Missing

Regular readers may have wondered what happened to me yesterday. No, it wasn't the inescapable lure of my new Smartphone. And it wasn't an almighty hangover from Friday night out with my awesome partner in crime either - although I confess I was a bit on the delicate side after a yummy meal at Hermann's, Stirling's own Scottish-Austrian gourmet eatery followed by cocktails at our favourite hang-out.

No, the reason for my radio silence has been participation in my first ever Thanksgiving dinner. My main contribution, other than eating way too much, was providing a deal of the crockery, cutlery and moral support to Frances. We badged it as a jointly hosted party, but the reality is that she did most of the cooking and my involvement was pretty much limited to turning up, eating and being sociable.

The more observant will realise it's the first time since almost the beginning of October that I've missed a day's blog post. I set myself the challenge at the start of the year to blog more regularly and for a while I was doing ok, and then I hit a slump and got out of the habit. I got back into it when I headed off to Italy in October and I've managed to keep it up since then.

I confess I really enjoy my daily blogging. It helps me sort my thoughts out. I get to indulge my passion for writing and it also allows me to say some stuff that I might not get round to saying face to face. Hopefully you enjoy reading it too - but if not, what are you still doing checking in?!

Just changing tack a bit, the other thing that's missing today, sadly, is my old friend and Frances' much loved husband, Paul. He would have been 50 today but tragically he died well before his time. It was for Paul that we ran the Loch Ness Marathon and he's been in our thoughts all weekend. 

This one's for you, mate. Happy birthday, Paul x

*All photos courtesy of JustFrances. 

And in case you're wondering, the opening photo - well, apparently it's traditional at Thanksgiving to put olives on your fingers. Never one to miss the opportunity to be silly, I thought it would be rude not to participate. When in Rome, after all...

Sink or Swim?

Or paddle valiantly on? So often the dilemma in life. But it's not one of those posts today. Instead it's a post in honour of the 28th Aberdour Festival Raft Race - and the joys of homeland, parents, love and celebration.

This weekend has been an extended stay for me in the homeland with the parents, my big sister and the 8 year old whirlwind of energy that is my nephew. The reason - apart from enjoying time with family -  was to celebrate Mum and Dad's 50th (Golden) Wedding Anniversary. I confess there were times I didn't think they would make it that far - either for reasons of disagreement or ill health. But make it they did, and we had a party in the garden to celebrate.

It was a small select gathering, and all the better for the intimacy. Everyone either knew or knew of each other. Mum's two remaining bridesmaids were there - one of whom had travelled from southern Germany for the event (and remains with us for the rest of the weekend) with close friends and family making up the rest of the party. The sun shone, the caterers outdid themselves and a great time was had by all.

And then this morning it was up bright and early for the start of the Aberdour Festival - something which didn't really play a particularly significant role in my childhood years since it wasn't really invented until after I was adult and away from home, and so this morning's procession of the Festival King and Queen was my first ever. Probably my last as well - in true village style it was a somewhat understated event - Aberdour types appear to be far too sophisticated to turn out for a procession, and definitely too cool, on the whole, to take part in the fancy dress element.

The raft race wasn't a first. In fact, by my calculation I was a participant in probably the 2nd ever raft race. It wasn't a great success from memory - and Mum's photographic evidence. Our raft got as far as 10 yards from the shore before sinking spectacularly and heaving us all into the drink. Actually, 10 yards might be an exaggeration. These year's entrants were all more successful - they had rafts that were actually sea-worthy and if not steer-worthy, they did at least manage to make it round the course and still be (almost) floating by the end of the course.

Much to be admired - paddling on even when there's no hope of winning the race just for the sheer hell of staying the course. I suspect there's a lesson in there...

Christmas Canadian style

Having finally got round to downloading some photos from my camera, I can now share with you some images of Christmas Canadian style.

Like most families around the globe it was spent opening presents:
 

Cooking:

Eating:

Drinking:

Spending quality time together as a family:

And sleeping:

All great fun. Thanks big sis xxx

And for the fashion stalker

Look what turned up in the post today. Celebration shoes!

This means I now have 6 pairs of Hard Hearted Harlot shoes to my name.

Bliss!