Favorite Day of the Year

A year ago, I was longing for today. Here we are, baby. (By today, I mean yesterday, as I didn't get a chance to post yesterday.)

Some days I say, remember when we took a road-trip through a blizzard going to Alabama? and we shake our heads at how much has happened since. We're legends at reminiscing. But, invariably, Walker says this is better. We always come back to that: that was good, but this, right here, is better. Goodness gracious, today is SO much better than a year ago. It's his first birthday we've spent together, and, as it is a day to celebrate his life, obviously it's my favorite day of the year.

A year ago, I told him I couldn’t wait to hold his hand in 3 days. He was pulling consecutive all-nighters for an econometrics project, and I was worried sick. This is better.

Today, we didn’t do anything extravagant. I fell asleep on his arm on the train ride through snowy fields of sheep and tractor grids. The rest of the day, we moseyed. Bells twinkles as we entered lovely shoppes on our favorite streets in Edinburgh, stores with books that smell of time,


time, this city is so good at holding onto time.


We held up proper shoes with punched designs, and gazed at fat books of tweed samples and tartan gowns (that glorious scarf in the window? Walker got it for my birthday a while back. It turns out 'gifts' may be one of my love languages after all.)


This is a 'wet deli', stocked with vessels of exotic olive oils and vinegars and whiskeys galore. Never in a million years would I help myself; I'd definitely flood the store with apple vinegar. We sat in restaurants smiling at each other and saying this is so fun. We ate Scottish salmon and local beef, creamy mash (mashed potatoes) and chestnut cheesecake, and looked out at a city of dark spires and the ever-luminescent castle.


He pulled me through the mobs at the Christmas markets (very reminiscent of these). We talked about how much we fancied Barbours and boots, sport-coats and gloves. He even stood in the cold while I scurried around the carnival near the Sir Walter Scott memorial in a blur of camera clicking.


The colors seemed all the warmer in the shadow of flakes and stone-street chill. (Walking on the ground in Scotland is so cold you'd think you were on massive chunks of ice instead of pavement.)


Thank goodness there are things like this for distraction.


Snowflakes in the air. Doooo-doo-doo, doo-doo.


I couldn't help myself with all the vintage bulbs and neon glows. How ridiculously fun are all these rides?! We decided if we missed our train, we'd ride the Ferris Wheel, and we almost wanted to miss our train. But, we didn't.


And as we sat on the train again, I felt saturated as a sea-sponge, so full of what it craves that all it can do is sway slightly to show it is happy. I smiled.


And I cried watching Walk read his birthday letter. On my favorite day of the year, this was my favorite sight of all.


I must be off to pack four excessively large suitcases, make the fridge shine bright white, and un-decorate the tree far too early. It appears we're racing the snow, but tomorrow we're supposed to be on a (non-red-eye!) flight to the homeland. We've been talking about it for months: excitement is vaulting. Zippideedoodah, America!