THE REAL TWEEDY DEAL

Harris Tweed means a tweed which has been handwoven by the islanders at their homes in the Outer Hebrides, finished in the islands of Harris, Lewis.......and made from pure virgin wool dyed and spun in the Outer Hebrides. The Harris Tweed Act, 1993

Travelling back in time to the 18th and 19th centuries, we might easily have wondered what strange clicking monster lurked behind the walls of the local garages, homes, tin huts and sheds of the Outer Hebrides. Finding the courage to investigate further, we would have discovered a tradition which has been carried on for centuries - on hand operated looms, the weaving of wool from sheep native to the Outer Hebridean islands.

Little did those early weavers, who created their wool primarily for domestic use and who bartered any surpluses for rent or goods,  even begin to imagine that their artistic meticulous designs would jet set  them onto the international stage of fashion in Paris and Milan during the 1960’s and remain in great demand even today in Europe and now in Japan and Korea.

So great became the demand for legitimate Harris Tweed at that time that production levels reached an unbelievable 8 million yards a year. Astounding when one realizes that their home weaving practice never evolved into the largely mechanized system of the mainland; all Harris Tweed remained hand woven. As imitation began to rear its ugly head, the need to protect the tweed’s authenticity increased exponentially with its success. Thus in 1993, the British Parliament passed The Harris Tweed Act, officially defining what constitutes Harris Tweed and dictating that only true Harris Tweed may carry the Orb Trademark.

In my mind, Harris Tweed was made into men’s jackets. Little did I understand the sheer number of products created with this famous fabric. Until today that is! I have seen toys, lamps, earphones, and even running shoes, to name just a few. Wow!

So here’s the thing. If you feel the need of tweed, real Harris Tweed to be exact, the products are endless. Just be sure to look for that Orb Trademark. If it’s the real tweedy deal, it will bear the trademark. Remember, Harris Tweed is unique to the Isles and that is official! Happy shopping.

RIDICULOUSLY COO-TE

If they weren’t so large, I would bring one home. Teddy bear-huggable with their shaggy hairstyles, giant eyes peaking out from behind lengthy bangs, curvy horns and docile friendly nature, the Highland Cow aka Heilan Coo aka Bo Ghaidhealch (Scottish Gaelic) is an intrinsic part of Scottish culture and globally recognizable as such.

Be it the thistle, bagpipe, wee dram or kilt and tartan, I am sure everyone has their favourite symbol of Scotland. For me it will always be the Heilan Coo. It was love at first sight.

I still remember, during a stay on the Isle of Mull, when Jim and I stopped at fenced-off acreage to take photos of a herd of Highland Cattle. As one of these fearsome (?) horned cattle rushed towards us at the edge of the fence, in a comedy of errors, Jim and I literally tripped over each other attempting to save our lives and reach our car. It wasn’t until later that we learned Heilan Coo are gentle, highly intelligent and mild tempered. Upon hearing the supposed near-death tale, our Mull hosts, after they stopped laughing, explained that these adorable giants frequently approach people demanding their attention, especially if the cattle have experienced previous interactions with adoring tourists. Highland Cows are renowned for their friendly nature. Who knew? 

In fact, the only time they pose a danger is if a protective mother perceives a threat to her calves.

Oh and speaking of those adorable calves. I want one for home. What pet coo-uld be more perfect? Just look at this little face:

But don’t let the Heilan Coo’s adorable features fool you. They are the oldest registered breed of cattle in the world and are uniquely adapted to survive Scotland’s often harsh environment. Their thick woolly undercoats keep them toasty warm. Those charming long eyelashes and thick fringe protect their eyes from stinging hail, wind-driven rains and insects.

 Heightened senses and super vision help them see from behind what appears to be a blinding set of bangs. Horns are used to rake snow away to get at food; the Heilan Coo actually thrives on the poor grazing ground of Scotland.

I need to stop here! I know! You’ve had enough. I could go on ad nauseum about Queen Victoria’s soft spot for the breed, the many colours of Highland Cattle, the difference between male and female horns......you get the picture.

