Royal Mile to Scottish Parliament to Arthur's Seat

Phone box by Lauren: Harry Potter birthplace by Sydney:

Edinburgh Old Town by Roxanne:

Buskers by Roxanne:

Chocolate Soup, Christine, Kirstina, Matt, by Sydney:

Christian on Calton Hill:

Hopkins quote, photo by Jon:

Arthur Seat, by Jon:

Photo by Christian:

Art Photo of the Week by Marshall:

Christian!

Arthur's Seat by Chris B:

Bentley by Jon:

The statue of David Hume is next to St. Giles Cathedral, which seems ironic to me (probably because I don't understand Hume):Scottish dairy farmers were staging an extremely low-key protest of the unsustainably low price of milk in front of the architecturally interesting Scottish Parliament. As I was chatting with a demonstrator, one of the pretty little heifers peed on the ground, spattering slightly, as such liquids do. I bet there are not many people who have been peed on by a cow at the Scottish Parliament! Everyone climbed Arthur's Seat but the van driver (me). Fearless leader, by Chris B, Photo of the Day :

Tinturn Abbey

Walking along the Wye River Valley:

We spent some time at Tinturn Abbey–again, the only group there. The abbey and nearby cathedral were ruined during the dissolution, when Henry VIII took over the Catholic Church's property and gave the abbeys and convents to his favored nobles. (I decided that I also wanted a ruined abbey in my garden, but in moonlight or a thunderstorm, not on a bird-chirping spring afternoon). The Abbey is maybe most famous for the Wordsworth poem about the Wye valley, and nature, and God--the manifesto of the Romantics. John read the group the poem in the abbey kitchen, which is kind of funny, as the poem is about mountains, wind, and clouds, not Gothic ruins, but oh well. [1997]

Glastonbury

The Abbey walls stand broken, abandoned, and forlorn, their monkish inhabitants long gone. Henry’s little snit with the church was perhaps good, ultimately, breaking the grip of the Church on the country and allowing more freedom, but it is sad to think of all those places of devotion and refuge ruined, their inhabitants scattered, their lovely and laboriously crafted stone buildings reduced to garden decorations for royally favored lords. The strongest feeling I get in or about the Anglican churches we visit today, along with the sense of long, formalized tradition and pretty but irrelevant ritual, is a sense of embarrassment about the past. At least the Roman Catholics, through the burning, wars, and persecutions, have maintained their passion and authority. Here it seems that Henry overturned it all. People have to make their separate peace with the tradition and live spiritually passionate lives despite the history. [2003]

Milton Abbey

Over (or through) the Blackthorn Vale,
and out onto the groomed expanse of turf (by Capability Brown),

to the lovely church

to sing in the choir stalls:

Salisbury Cathedral

We had an interesting tour guide for this cathedral. He is obviously a believer, although we didn’t talk directly about religion. He likes the modern window beyond the high alter, dedicated to prisoners of conscience. He showed us the figure of Christ in the window.

I think religion is about 80% help and 20% hindrance to developing a God-centered, spiritual, and good life. Depending on the church and the point in its history, the proportions may change. Some people can be charitable, good, and spiritual without religion, but for me it’s necessary (if only to give a structure to rebel or react against). Prayer is the way to God—the direct call, cry, or search—and without an idea of God or of prayer, how can the act be performed at all? Maybe it can, but less likely. Also in my experience there is a difference between the type of prayer that comes from the heart as a desperate call, and the type of prayer that is a small and comfortable gratitude for blessings and request for protection. Both are excellent for different reasons, but the second increases mindfulness and awareness, while the first seems to me to be the only way to directly communicate.

And then Jesus makes his extravagant promise of everlasting life, and you just have to decide whether or how much to believe of that. I sometimes believe in the very wavery and watered-down “well I’ll act like I believe because whatever is, is, and whatever I believe doesn’t change that, I might as well get along with my believing family and culture.” Sometimes, I believe like this: “I choose to believe because it’s good, Jesus is the best there is, I need a leader, and true or not, I want to believe.” [2003]

Even with the modern city surrounding it, the first sight of that tower is surreal, unearthly. It is hard to imagine what it must have been like in medieval times to see it as you come over the brow of the land. The Chapter House is bright, airy, communal, irrepressible, with its medieval faces and Bible stories around the ring. [2005]

Osborne House

We saw Victoria's retreat at the Osborne House. I've become interested in Victoria and just today finished a biography of her by Lytton Strachey (one of Virginia Woolf's circle.) I think I will make a little shrine to her with some postcards I bought of Her Royal Highness and the Prince Consort. They had nine surviving children, and Albert died at 42--by then he looked about 25 years older than he was--but Victoria Regina (VR) lived to 82 and a new century. I am beginning to see why John is fascinated by the Victorians. So much of both our Mormon and our American culture is influenced by them. I also bought a book with beautiful pictures by the pre-Raphaelites and other Victorians about the Victorian reinvention of the Arthurian legends. As a feminist it's fascinating too--the reinvented cult of chivalry and woman-worship, which was so convenient for keeping women in their place on a pedestal. The Angel in the House--Virginia Woolf said that in order to write, to breathe, the live, she had to kill the Angel dead, but she's still very much alive in Mormon Relief Societies. (1997)

Babies everywhere! A blossoming of babies, particularly marble babies. I counted nine on one candle sconce. And baby parts—baby marble arms and legs. Babies sleeping, babies kissing, dead babies (one suspects). Along with the Albert worship, the domestic happiness/grief turned sentimental is particularly odd. “Sickening, ain’t it,” I said to Bren. It is, a little, but I also must respect her emotions and fixations—I think they are real, or at least started out that way.The grounds are a huge playground for children, a delightful toy/school/land-and-seascape. How fun it would have been to be a cousin or grandchild at that place. Maybe not so fun to be a prince or princess. I don’t know though. Albert and Victoria between them may have been the wonderful parents they were purported to be. (2003)

Winchester

King Alfred, who held Wessex against the Danes:The Old Mill, our (former) youth hostel, now a National Trust museum:

The Great Hall, site of another medieval tourist-seeking bamboozle, Arthur's Round Table:

West Gate of the city: