all it takes to hearken back is a bottle of tasty oban.

recently, my housemate casey and i were out and about looking for new bottles of scotch. as we were looking, i noticed a bottle of 14 year old oban, which immediately reminded me of my dear friends joe and chris lafferty.

joe and chris once lived in oban. i was only in oban once, just passing through on my way to the fair isle of iona. my time in iona was one of the most magical times i had in scotland. it was the only holiday i took while i lived in the u.k., and it was glorious.

i was in edinburgh for the fringe festival at the time, so i had to catch a train from there to glasgow, and from glasgow north to oban. oban is a sea town on the west coast of scotland. from oban one must take a ferry across to the isle of mull. mull is a breathtaking island, so driving the length of the island to catch the next ferry is nothing but pleasant. at the very end of mull is a village called fionnphort, which is where i had to catch the ferry for the mile-long jog to iona.

it was nearly dusk when i arrived on iona, and very foggy. i could hardly see fifty feet in front of me. i hadn't made plans to stay in a hostel, so i was planning on camping out on the beach. i ran into someone that told me that the iona community discourages primitive camping to protect their scarce and rare grasses. so i was wandering around in the fog and near dark, playing with stones on the beach and dancing on very large rocks. out of respect to the people of iona, i wandered back towards the town to try to find a hostel or family willing to take me in. on the way, i heard sheep and walked through the fog towards where i heard them. eventually i found the sheep, and to my surprise and delight, they belonged to the owners of a hostel. i walked in and was given a bed for the night. later i found out that people book rooms on iona several months in advance, and that it is unheard of to simply 'walk in' and expect a bed.
well i did.

the next morning, i woke up to the clearest, most beautiful day i can ever remember. scotland it rather grey and dull and cold most of the time, but this day the sky was blue and it was warm enough to walk around in shorts and a t-shirt. so i explored all day. i wandered around and sang and prayed and drank in the rugged beauty of the ancient island. i could write pages about my time on iona, but i'll share just one story.

i was sitting on a hillside, munching some crackers and cheese, when i was approached by a monk from poland (iona is steeped in christian history, a story for another day) who told me that his monk friend was off on a tiny island just beyond where we were sitting. he said his friend was exploring, and that he'd been gone for hours. we talked for awhile and his friend came back, and they were off to continue their adventures. i was interested to see what the polish monk was doing on the tiny island for all that time, and there was only about a foot of water between iona and the tiny island, so i took my shoes off and waded over. the island was about 150 meters long and 50 meters wide. it was grassy on top (tended by sheep. i don't know how they got there), and had tall, steep, rocky walls that ran down to the water. i spent hours on the wee island, climbing up the rocky ledges and basking with the sheep. it was a delightful time. as i walked back to the edge of the island to get back to the 'mainland,' i realized that the tide had come in since i'd first gone over, and the water was now chest-deep. i looked around and realized that i was completely alone. no polish monks, no locals, not anyone. so i simply removed all my clothes, held them over my head, and walked back to iona. also, i hadn't bathed in days, so i took this opportunity to wash myself in the sea. it was invigorating, it was freeing. i've never felt so alive.

so here i am, sipping my oban, thinking of joe and chris, and dreaming of fonder days. i'll leave you with another quote from 'the wounded healer:'

"through compassion we also sense our hope for forgiveness in our friends' eyes and our hatred in their bitter mouths. when they kill, we know that we could have done it; when they give life, we know that we can do the same. for a compassionate man nothing human is alien: no joy and no sorrow, no way of living and no way of dying."

simon.

a couple of weeks ago, i found a photo on my brother's computer that i had lost last year when my computer perished. it was the above photo of michael's hands and of simon, my ruby-throated hummingbird. i found simon one afternoon after class. i heard a noise, looked down, and at first thought it was a dragonfly. upon closer inspection, however, i discovered that it was a beautiful hummingbird that had one bad wing and was struggling to fly. i was thrilled at the discovery, as i had never seen a real, live hummingbird. so, filled with compassion, i took simon home, holding him in the palm of my hand all the way. occasionally he would try to fly away, only to be reminded that he could only flutter downward to the floorboard. i kept him for a few days, feeding him sugar-water from a spoon (which he lapped up with his threadlike tongue) and taking him for "walks." our walks consisted of me carrying simon to various flowers in the back and front yards to see which ones he enjoyed. his favorite was a vine that had thousands of tiny white flowers blooming. eventually i decided that i could no longer give simon the care he needed. so, reluctantly, i took him to the wildlife rescue mission and charged them with healing my sick friend. i hope he became well enough to fly again.

earlier today i was reading nouwen's "the wounded healer" when i was struck something he said about prayer. writes nouwen, "prayer is not a pious decoration of life, but the breath of human existence." this sums up a lot of what i've been feeling of late. all my longings and joys, pains and trials of life, struggling to find meaning for them within my spiritual existence. prayer, says nouwen, is the very essence of being alive.

as i was mulling over this in my head, i was reminded of a prayer that i said every sunday for ten years at [st. francis of assisi episcopal] church. when i was younger, this prayer had little meaning for me. as i grew older, though, beginning to understand and develop my own faith, this prayer became very meaningful for me, as things do when one grows older. this prayer is commonly called the "prayer of st. francis," and is widely attributed to him.

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,
grant that i may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Amen.

in remembrance of simon, i will note briefly that Francis of Assisi is the patron saint of birds, animals, and the environment.

summer's winter wonderland.

this is my most recent flowering orchid. it's a degarmoara winter wonderland 'white fairy.' this plant is an intergeneric hybrid that has bits of miltoniopsis, brassia, and odontoglossum in it's background. my flowers have been four to five inches. they are pure white with a small cluster of purple spots at the very center of the petals and sepals. they have a subtle, sweet scent that is quite pleasant. i am fortunate to have two spikes with five flowers on each spike. i originally thought this was an oncidium hybrid with bits of brassia in it, but i was recently corrected by someone wiser than i. this is a lovely orchid.

two days ago i treated myself to a new surfboard. it's the first epoxy board that i've had (epoxy is tougher, quicker, more buoyant, and, of course, more expensive than fiberglass). thursday the surf wasn't very good, so stu and i took off from work early on friday and went to the cross for some quick, drifty surf. kristen came, too. it was a fun day.

surfing is something i've grown to love over the past few years since i moved home from scotland. it's magical. there's nothing like it. it's been my escape, my time to think and refuel. it's also been a great fellowship experience with my friends, and this is most true with my brother michael. surfing has become something that we enjoy together, and sharing that time in the water has helped us get to know one another as adults, which has been very meaningful and important for our relationship. we took a surf trip with some friends last year to costa rica.
the photo below is from that trip.

i love my brother.

update on kristen. and slippers.

this is a phragmipedium. phrags are one of four genera in their subfamily. all are commonly called slipper orchids, because of the 'slipper' or pouch that forms instead of the lip as the unique front petal. the different subfamilies are classified for the different regions in which they grow. phrags are found primarily in central and south america, as they need warmer temperatures to survive. this one was cultivated by jason fischer. for some reason he called it 'miami beach.' a deficit in originality, but to each his own. nevertheless, the flower is a particularly beautiful specimen. well done, jason.

so that everyone knows, kristen escaped her terrifying car crash with only a few injuries to her left arm. the woman who crashed into her was driving a much bigger car, and actually rode up over kristen's car, smashing the windshield, then took to the air and came back down on the back of the smaller, more vulnerable honda. anyway, aside from being a bit shaken up and sore, kristen is doing remarkably well, and we are all thankful.