Just one more thing.......if you hear of a passenger arrested for attempting to smuggle a Heilan Coo calf on board an Air Canada flight, I’m sure you will figure out who that Canadian might be.

SO SO SORRY.....ADVANCE APOLOGIES

Well, ah, um, er......this is probably more of an advance explanation than a giant mea culpe, but I did get your attention. 😉

Our countdown is nearly over. A big destination on Jim’s bucket list is about to be checked off; he is deliriously excited. On Saturday, with rain gear, walking sticks, hiking boots and woollies packed, we fly out to Scotland. Excitement is beginning to percolate to the surface. Destination: The Outer Hebrides!

Apology #1

I hereby apologize for all photo postings and blogs that may appear for the next three weeks. Just ignore them if you wish. No insult taken! There may, though, be a verbal test upon our return. 😂

I write and post to keep our sons, Christopher and Matthew, and my sister, Jo-Anne, up-to-date. If I fail to do so, I am in serious do-do and that is the mannerly way of expressing the trouble that would ensue. I was originally set up on Facebook by our son, Christopher, so that I would stop sending those stupid postcards which generally arrived home well after Jim and I. Our son, Matthew, god bless him, is a worry wart when it comes to our travel. Our posts simply assure him that his Mom and Dad are still alive.

It has long been a tradition for Jim and I to stop daily around 4:30/5:00pm at a cafe or pub, indoor or out. Over a relaxed drink and some local nibblies, while Jim writes in his journal - a 50 year travel practice - I either post pictures or write a blog. Travel for me is like taking a drug, an elixir! So please excuse my lengthy, effusive photo descriptions. Simply chalk it up to my uber exuberance over what we have experienced that day. I am afflicted with MTG (Manic Travel Giddiness) which I have been told is untreatable.

Apology #2

Scotland!  Can you imagine a piece of the universe, more fit for princes and kings?” are words from one of my favourite Scottish songs. My answer is an emphatic No. Scotland, it’s people, food, scotch, traditions, music and scenery quite literally take your breath away.

Please, please don’t view my postings as any kind of travel advice. You do you! If you are planning a first trip, I might suggest any combination of Edinburgh (truly one of the most beautiful cities in the world), Sterling, Inverness, the Highlands, Loch Lomond, the Isles of Mull, Arran, Skye and Islay, Stonehaven, St. Andrews and the Orkneys. This year, with our Outer Hebrides destination, and although we fly in and out of Glasgow, the largest town visited with be Fort William, population a mere 10,000+. No cities are included; most destinations are remote. Life on the Edge is where we are headed. A new kind of Scottish experience for sure and certainly not to everyone’s taste.

Phew! That wasn’t so bad. My mea culpes are complete.

Air adhart gu Scotland.

NO FACE VALUE, PLEASE!

I remember an Economics Professor once likening the change in direction of a national economy to turning around a giant cruise ship. Unlike a small motor boat which can change direction almost immediately with a simple maneuver by the captain, a giant cruise ship, like an economy, requires careful planning and time to make the complete 180 degree turn.

The current good U.S. economy is the primary reason provided by most voters for their continued support of Mr. Drumpf and of course the President loves to take full credit. Go figure! But dig a little deeper, read a bit more and Mr. Drumpf’s claims and pronouncements don’t quite hold up.

The improving economy and economic  growth, according to the President, are the immediate result of his policies. Immediate? Don’t forget the analogy of the cruise ship. Remember, in 2008 President George Bush Jr. handed over an economy in tatters to President Obama. Approve of him or not, it was actually during Obama’s terms that the U.S. economy began to turn around. Mr. Drumpf recently took credit for an awesome GDP growth in 2018 of 4.2%. Best growth ever, he boasted. Mr. Drumpf, what about the years of economic growth and the record-breaking 5.1% GDP growth in 2014 under Obama. I guess those years don’t count?

