) ask other people for help in finding said person that has invited me. Much hilarity usually results. "The name of their house was something like 'SkinahCat'..."

Don't get me started on using the telephone. For crying out loud the telephone has become my worst nightmare!! I pick it up and squeak out, "Hello?" and then receive an earful of, "Hubbadahooobadeedooowahdittylalala!" You should see me cringe as I make a call. I always say to Erlend, "Will YOU please call??"

I love the Orcadian language. But at this point in time I don't understand much of what is said to me!! Thankfully the Orcadians have a great sense of humor and don't mind me one bit. I just hope folk don't think I'm RUDE for not visiting when invited!! Hopefully my post-it-notes and wee sketched maps will help me be far more social then I have been.