Almost exactly twelve ours after leaving Iona we arrived back at St Pauls Mews.
An almost seamless connection of different modes of travel with our flight arriving ten minutes early! But at Gatwick airport our cab driver was prevented from leaving by a faulty ticket machine, a snafu that lasted for a quarter of an hour.
Looking at our garden this morning we can see that the cherry blossom has been battered by last week's hail and it's a sorry sight, but the Japanese Maple is unfurling delicately and looks untouched, its bright red trunk glowing in the grey light of the morning.
We're trying not to be dazed by so much to do before we embark on June 10th and I feel inspired to start some new paintings whilst the studio is still usable... I'm hoping the oil will be dry by the time our removals company arrives. A giant 40-foot container to be filled...
Nicholas
As we boarded the ferry from Iona early yesterday morning, a van filled with the belongings (well, some of the belongings) of the former owners of the Argyll Hotel, driven by Dan, the former owner, also boarded. It seemed a wondrous and spectacular full-circle moment in a way.
Actually, Dan and his wife Claire, purchased the Argyll from Fiona Menzies shortly after NIcholas and I overlapped for those incredible 3 days in 1998. When we returned to the island in 1999, it was Claire and Dan who provided us with the hospitality and care we have enjoyed on each subsequent visit, including the one we took with all four of our parents in 2002. Now, they are moving from Iona to an island in BC Canada with their 3 small children. Dan will finish his Doctorate and Claire is studying psychology and yoga. He was driving their belongings to a container that would be shipped from Oban in a few week's time.
It was wonderful to see him again and to hear their story unfold. I also saw Fiona, quite by chance. And, interestingly, her brother has been a patient of Nicholas' for the past 25 years! She remembered us and our unfolding romance even in those briefest of moments in her 21-year stewardship of the Argyll.
On board the ferry with us as well were the brilliant head chef of the Argyll, Pam, and her partner Rob, who manages the service and front of restaurant, with grace and an incredible ability to effortlessly keep it all flowing smoothly. I hadn't yet met Pam and, after thanking her for the incredibly delicious meals she had created for us, I began to introduce myself. She said, "Oh, I know who you are. The whole island knows you are the two that fell in love here, got married and are moving back to America!" It echoed the gifted artist, Mhairi Killin's words, "Your's is one of my favourite Iona love stories".
Each of these people, chef, restaurant manager, hotel owners, artist were drawn to Iona for different reasons. Some stay for life, like Fiona. Some are there for a season, like Dan and Claire, some return to their roots, like Mhairi, and others are there for a reason, like Pam and Rob and....in a way, like us.
After two 12-hour days of ferryboats, trains, planes, cabs and busses, I know that a journey to Iona is not a chance event, it is something planned for and orchestrated. What happens after you arrive...well, that is the essence of that which is greater than ourselves....that, is the unique gift of Iona to all who make the pilgrimage to her shores.
Our love blossomed in what seems an unlikely place at first glance....an island of mostly rock outcroppings and barren hills....perhaps we were simply taking our lead from the thrift...
If you look closely you will see it, that patch of green from which are emerging small pink flowers, each holding a number of tiny star-shaped petals...thriving, against, all odds, held by the ancient stones of Iona...
Judy
In a few days time, Judy and I will walk to the Bay at the Back of the Ocean on Iona. This evocative name has mysterious origins, but is an English translation from the Scots Gaelic of Camas Cuil an t-Saimh .
There is a fabulous blow hole there which at high tide and in high seas sends spray pouting into the air above the rocks and, looking west there is nothing but the Atlantic all the way to North America.
Above the sands of the beach is a stretch of mahair, wild grasses and flowers that are grazed by the island's sheep.
It is a peaceful, sublime place.
We're so thankful to be revisiting the island and look forward to a time of true rest and recuperation, for when we get back April will be almost over and there is so much to do.
Nicholas
This is me leaning against a cairn on Dun-I, the highest point on the Isle of Iona.
It is here, on this tiny island that I feel the incredible sense of coming home to some ancient part of myself. I am not alone in this experience, for thousands of years, pilgrims have come to this little piece of earth in the Atlantic seeking sanctuary and healing.
Perhaps these words, read by my sister and my Father-in-law at our wedding ceremony might express it best...
A few places in the world are held to be holy, because of the love which consecrates them and the faith which enshrines them. Their names are themselves talismans of spiritual beauty, Of these is Iona.
It is but a small isle, fashioned of a little sand, a few grasses salt with the spray of an ever-restless wave, a few rocks that wade in heather and upon whose brows the sea-wind weaves the yellow lichen.
From age to age, lonely hearts have never ceased to bring their burden here.
And here hope waits.
To tell the story of Iona is to go back to God, and to end in God.
Fiona Macleod
Judy
This morning, the wood pigeons were crashing about, tussling with each other for a while. They are slightly daft these birds, but I managed to capture one taking flight a few years ago.
And from time to time one of them crashes into the conservatory window in a panic, but luckily they fly away unscathed, leaving only the soft ghostly imprint of a shadow on the glass.
Yesterday Judy and I sorted through our collection of vinyl LPs, deciding what to take with us and what to leave. It's easy to forget what an art form album cover design was, and handling the records in their sleeves conjures up all sorts of memories. My turntable is a Linn Sondek which I first purchased in 1986 and since then it has seen several upgrades, including a separate power supply and a properly adjusted preamplifier. The sound is spectacular, and there is something about vinyl playback that captures the soul in a way that is missing from digital. I'll have to get the Hi Fi equipment altered for the US though; a change in fuses and transformers and then it will all be boxed up until its shipped to us next year.
I'll look forward to rediscovering the music then, and sparking off memories and recollections as the stylus tracks the groove.
Leaving my home in Africa as a nine year old child in 1966 I carried my favourite music with me on a few cassette tapes; sounds of the African singing I had come to know, transported to England in my little brown suitcase and to a country that was to me, completely strange and foreign. I had grown up with the wild open spaces of the African landscapes and, from our verandah, we could see Mount Kilimanjaro in the distance, capped with snow. It was a sight that lingers still in my imagination and which haunts me, like a dream.
Nicholas
More often than not, I minimise the process of getting from one place to another. It is not that I undervalue it, it is just that I more happily focus on the actual goal, or the inspiration that put me on some path in the first place; these give me the courage and the energy to make changes that are significant, these are the fuels for my internal fire.
In this season, it is our love story that is the defining force in the momentum...from the moment we met on Iona to this one, the passion we share for beauty, for creativity, for life and for one another, has defined and shaped my destiny. From being an actress on Broadway, living in NYC, to setting up house in a little medieval market town called Dorking, from being an interpretive artist to learning about white page creativity in writing my first book, from being a part-time massage therapist to working as a full-time holistic healer and getting my diploma in psychology...all of these moments have happened with Nicholas by my side, his love and gentle spirit holding every transition I made.
In rereading that, it makes it seem like there were never any rough spots, moments that felt discouraging or overwhelming....and on the mornings when I wake and momentarily feel that it is all too much, that I might be too old to reinvent again, that we might have missed some piece of the puzzle, dropped some ball, made a mistake in our calculations, etc....I dip into the garden for reassurance once more.
Here is the chaos, the muddy, seemingly endless days of workmen pounding, digging and (as we have no side or rear entrance to our garden) traipsing all the muck from our front door, through the hall, the kitchen and conservatory, to our back door, five days a week for nearly 6 weeks. More than once we wondered what we were thinking as we swept and mopped on a daily basis!
And....here...our vision made reality...good for me to remember that getting to the dream gets messy sometimes...
Judy
