All the best to you, Cathscats, as you 'demit office'
Perhaps 'demit' is a Scotticism. I have certainly heard it before,but never without a direct object following.
At least in Canada -- so I learned from the Masonic bumph m father used to receive -- a mason who resigns from his lodge is said to have taken his demit, or demitted. The usage may come from the Kirk, because of the wide overlap (in Canada) that used to exist between the lodges and presbyterian ministers and laymen. (not that other non-RC churches did not also provide large contingents to the masons once upon a time)
Would that also include those who leave a pastoral role in a church to take up some other role without a defined congregation - some position within the larger denominational structure, for example?
I think that next years holidays will all be staycations. I have been doing the NE Man's family history and now he is keen to holiday in exotic locations such as Neilston and see where his ancestors lived. We had a long weekend ancestor-hunting in Mellon Udrigle in Ross shire three years ago - I suspect Neilston may not have quite the same ambience. (Although Neilston has much better records - we are back to the early C18th.)
Assuming we can all get vaccinated and meet up, let us know when you're coming down our way. Be good to see you again.
We put an offer on the house! And it was provisionally accepted!
And I am so pleased. Yesterday was the day that having recorded Sunday's service, taken a tricky funeral and gone straight from that to an in-person reflective service in one of my churches, I received an email from an elder complaining that we weren't doing enough. Especially about Christmas - when he had been at the Session meeting that laid the plans for Christmas! This I do not need. This, next year, I will not have.
Yesterday was the day that having recorded Sunday's service, taken a tricky funeral and gone straight from that to an in-person reflective service in one of my churches, I received an email from an elder complaining that we weren't doing enough.
Congratulations, Cathscats! Was the elder asking how he could help? Offering to take responsibility for something he felt needed doing? No, I thought not.
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I sometimes could wish I was in level 4 as well! I have three in-person services to take each week as well as Sunday on-line to do, and though the three reflective services are the same and short, it all adds up.
I know the said elder is upset about a person in the community who died recently and whose family did not opt to have the service in church and have me take it. The old order changeth, and why should he have his service in church, when, as his daughter said, he never darkened the door of the place in life? I mean, of course I would have done it for him, but said elder, who has farmed the same farm as his fathers all his day, has to understand that Christendom is no longer a thing, even in the Highlands. And that hurts when the understanding is not just theoretical but personal. (But he doesn't have to take his hurt out on me - or maybe he does.)
Hang on - you're not doing enough because someone else's family (not the Elder's) did not want you to do something for them that he (the Elder) thought you should be doing. That's bonkers (quite aside from it not being his decision to make and therefore nothing to do with him).
I am listening to my husband's very own version of the Burnistoun "eleven" lift sketch, emanating from the room next door.
In his case, it sounds like this - Texas. Texas. Texas!! F**k! Texas TEXAS!!! F**k! Texasssss. Tixis. Tehxas. F**K! F**K! F**K!
I suggested he focus on the "Texas" bit as I thought the voice recognition already recognised the f**k, and didn't need it repeated. This useful bit of wifely wisdom went down about as well as could be expected.
Greetings to all Scottish Shippies on St Andrews day, from a Sassenach living in South West England who likes to spend as much time as possible North of the border - sadly only 2 weeks managed this year
Today is when I miss my home town, which is St. Andrews. Understandably they make a big deal of the day there! Though I am not sure if it will be so big this year.
Special Mass in St Mary's rc cathedral celebrated by Archbishop of St Andrews and Edinburgh - a good turnout of 50 people, though in the days of the previous archbishop there would be 50 priests in addition to a full cathedral, as the then archbishop offered lunch to all his clergy on that day.
It is the first time that I have heard music in a Scottish church since March.Though there was no singing I recognised the tune used generally to the hymn 'for all the Saints...' and then at the end the hymn to St Andrew 'When Christ our Lord to Andrew cried.....'
It said in another book I had that it should be sung to a tune called 'Kingsfold' which I know as the name of another poster from Scotland.
On my journey across Edinburgh I was glad to be able to visit St Mary's Episcopal cathedral also but sad to see that St Giles' was closed.
My special intention at the eucharist was for Rossweisse.
Many years ago, my friends Pam and Steve asked me to be godfather to their son. I was happy to agree.
It wasn't until we met with the priest that I learned that they'd decided to change their surname. I also learned that the parish would be holding a kirkin' o' the tartan on the same day as the baptism, which was of course happening on St. Andrew's Day.
And that's how I came to be presenting Charles Edward Stuart for baptism on a day when the church was full of Scots and honorary Scots.
Pam and Steve had never heard of Bonnie Prince Charlie.
The haggis is steaming, the neeps will go on in about five minutes, and to make sure that the haggis isn't the only thing steaming, & especially for Piglet's eyes, we shall have a wee dram of Highland Park (blow me, distillery websites are getting poncey, I just wanted a peedie piccie!)
and then at the end the hymn to St Andrew 'When Christ our Lord to Andrew cried.....'
It said in another book I had that it should be sung to a tune called 'Kingsfold' which I know as the name of another poster from Scotland.
I'm named for the tune, which is a favourite of mine.
Highland Park is getting really big on publicity and so on - they've got a shop now in Victoria Street in Kirkwall with gifts, souvenirs and, er, whisky. I haven't been in it yet - I think it was about to open the last time I was home (far too long ago).
I'm afraid I didn't think far enough in advance to have haggis and clapshot - it'll have to wait until either Hogmanay or Burns' night.
We (well, mostly I actually) grew the tatties and a vast neep (I reckon it'll do us four meals, and that's after we sent half of it to the parental Knotweeds!), whilst the haggis was lured from the depths of said parental Knotweed freezer.
I've heard of Kirking of the Council in Orkney, when they lure the Councillors into the Cathedral once a year, but I'd never heard of Kirking of the Tartans until I was in Canada - I can't remember now whether it was part of the Highland Games weekend in Freddy, or something done by one of the Presbyterian churches in St. John's.
I've heard of Kirking of the Council in Orkney, when they lure the Councillors into the Cathedral once a year, but I'd never heard of Kirking of the Tartans until I was in Canada . . .
And with good reason. It was in invention of the Rev. Peter Marshall, who was born in Scotland, but who emigrated to the US when he was 24. He came to prominence as pastor of New York Avenue Presbyterian Church in Washington, DC and as Chaplain of the United States Senate. Around 1941, he created a simple version of what evolved into the kirkin’ o’ the tartan as part of an effort to raise funds to support Scottish churches in the early days of WWII and the British War effort generally, I think through a mobile kitchen. A great deal of “lore” has attached itself to the service in the decades since.
I had my saltire flying yesterday. The joy of a colonoscopy today, though, meant that no Scottish food or drink could be enjoyed yesterday.
Thanks for that info, Nick - fascinating! I was mildly amused at the gentleman's name: the only other Peter Marshall I know is a Roman Catholic of the most devout persuasion (and a professor of history and a Jolly Good Bloke), who played the part of one of my daughters in the original production of Peter Maxwell Davies' Cinderella (I was the wicked stepmother).
This Peter Marshall was the subject of the movie A Man Called Peter, which was in turn based on the book by his widow, Catherine Marshall. She also wrote the novel Christy, which was adapted into a TV series in the 90s. The Marshalls were very well-known in many an American Presbyterian household in the mid-20th Century. My mother had a number of their books; Peter Marshall’s Let’s Keep Christmas was always brought out and placed on the coffee table each December.
Finally we have a decent covering of snow! It is late this year, by about two weeks. But a couple of inches fell last night and froze in place. It is so beautiful. I was up our glen at 6 a.m. in the bright moonlight and - well, wow!
Here in the Sad Southlands, o'erwhelmed with Brexshit shadows, it's been raining all day. I'm not sure I'd rather have the snow, though, no matter how beautiful it looks - I'm a bit too tottery now to be able to manage it...
Here in a Flat Bit of Scotland the weather seemed to have crept above freezing for a while, in bright sunshine this afternoon, tempting me out for a bike ride...
...during which I located a patch of Still Very Much Frozen Stuff, resulting a rapid encounter with the road. Bruises to hip, shoulder and dignity followed. I have a vague recollection of someone asking me how I was, and insisting I was fine and riding off in a dazed condition.
I am glad I had a helmet on - it has a souvenir dent!
Comments
Perhaps 'demit' is a Scotticism. I have certainly heard it before,but never without a direct object following.