Simply put, a country’s deficit, like a household budget, is based upon how much more money a federal government spends than receives. The 2015 deficit of 2.4% ballooned in 2018 to 4.0% and is on track to run even further amok in 2019. Economists have analyzed three reasons for the now out-of-control American deficit: increased military spending, mandatory spending and the biggest contributor, recent tax cuts. How ironic is it that the President’s voter base are the very citizens who do not benefit from his tax cuts? Do they even know?

And Mr. Drumpf sure has set things straight with China, right? Well actually, not really! The U.S. trade deficit with China has increased to 12.2% this year while, as a result of the current trade war, China has reduced the goods purchased from the U.S. by a whopping 30%. Exactly who, if anyone, is benefiting from your trade war, Mr. President?

Worst of all, but perhaps best for anyone who would like to see this dangerous President out of office in 2020, the current worldwide uncertainty and Drumpf-spawned trade wars are propelling us all to a global recession. Wonder if Mr. Drumpf will take credit for this too?

Dear American friends, please do not take at face value what any politician says. Please, please read more, attempt to understand what is actually happening, search for underlying truths. And we, as Canadians, should take note too!

LIKE GOING TO A 3-D MOVIE

Travelling without an understanding of local history is like going to a 3-D movie and refusing the glasses. Reading that one opening line in a book by Rick Steves has had a profound effect on Jim and I and how we have learned to travel. We endeavour, I admit not always successfully, to gain some insight into where our journey is taking us before we board that  jet. What we are visiting today is impacted by its history, art, architecture, food and culture.

The emotional impact of sites is certainly stronger with a pre-understanding of their history. From the enormity of the monument at Vimy Ridge, France to the isolated Dolomite mountain trenches of WWI in which more Italian soldiers died from exposure than battle injuries to the haunting Jewish Ghetto in Venice to the tiny Sealers’ Monument in Elliston, Newfoundland, Jim and I have found ourselves more than once reduced to tears.

And no more than with our upcoming trip to the Outer Hebrides has Rick Steves’ quote resonated with me. What was at first a means to pacify Jim who for eons has had these remote isles on his bucket list has become an I-cannot-wait-to-get-there journey for me. I had envisioned endless deserted beaches and isolated windswept cliffs. Beautiful, but after a few days.....yawn? For sure we will experience plenty of those, but it is the history of these far-flung isles and their life on the edge that has riveted Jim and I for the past months.

Books have passed between the two of us and endless discussions ensued.  Jim is currently reading When I Heard The Bell, The Loss of The Iolaire by John MacLeod and I, The Guga Hunters by Donald Murray.

 Maps have been dragged back out, routes have been altered and unique accommodation experiences (Gearrannan  Blackhouse Village, for example) have been reserved.

Who knew that when Jim first mentioned the Outer Hebrides an ordinary trip, in my mind, would be transformed into a highly anticipated adventure by simply ingesting a dose of history. 

RECIPE FOR AN EARLY MORNING WALKING GROUP

6:30am??? Are you kidding me? I whined.

I’m friends with the lunatic fringe, I groaned to myself.

I’m retired; I’ve been there, done that ‘early morning thing’, I complained.

My mind desperately searched for viable excuses.

Suggested by our inspirational Walk15 Instructor, Antonietta, ten of us dove into the five-day-a-week program. Gee, thanks Antonietta, I groused, but here I am in the fourth week of our Uxbridge Walkers group. Yup! I could conjure up no legit excuses.  😩 My alarm pings (yes, I am too old to be jarred awake😂 so ping it is) at 5:15am. Shocking as it is, I am on the track early, by 6:00am, and readily confess that I am loving this early morning thing. By 7:30am and before the summer heat becomes oppressive, 7k+ and over 10,000 steps have been registered on my FitBit. Okay, now bring on the rest of the day!

