Finding Wilson Among the Coconuts

Day 6 through 19 on Eigg:

Saturday, June 9 - Friday, June 22

Saturday
  Dear readers, I should've known that saying I would post every day was an unrealistic promise to make on the day of the Twelfth of June Ceilidh Celebration and amidst a busy start to settling into the house and setting off with our wedding planning journey.  Because I have been so tardy, I will limit 13 days' worth of posts to brief descriptions.  I don't think you all want a novel of a blog post, so I think that will be best. 
 
  With that hang-my-head admittance over with, I can now tell you that Saturday was a blur.  Ben's cousin, Josh, and girlfriend, Lola, from Paris, (both of whom I mentioned in my past posts about our holiday in France), came over to the island for a week-long visit, so we were all quite a happy bunch.  The ceilidh was crazy, as usual, but incredibly fun, despite the inevitable sore feet, head, and throat you find yourself with the next morning...make that late afternoon. 

Sunday
    Upon waking up at *mutters a made-up number unintelligibly* in the...post-lunch section of the day, Ben and I took one step up the stairs, groaned, considered turning back around to hide in the shelter of our blankets from the menacing sun, and then continued onward after giving each other some inspirational speeches.  They consisted of my suggestion that pancakes and bacon sounded good and Ben's immediate agreement.
 
  From under the t-shirts shielding their faces from that pesky sun, Josh and Lola gave the same reaction as Ben - albeit with slightly more muffled voices.  We ate our fill, nestled into couches and chairs, and agreed to make the journey across to the tea room at the pier that evening, where we knew a post-ceilidh music session would materialize.

  No one could stop their feet from tapping or their heads from bobbing out the rhythm when the fiddles, accordion, whistles, guitars, cello, banjo, spoons, and bodhran were taken up.  I suppose the few who hadn't properly recovered from the night before and were fast asleep in their chairs may not have been tapping their feet, but their heads still bobbed in one way or another.  Looking around, I fondly noted how important music is to this culture into which I've been adopted.  Music, the traditional sort being the most prominent of the type of gathering I'm describing, isn't just a pastime for Scots.  Music is their lifeblood.  It appears constantly and very much echoes their ways of life.  The Scots have both suffered and thrived, throughout history and the present, but they have survived, maintained, and held together.  The long, slow notes and the fierce, intense ones of the music I am so lucky to hear in my house, community, and new country seem to reflect the people about which I am learning so much.  Life here can be difficult: stopped in its tracks by weather or hard, rocky land or frustrating and slowed to the pace of those people in airports who think "moving" walkways means that they don't have to by the complexities of living in remotes areas.  Those are mirrored by the drawn, sorrowful, almost painful sounds I hear in the music of Scotland.  The sounds that leave scorch marks on wooden floors are self-explanatory.  The Scots have fire in their eyes - a warmth that comes from living life, despite its difficulties, and gaining strength from the embers of the people around them.  They keep themselves ablaze, and, as the saying goes, "Fire is catching."

  That must be why, as I stood smiling softly amidst friends and visitors alike in the tea room that Sunday night, feeling the music swirl and seep into my own veins, I saw the same chest-swelling happiness in every person - Scot or not.     

Monday
  Monday mornings on Eigg now mean Market Day, at least for the summer months.  It's a great way for tourists and islanders to converge and take advantage of all of the talented craftsmanship that occurs on this beautiful island.  The market is set up in the Community Hall, with tables for each islander that wants to sell his or her wares.  Goods for sale start with homemade bread and bakery treats from my good friends (and bridesmaids!) who have followed their dream of opening a bakery and catering business called "Eiggy Bread."  Needless to say, they'll be creating my wedding cake. 
 
  My apologies for straying onto wedding plans.  My brain has officially become a black hole for wedding ideas and conversation, sucking entire planets into its depths and spewing them out into a different dimension where nothing escapes without ribbon, hearts, and magazine clippings littering their surfaces.  Market, right.  Other islander products for sale range from hand-knitted garments to homemade lotions and body products, paintings, ice cream, books, and crafts made by Eigg Primary School children.  It's wonderful, and I spent some time there on Monday, recuperating from the weekend of late nights in a welcoming atmosphere.

