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Home again, home again.

13 Nov

Just a normal day, five years ago.

I woke up this morning feeling far better than expected. Yesterday I was definitely coming down sickly (really sore throat, swollen glands, but otherwise feeling okay), and so was fully expecting to wake up completely miserable. Instead, I woke up (around 9ish) and felt…much better! I suppose I owe this to the massive amounts of ecanachea, zinc and vitamin C I was downing all day yesterday.

But for good measure, I figured I’d lay down a bit longer. We went to bed late after having a few folks over to roast marshmallows for my birthday, and better safe than…sicker.

Anyway, I tried, but soon found out…I had Scotland on the brain.

When I was a kid and couldn’t sleep, I did what most girls do: I planned my wedding.

Let’s just say, Thank you Jesus that my wedding didn’t end up like THAT.

"Listen, Bridesmaids. You will wear it AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!"

But I already had my wedding, and it was beautiful and amazing so…well, planning over.

"Eh. Well, I guess so."

So I’m far more inclined these days to think about house rehab stuff, or cooking (yes, really), or, if I have a fun trip coming up…planning for the trip. Yeah yeah, I know this makes me old.

Anyway, fingers crossed, but we’re planning on going back to Scotland next summer.

This is not Ireland. I never lived in Ireland. That was Chrissy.

Well, it’s “back” for me, but will be the first time for Ben. For the probably two people who read my blog who don’t know, I lived in Edinburgh, Scotland from 2002-2006. For three of those years, I went to college, and one year I stayed and worked. For a long time, I thought I might just stay and live there. It was the only *place* I’d really lived as an adult (I’d lived two years out of high school on the Doulos, travelling Asia and Africa), and I knew how to function there. I knew the bus routes and how tariffs worked and where the good take-away was. (BTW, I cannot express to you how much I miss the doner kebab from the chippie on Ratcliffe Terrace. Lordy, that might be the first place I go to when I go back.) I could give the tourists directions. It was far more comfortable living there that it was in America. It was a daunting idea, coming back to the States and getting used to living here again. As an adult.

Of course, you know the end of the story. I eventually did come back, and moved to Indianapolis. Indy and Edinburgh are worlds apart in most every way (except both places have good Indian food and a plethora of men with facial hair). I love my life here, and wouldn’t change it for anything. But I do miss what still feels like “my first home”. I grew up there. I figured out who I really was and what I believed and what was important to me.

So I’m happy that I’ll get to share it with my dear husband next summer. Butterflies-excited about it!

(Of course, he’s equally excited….especially to go here:)

Just a dram. Or two.


(The Beginning.)

21 May

Hi again.

Welcome to the third installment of my blogging adventures.

I began blogging back in January of 2003, over seven years ago, during my first year in college in Scotland. It seemed like the thing to do, given that a) it was what everyone was doing and b) it allowed me to keep people up to date with my life in Scotland. In truth, I’m afraid to go back and read what I had to say back in my college years, but if you’re interested, you can find it here from the awful beginning: . (As a side note, my friend Paul from Wiseacre Design designed my first blog from scratch. It was lovely, though the design aspects are gone, so you’ll just have to trust me. Nearly six years later, Paul would be the photographer at my wedding.)

A few years later, I got bored with that one, and Paul set me up with another one, and my own domain:, which would later become, which would later get hijacked by internet terrorists. And by “internet terrorists” I mean “spammers”. So, sorry if that confused some of you. That was then, this is now.

I’ve floundered in the last few years, with the blog issue, because it’s hard to know what to write about. I felt like living in an apartment in Indiana was far less exciting to the general public than living in a flat in Edinburgh. I wasn’t  the crazy American-in-Scotland anymore, I was just another midwestern girl. Which isn’t to say that I haven’t loved my life after Edinburgh, but simply that I didn’t know how to write about it anymore. (Additionally, I took on a job that was-is-incredibly exciting and original, but is also bound by confidentiality issues that do not allow me to blog much about it. Given that it’s such a huge part of my life, it seems it’s made it even more difficult to know what to say to you all.)

And sometimes, I just don’t know what to say. I’ve complained before that the times in which it probably would have been the most fruitful to blog proved to be the most difficult to blog through. Like anyone else with a Facebook page these days, it’s hard to know what should be fair game for the wider world. In that sense, Facebook and Twitter have made it far easier to not blog about anything of importance.  I’ll tell you about what I’m eating for lunch, but don’t you dare ask me about how my marriage is going or what I’m truly fearful of, or where I think I may have failed.  Is much as we talk about privacy, it feels to me that Facebook and Twitter make us more likely to be less like ourselves online.

But no matter.

In truth, here on this blog, I still decide what you know and what you don’t know. I feel like I’m gaining some sense of my writing voice back. I don’t feel the pressure that I did to blog anymore, mostly because the majority of my former “hardcore” readers have vanished. (Though some of you are still around, and have been waiting patiently. You know who you are, and I thank you.) I will try again here, but I can’t lie and pretend my ultimate daily goal is to blog anymore. If I look back to when I blogged nearly daily, I think my intentions lay mostly in my loneliness. It was hard to find deep soul friends in Scotland (though, in the end, I found a few), and so my thoughts were puked out onto the world instead. For better or for worse, there it was.

Since then, I moved to Indiana, and found a family of friends at my church that have taught me how to love and mature and grow. And so, I find less need to get my thoughts out to “the world” in order to be heard (and, sadly, I probably thought  my college years were about being heard, rather than listening well).  I am not who I was 7.5 years ago, thank God, but anyone who writes (or creates anything at all), knows that that desire to write and create and string words together never really goes away. And I’d like to reclaim that little part of me that I feel like I lost.

So let’s try again, shall we?


P.S. This week, we bought a house. So that should be fun, too:

(Thanks for coming back. And welcome. And leave a comment to let me know who is out there!)