Thank you.
Assuming we can all get vaccinated and meet up, let us know when you're coming down our way. Be good to see you again.
In fact two Ship meets - one in Glasgow and one in Linlithgow!
And I am so pleased. Yesterday was the day that having recorded Sunday's service, taken a tricky funeral and gone straight from that to an in-person reflective service in one of my churches, I received an email from an elder complaining that we weren't doing enough. Especially about Christmas - when he had been at the Session meeting that laid the plans for Christmas! This I do not need. This, next year, I will not have.
We've shut down again...
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We've shut down again...
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I sometimes could wish I was in level 4 as well! I have three in-person services to take each week as well as Sunday on-line to do, and though the three reflective services are the same and short, it all adds up.
I know the said elder is upset about a person in the community who died recently and whose family did not opt to have the service in church and have me take it. The old order changeth, and why should he have his service in church, when, as his daughter said, he never darkened the door of the place in life? I mean, of course I would have done it for him, but said elder, who has farmed the same farm as his fathers all his day, has to understand that Christendom is no longer a thing, even in the Highlands. And that hurts when the understanding is not just theoretical but personal. (But he doesn't have to take his hurt out on me - or maybe he does.)
In his case, it sounds like this - Texas. Texas. Texas!! F**k! Texas TEXAS!!! F**k! Texasssss. Tixis. Tehxas. F**K! F**K! F**K!
I suggested he focus on the "Texas" bit as I thought the voice recognition already recognised the f**k, and didn't need it repeated. This useful bit of wifely wisdom went down about as well as could be expected.
Some refreshment (perhaps alcoholic?) is clearly required in The Room Next Door.
Or a very strong bolt on your side of the door...
It is the first time that I have heard music in a Scottish church since March.Though there was no singing I recognised the tune used generally to the hymn 'for all the Saints...' and then at the end the hymn to St Andrew 'When Christ our Lord to Andrew cried.....'
It said in another book I had that it should be sung to a tune called 'Kingsfold' which I know as the name of another poster from Scotland.
On my journey across Edinburgh I was glad to be able to visit St Mary's Episcopal cathedral also but sad to see that St Giles' was closed.
My special intention at the eucharist was for Rossweisse.
It wasn't until we met with the priest that I learned that they'd decided to change their surname. I also learned that the parish would be holding a kirkin' o' the tartan on the same day as the baptism, which was of course happening on St. Andrew's Day.
And that's how I came to be presenting Charles Edward Stuart for baptism on a day when the church was full of Scots and honorary Scots.
Pam and Steve had never heard of Bonnie Prince Charlie.
I'm named for the tune, which is a favourite of mine.
Highland Park is getting really big on publicity and so on - they've got a shop now in Victoria Street in Kirkwall with gifts, souvenirs and, er, whisky. I haven't been in it yet - I think it was about to open the last time I was home (far too long ago).
I'm afraid I didn't think far enough in advance to have haggis and clapshot - it'll have to wait until either Hogmanay or Burns' night.
That was a great typo... (it was a typo, wasn't it?)
I had my saltire flying yesterday. The joy of a colonoscopy today, though, meant that no Scottish food or drink could be enjoyed yesterday.
This Peter Marshall was the subject of the movie A Man Called Peter, which was in turn based on the book by his widow, Catherine Marshall. She also wrote the novel Christy, which was adapted into a TV series in the 90s. The Marshalls were very well-known in many an American Presbyterian household in the mid-20th Century. My mother had a number of their books; Peter Marshall’s Let’s Keep Christmas was always brought out and placed on the coffee table each December.
This is good, because I am having to try to get Calor Gas to do something complicated in a hurry. So lots of waiting for phone calls.
Just as well I bought a warm coat yesterday!
Here in the Sad Southlands, o'erwhelmed with Brexshit shadows, it's been raining all day. I'm not sure I'd rather have the snow, though, no matter how beautiful it looks - I'm a bit too tottery now to be able to manage it...
...during which I located a patch of Still Very Much Frozen Stuff, resulting a rapid encounter with the road. Bruises to hip, shoulder and dignity followed. I have a vague recollection of someone asking me how I was, and insisting I was fine and riding off in a dazed condition.
I am glad I had a helmet on - it has a souvenir dent!