Tuesday
   After getting ourselves up at an early hour, Ben and I met with Ben's mother, Natalie, to go through wedding details in a bit of a fast-forward fashion.  Natalie had to catch the boat back to the mainland in a few hours, and we had a lot of ground to cover.  To be honest, my head nearly caved in on itself.  That's a terrible vision, but you must remember that black-hole brains have incredible sucking power.  My nose feared for itself.  In fact, that may be why it threatened to stop breathing when the stress became too great.  I don't really want to think about what I must have looked like to my future mother-in-law while I was in the clutches of a melt-down that morning, slumped in my chair around the table, my eyes ever-widening as she rifled through and read off her organized papers and expected my mouth to elicit some sort of verbal response, of which it was incapable - except for making drowning fish gulps.  I was a mess - not even an interesting one.

  We went to the pier to wave her off on the boat and do some grocery shopping, but even that left me frazzled and wanting to curl up in the nook of our tree outside the house to suck my thumb and will everything away.  Instead, we went home and set to work on the wedding.  I don't remember if I was at all productive, which probably means that I wasn't.  I vaguely remember attempting to chat to Josh and Lola, but I think I failed as a good host that day and, therefore, sank a bit further into my swampy mire of guilt and fear. 

  Not to worry, dear readers - the mire has since been closed for refurbishment, as I have now gotten a grip.  Also, I intend to install some sort of dunking booth in the swamp, whereby, if ever I find myself skulking back to it, I can plunge myself back to the cold but alive world of reality and get on with things.

Wednesday
   If ever you look across the sea, (mind you, you may have to squint if you're REALLY far across the sea), you can know with certainty that you are feasting your eyes on the Isle of Eigg if you see the great shark's fin-looking mountain rising up at one side of it.  That point is called "An Sgurr," which is a Scottish Gaelic (pronounced "Gah-lic" instead of the Irish "Gay-lic") word for a rocky, sharp, or jagged point.  Oh, and "Sgurr" is really pronounced like it looks.  Put an "oo" sound in your scariest lion growl.  That's it.  Now everyone in the coffee shop you're sitting at while reading this will be terrified of you.  If you're in your house, your couch cushions will shudder.
 
  The point of all that nonsense above is to give you a hint of background on what Wednesday held for our little group.  Josh and Lola had never climbed the Sgurr, which is a must on Eigg, since it not only allows you to feel reallllllllly tall while you're braving the wind on the highest point of Eigg but also because you have the best view ever.  It's fabulous.

  I would go on to describe our climb to the top, our stop at the gorgeous lochs (lakes) on the way down, and our later feast of brown trout that Ben caught, but, let's face it - I'm wordy, and we still have the next week to get through.  Plus, maybe my short description will be enough to entice you to go climb An Sgurr yourself...or any other mountain in your area...or hill...or at least the tiny ditch by your mailbox.  Maybe.

Thursday
  Realizing with the breaking of the day that it would be Josh and Lola's last full one on Eigg until they next return, I found myself sad.  Sadness soon had no time slot in the busy day, however.  Thursday night was to be a community dinner to celebrate the 15th anniversary of the islander's buy-out of Eigg, following the annual ceilidh by a nice amount of space.  Everyone was to bring a dish for a pot-luck, so caramel apple pie had to be made.  I never want to peel another little apple ever, ever again.  I might if it's a reasonable size, I suppose.  It would have to be a terrifically tasty one, though, and more beautiful than Snow White's wicked step-mother's specimen.

  The pie turned out pretty and delicious, and the rest of the food at the dinner was incredible.  I think we all waddled more than walked out of the hall that night.  Nonetheless, the speeches and general feeling of good-will topped even the bounty.  I am an incomer and can only gain a vague sense of what life was like on the island around the time Ben was a child, but I know a grueling daily existence at many times and an underlying uncertainty about the future under a bad, disconnected landlord were the constant undesirable companions of many of the islanders.  The emotional sharing of how far Eigg has come since those negative times was a beautiful experience to be privy to, and I am grateful that I can now count myself as an islander - as one of Eigg's own.

Friday
  We gave Josh and Lola hearty hugs before sending them on their way, braving the rain and dreich (just like it sounds - bleak and dreary) day to wave them off from the end of the pier.  They'll be back soon, though, so more adventures will follow in the months ahead, I'm sure! 