To make us accountable, Antonietta suggested that a daily photo be taken at 6:30am and be tagged to each walker on Facebook. Early and now accountable! Whaaaaaa! 😩 The upside of the photo is that many Facebook friends of Facebook friends have asked to join in. The more the merrier, is our group response. Our 10 walkers have now expanded to 18 and counting.......

The local Ux high school track was chosen, thus allowing everyone to walk at their own pace while being visible to one another. That visibility will be an issue as mornings begin to darken at summer’s end. So be it. I find our little band of walkers growing tighter by the day. The social benefits far outweigh the agony of that 5:15am ping. Mornings are filled with challenge, laughter, good cheer and encouragement. No more is the I’ll do it later part of my vocabulary. I am energized for the day ahead.

Interested, but Uxbridge is too far out in the boonies for you to join us? Then here is my recipe for a successful early morning walking group:

Set timer for 6:30am

1 dash of contagious inspired idea

1 whole organizer

20+ legs of walkers

1 stick of selfie

1 tbsp challenge of self

1 tsp each of goodwill, humour and smiles

1 cup blossoming friendships

Toss lightly. Garnish with encouragement and serve on 500-metre oval track

Stay healthy and enjoy!

ONCE YOU HIT A CERTAIN AGE.....

A dear friend of mine (thank you Laura)  recently posted this on Facebook:

After I stopped laughing at how much the posting hit home, I decided that although I would likely piss off many with MY list, what the hell, I’m blogging this anyways. None of the following “unimpressive s**t” is personally directed. I admit that it is perceived through my value system and thus suspect to many. However, these are the s**t that, as I age, no longer impress me.

Designer Labels. Don’t take this as evidence that I prefer cheap throw-away fashion. I do, however, look at designer labels and, valid or not, see a purchaser attempting to display status. Insecure? is what I really want to ask. Why else would you want to wear or carry someone’s logo, advertising them for free? Truth be known, most people are perfectly capable of recognizing quality clothing, belts, purses and shoes. Sorry, but designer labels leave me cold.

Wealthy Parents. Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a damn what your parents’ social register name was, where they lived, what lofty position they held or how much money they banked. Too many highly successful men and women in our world have come from families who had virtually nothing but instilled in their children the values of hard work, perseverance, overcoming obstacles and generosity of spirit and where there was a dearth of parental guidance, these men and women found within themselves the determination to build a better life. Now THAT is admirable. So what impresses me? What kind of human being YOU are, not your parents.....YOU!

Negative Nellyism. You know who I mean: in the winter they whine that it is too cold to enjoy life, and in the summer, too hot. It’s raining too much, we haven’t had enough rain, it’s too cloudy, it’s too sunny......and on and on and on. We all experience our negative moments. That is life! But, like the flu, chronic negativity is contagious. For self survival, I need to keep my distance. Life is too short to be dragged down mentally by doom, gloom, frowns and whining. Instead of grumbling that roses have thorns, why not celebrate that thorns have roses? Chronic negativity does not impress me. As I get older, I avoid it at all costs; I haven’t got enough time left in my journey to waste it listening to negative s**t.

The Best. During a wine tasting at Chateauneuf-du-Pape, I learned what constitutes “the best”. Asked whether the best wines are French wines, the chief vintner smiled and then, to our complete surprise, answered that whatever wine sits well on your palette is “the best”. He added that although he would like to announce that French wines are the world’s finest, nothing is “the best” unless you personally like it. If a plonk wine is your favourite, then it is “the best”. Whenever I am informed that they (whomever that amorphous they is) say that something is “the best” - olive oil, wine, restaurant, hotel, car, where to live or whatever, I am not impressed. If it turns your crank, then it is “the best” for you. Tell my why you love it instead. Hmmm? Well that is, unless we are talking about our country, and then, although the Danes and Norwegians might argue, I will agree that Canada is “the best”. ❤️🇨🇦😉

Upon rereading this, I asked Jim if my words were too strong. His answer? Sweetheart, having lived over 70 years gives you the right to define what in your mind is bulls**t. So be it.

Aside from my blogs, what doesn’t impress you as you age?