His Thoughts Are And Vain

It's not fair that's it's only 8:30 and I've been up for two hours, Was how my third grumpy thought of my vacation went. We were driving around in circles, trying to get out of Edinburgh, and so far we were having no luck. Edinburgh has some of the worst traffic I've ever seen, and driving on the opposite side of the road didn't help much. Worst of all, Roz was being entirely unhelpful, although that wasn't really her fault, considering that half the streets weren't labeled. An hour after we left our hotel, we made it out of the city limits and were on our way south. The plan is to slowly make our way to London, which was where we're flying out of on Sunday. We had several stops along the way, including Stonehenge, Fraserburgh Castle, and Betty and Johnny's house.
At that time, I didn't really know who Betty and Johnny were. In fact, the only thing sI knew about them were that they were friends of Grandpa Simpson and had the key to the cemetery where one of Pa's ancestors was buried. Well, that and the fact that they didn't know we would be visiting today. What if they weren't home? What if they didn't believe who we were and told us to leave? All we had was a letter from Grandpa Simpson telling them who we were and why we were there. But I wasn't terribly concerned with that when we were just outside Edinburgh. I was more worried that I would die a fiery death before I got within a 250 mile radius of their house.
Pa was still uncomfortable with driving a stick shift on the opposite side of the road, and for most of that first day we were either dangerously close to flipping into a ditch, dangerously close to crossing over the line into oncoming traffic, shifting into the wrong gear and killing the engine in the middle of the road, or putting the car in reverse when it was supposed to be in drive. Grandma was freaking out. Pa was swearing. Roz was laying abandoned on Grandma's lap. I decided to use my favored defense mechanism of falling asleep, hoping that at least if things didn't get better I would die my fiery death before I woke up. It was difficult, but I managed to keep my eyes closed through all the jolting and sharp turns, through the poor car's rumblings and Grandma's gasps of terror. As time went on, I could feel myself drifting off. I was so close to being asleep. I figured that in just another minute, I would be numb to the impending doom around me.
Rumblerumblerumble.
I wasn't concerned. Pa was probably too close to the shoulder again. I kept my eyes shut.
Gasp!
I still wasn't concerned. This was all Grandma had been saying for an hour. I kept my eyes shut. But then¾
BAM!
The car gave a huge jolt, and my eyes shot open. You know those strips of grass and concrete that separate an exit from a freeway? The car's front tire were marooned on the grass. I assumed that Pa had decided to take the exit, then changed his mind, too late, and tried to veer away. Before I knew it, he was out of the car and was sprinting down the grass, trying to read the sign. I waited until he was safely in the car and the car was safely on the road before shutting my eyes again.
And then we drove. And drove. And jolted into the shoulder about a thousand times. It seemed like we'd been on the road forever by the time we turned down a country road in the middle of nowhere and pulled into Betty and Johnny's house. I really hoped that they were there!
They were home, and they looked utterly shocked. I wondered if they thought we were going to rob them.
Because every pair of 60 year old bank robbers brings their 13 year old granddaughter to rob a house at three in the afternoon.
It didn't take Betty very long to guess that Pa was Grandpa Simpson's son, and after reading his letter, she and Johnny invited us in for tea. It turned out that they'd had guests who had left just minutes before we'd shown up. We drank tea and talked for awhile, and I learned that they were good friends of Grandpa Simpson who met him when he came to Scotland to trace his ancestors, and that they had even visited him in Virginia. Then Betty offered to take us up to the cemetery were Pa's ancestor is buried (if my math is right, he's my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather), the house he lived in, and the farm where he worked as a gardener.
The cemetery turned out to be unlocked, so we could just walk right in. Betty told us that when Grandpa Simpson first came here, the grave was broken in half. However, she had paid to have it put back together again. When we found the grave, it was still in one piece, although some of it was illegible.
The ancestor turned out to be James Simpson, who died in 1829 at the age of 90. He had a wife, Elizabeth, who was a maid at a local farm. We could read most of the grave, except for an inscription at the bottom. We left without figuring out what it said, and made our way to James' house.
It might have been a cute little house once, but now the wood was rotting and dilapidated. I was amazed that it was still standing after all those decades. It lay in a big field surrounded by farmland as far as the eye could see, which Betty said probably belonged to one man. We also went to the farm where he gardened, and later met his wife, a maid. It was still in pretty good condition, although the plants were really overgrown.
It was time to go back to Betty and Johnny's house, so we could be on our way. Right after we got there, they began trying to give us multiple gifts. No matter how many times we refused and said that they had already done enough, they kept insisting until we finally accepted the set of Edinburgh china, the shortbread, and a five pound note. We the line, however, when Betty said she wanted to wash our car for us! We exchanged addresses, and then they watched as we pulled out of their driving, smiling and waving the whole time.
Before we left The Middle Of Nowhere, we had one loose end to tie up: Pa was dying to find out what the last inscription on his ancestor's cemetery said. So we drove back up there and tried to make out the fancy script. Between the three of us, we managed to figure it out:
The life of a man does quickly fade
His thoughts are and vain
His days are like a flying shade
Of whose short stay no sign remains
We didn't get why the second line said are and vain, but we figured it was a typo. Or maybe it was because they just talked funny back then.
It was time to move along to Portsoy, a little harbor town where we would be staying for the night. It was founded in 1550, and is famous for its marble. It was a beautiful little place, the hotel was nice, and it didn't rain the entire time we stayed there. What more could you ask for?
Aside from a little fiasco where we were locked out of our hotel (and I don't mean our room¾ the front door of the hotel was locked), Portsoy was both pleasant and uneventful. I was looking forward to the next day, when we got to tour Fraserburgh Castle. And I was even starting to enjoy the car rides now that there was a better chance of living then dying when we pulled out of a parking lot (I'm just kidding, of course. Or maybe I'm just saying that so my parents will let me go places alone with my grandparents after this...). Grandma was still terrified when ever we got to close to the line, but hey, we're making progress!
Love,
Kiera