Saturday
  I am a might huntress.  You may call me Artemis, if you wish.  Deadly with a gun, I am.  Actually, Ben is.  He killed a rabbit on Saturday.  I shot a wall - a stone one...while I was standing inches from it.  It's sheer luck that I didn't blind myself with the ricochet from the pellet (luckily not a bullet-taking gun!).  So, perhaps a name other than that of the Greek goddess of the hunt might be better.  I can aim, I promise - just not that day.

  When we made it back from the hunt, I finally scraped all of the paint off our poor dresser - the used one I mentioned many, many days ago that we lugged across on the boat all the way from Glasgow to our house.  I was more successful with scraping than shooting, thankfully. 

  The only thing more exciting than scraping paint is watching the worst horror film of all time: "The Mist."  Wretched.  Awful.  Horrific.  Once the credits rolled, leaving my face scrunched in disgust at the most crushing ending I've ever seen, I do believe I yelled and pouted to Ben that I hoped Stephen King stubbed his toe for writing such a despairing, go-to-bed-grouchily-wondering-if-you'll-ever-make-up-for-that-lost-couple-of-hours-of-your-life movie as that.

  Go to bed we did.  I'll bet I muttered mean things about Stephen King in my sleep, all the while being strangled by fanged tentacles.

Sunday
  I helped Ben roll a big barrel up a hill.  It was a water barrel, and I'm sure there are other, more technical ways of describing what we were actually doing, but to me it was just a barrel.  Yes, I did feel like we were Jack and Jill - except it wasn't exactly a pail...and it luckily wasn't filled with water yet...better luck still - we didn't come tumbling after.

  We also put our finished dresser in our room, and I filled it with clothes.  Then, Ben came in and deflated a bit.  He had actually thought he would get half the drawers.  Hah!  I eventually gave him one drawer, although it nearly killed me.  When I remembered that I love him and am, you know, going to be his wife and all, I gave him the corner of a small one, too.  I'll stare down the first person to say I don't sacrifice.  Then I'll steal his sock drawer.     

Monday
  I awoke to sunshine and warmth - two things that you MUST take advantage of in Scotland.  I decided it was a day to try out yoga on the beach, while Ben went out in a kayak to fish for dinner.  I had asked my wonderful yoga instructor and friend back home whether she had ever done yoga on the beach, and she had advised against it, saying sand gets everywhere.  I should have listened!

  I put towels down under my mat, kicked off my flip-flops, (another rarity for Scotland, since hiking boots or Wellies are much more sensible), and started my tranquil session.  The view was beautiful looking out at our neighboring isle of Rum, the air was filled with the sound of sea gulls and gentle waves, and the sun was at least a little warm on my exposed skin.  But the sand...was...everywhere!  I stretched tall to the sky, pointing my hands to the sun, only to find myself blinking and spitting to avoid gritty grains getting in my mouth and eyes.  It really does nothing for achieving inner peace and concentration when you're behaving as if you've just taken a bite of a green persimmon, which, for my non-Indiana readers, involves having your lips turned inside-out because of a Thanksgiving season fruit that is delicious when ripe but slap-your-Grandma bitter when not.

  I was doggedly determined to finish, and so I did, up until "tree" pose, which involves balancing on one leg.  Sand moves, Audra sinks, balance fails, tree falls.  No more sand yoga for me.

Tuesday
  One of my best friends on this side of the pond asked if I wanted to join her for a girls' day out around the pier that afternoon, since she would be leaving the next day for a week.  I readily accepted and dug into what tasks I needed to finish that morning with more zest than is normal for me.  I was looking forward to some much-needed girly chat and laughs.

  I'm not sure if I've mentioned this particular one of my personality "weaknesses" before, but I will now.  I am a perpetually late person.  I know it's a fairly ugly trait to have, but I never seem to be able to shake it.  My intentions are good, truly, but I get distracted easily and think that I can accomplish a week's worth of tasks in the last five minutes before I'm meant to be leaving my house to meet you where you are already waiting for me.  My father has said to me in the past that I'll be late to my own wedding (a more pleasant thought than funeral, at least), and, now that that day is less than three months away and my behavior seems not to have changed, I fear my father's jokes may turn into prophesy. 

