May I Make You a Card?

Hello, friends.

So. I had an idea that I want to float by you. Perhaps it came to me while imbibing on a bit too much whisky, but since it still sounds like a decent notion this morning, I’m going to roll with it. 😀

My idea came about because of a conversation I had the other day with Mr. C. I was telling him about a couple of pen pals that I had when I was in junior high. You know, in the days of snail mail before the internet was even invented (yeah, I am that old!). I had a pen pal in France and Australia, and I can still remember how excited I would get whenever I received a letter from them. Do kids these days still do that?

And then we talked about how we both currently have so many international connections. Me, because of WordPress, and him, because of his job. Just the other day, he was on a video call with three others – one in Canada, one in Paris, and the other in China. He said it was such a surreal experience.

This year, during the pandemic, I took up a new hobby – card making. My cards are not terribly fancy or professional, but I receive so much joy and satisfaction from making them. Trouble is, I actually don’t have that many people to send them to! That’s where you come in. By the way, I am operating under the assumption that this note will mainly appeal to the folks on here who have known me for awhile (and hopefully see that I’m not some terrible nut), but some of you who don’t know me may be interested as well. That would be amazing! Anyway, I would love to send you a homemade Christmas card! (Or holiday card if you do not observe Christmas.) I don’t expect anything back in return. This is just for the joy of creating something for you, my international blogging friends. (However, if it turned out I gained an old-fashioned pen pal or two from the exercise, I wouldn’t mind.)

The internet has made our world feel much smaller, and communication has never been easier. But I often feel we are lacking a more personal human connection that typed words on a computer screen or a video call cannot provide. So, if you trust me enough to give me your address 😉 and would like to receive a card, please send me an email with your information to:

I do hope I hear from a few of you! Have a terrific day, everyone.

Dunlichity Church and Cemetery-A Hidden Gem In the Scottish Highlands

Nestled within the gorgeous Scottish Highlands, on a very minor road about ten miles from Inverness, sits a lovely hidden gem – Dunlichity Church and Cemetery.

Dunlichity Parish Church and Cemetery.

Mr. C and I discovered Dunlichity Church by accident in 2019. Dunlichity is an example of “what I call” the real Scotland (any “Miranda” fans out there? 🙂 ) You might be wondering what I mean by that because obviously, it’s all real, of course! What I mean is that Dunlichity isn’t one of the uber-popular and (sshh, dare I say it?) overpromoted sites that draw in people from near and far. It will probably never appear on a list of the “Top 10 Things to Do In Scotland” (well, that is unless someone like Dana Gabaldon makes it famous). I could be completely wrong – but I’d be willing to bet that nearby residents and history enthusiasts are maybe some of the only individuals aware of its existence. A small hidden gem, Dunlcihity Church and its cemetery are a wonderful, authentic, off-the-radar testimony to Scottish lives past and present that only a lucky few curious visitors and residents will ever stumble across. 

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“Please”, by Rose Fyleman

Happy Thursday, friends! Hope you enjoy this cute poem by English poet Rose Fyleman. Ms. Fyleman (1877-1957) was known for her fairy poems which appealed to children. Don’t mind if I tell you, they kind of appeal to me too. Enjoy.


Rose Fyleman

Please be careful where you tread,
     The fairies are about;
  Last night, when I had gone to bed,
I heard them creeping out.
   And wouldn't it be a dreadful thing
To do a fairy harm?
   To crush a little delicate wing
Or bruise a tiny arm?
They're all about the place, I know,
    So do be careful where you go.

Please be careful what you say,
    They're often very near,
And though they turn their heads away
They cannot help but hear.
    And think how terribly you would mind
If, even for a joke,
    You said a thing that seemed unkind
To the dear little fairy folk.
I'm sure they're simply everywhere,
    So promise me that you'll take care.

The Fingal of Caledonia

It was one of those perfect ‘at the right place at just the right time’ moments. Mr. C and I were driving south on Scotland’s A82 on our way to Invergarry Castle when we came to the Aberchalder Swing Bridge on the Caledonian Canal. As we crossed over, we noticed that there was an interesting looking barge approaching in the distance.

A barge called the Fingal of Caledonia sailing on the Caledonian Canal

We were quite curious about it, so we pulled off at the Bridge of Oich car park a short way away and scuttled back to the bridge to get a closer look. By then, the safety gates had been lowered and all traffic temporarily halted.

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A Walk Through Milton Wood

Well, hello there! How are you? Bet you thought I had disappeared. I assure you, friends, I haven’t. The last six weeks have just been completely, utterly, absolutely, and positively BONKERS. Unfortunately, blogging has taken a back seat. But here I am, back with you today and ready to take you on a walk through beautiful Milton Wood. Grab your backpacks – don’t forget to take some water – and let’s be off.

Gorse at the entrance to Milton Wood.
Gorse in full bloom at the entrance to Milton Wood
Walking path in Milton Wood.
Into the woods

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“Summer Sun”, by Robert Louis Stevenson

This cute poem by Scottish poet, Robert Louis Stevenson, was published in his collection of poetry for children, called “A Child’s Garden of Verses.” Enjoy and have a great rest of the week!

“Summer Sun”, by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy’s inmost nook.

Above the hills, along with the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.