  Under less extreme circumstances, this lateness caught up with me on Tuesday.  I meant to leave an hour before to allow plenty of time to reach the pier on my new bike.  I'm becoming more comfortable with riding it in general, but Eigg's hills and single-track road that really does only allow one vehicle and no other moving thing of any size on its width at a time still hamper me a bit.  Feeling the pressure of having only left myself a quarter of my intended time in which to park my steed at the pier, I hammered down the pedals and soared up our track to the main road.  Actually, I puffed up half of it, felt like my lungs were going to explode, and experienced that menagerie of questions battering my self-esteem like: "Am I really in bad shape, despite my active claims?" "How can I possibly handle riding across the entire island when I can't even make it up the first hill without dying?"  "Geesh!  Do I have emphysema or should I just call myself Miss Wheezy?" "How could I get emphysema when I've never touched a cigarette in my life?"  By the time I reached the half-way mark, my mind finally stopped harassing my tired but adapting body, and euphoria at knowing I had a mainly down-hill glide from there to the pier and at believing that I might be in fairly decent shape after all put a huge smile on my face.  I smacked my lips together just in time to avoid getting a bug in my teeth and enjoyed the smooth sailing, feeling a bit like Lance Armstrong as I leaned perfectly on the curves and guided my bike like a pro.

  When I pulled in to the pier, only 10 or 15 minutes late, I still felt quite happy, but very thirsty and hot - very hot.  Oh no.  I could feel it in my face as I walked toward everyone.  I knew they'd think something was wrong with me.  I knew I'd be asked if I was alright - if I was having a stroke or something.  It was happening.  I said hello and sat down briefly, judging everyone's reaction with heightened senses.  I couldn't tell, but I quickly excused myself to the bathroom to see if I could salvage myself at all before too many people took notice.  I looked in the mirror, and there it was: the dreaded splotchy face. 

  Most people sweat profusely and maybe turn a bit red in the face with an intense workout.  I turn red, too, but in splotchy patches all over my face.  Maybe I don't sweat enough and over-heat my skin or something.  I don't know.  All I know is, I look like I'm breaking out into some horrible rash, which is somewhat ironic, since I'm severely allergic to stinging insects and very well could be suffering from anaphylactic shock for all anyone would know. 

  I attempted splashing my face with cold water, but it seems time is the only thing that turns me back into an unselfconscious, normal person.  So, I went back outside, gulping water to try and speed the transformation process.  Luckily, I have good friends on Eigg whose only concern that night was that we all enjoy ourselves.  They didn't even care that I had a splotchy face.  It was a good evening.

Wednesday
  I tea-stained a stack of white paper for our wedding invitations on Wednesday.  My fingers turned brown.  It's kind of a cheap fake tan, though, so I think I'm okay with it.  Plus, it was a cheap way of giving our invitations a great treasure-map sort of feel to them.  I'm very okay with that, too.  I prefer drinking tea to bathing in it, though, so I won't try any mad antics of dipping myself in it before the wedding.  I promise.

Thursday
  The highlight of the day was going to one of our friend's going-away parties.  He's a great guy, and we'll miss him dearly, but we're also extremely happy for him.  He's taking an awesome job working for a charity on the mainland, and I think he has many good times ahead of him.  When I hugged him goodbye for the night, he told me we're trading places and that it's so good that Eigg is losing one but gaining another.  It was also clear he could feel how much he's loved and will be missed but uplifted from afar.  I went home sleepy but contented and happy in my heart.

Friday
  At last!  The moment you've all been waiting for: the end of tonight's post!  I'm sorry to say that it's not a very exciting one, since I've spent most of it on wedding errands and typing this out.  I did, however, start a new book: "Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter."  I'm laughing at myself, too, but the writing is quite good so far, and who doesn't love a vampire book?  One that makes possibly the most famous and revered president the United States has ever had just puts the icing on the novel cake.  They make those, by the way - novel cakes.  They're amazing!  They look just like a stack of real books but with icing.  If anyone ever wants to bake one for me, I'll give you a list of my favorite novels to include.  Please. 

  With that, I believe I'll drift down the stairs and dream of eating fluffy books or reading paper cakes.  I guess I'll have to leave that up to my subconscious, which I can tell you is a lot like my rambling consciousness but with absolutely no reins on the silliness.  It does make for adventurous dreams.  Sweet dreams to you, readers.  Don't let the bed bugs bite.