A busy week, all in all.  The last of the beech trees are now green so the lovely, vibrant lime green is everywhere. There's a wonderful fresh spring colour to the countryside, parks and streets.

Lilacs from our garden.

Liberton Golf Club in Edinburgh where we gathered for a post-funeral tea.  Anne B who is from Northern Ireland says that this particular post-funeral repast is called a 'bun worry in that part of the world.  I wonder if the expression 'bun fight' comes from a similar source?  In Scotland sausage rolls are always served. At this event I noticed they were 'vegetarian'.

I was impressed to see the Scottish Saltire sitting a half mast at the entrance to the Club building (a grand house of last century).

Litter picking at the mouth of the River Leven where it flows into the Clyde (top right in photo). Interesting history, e.g. Denny's shipyard was here and there is still evidence of huge industrial bits and pieces about the place (iron rods, chain links the size of your arm). I thought they were industrial junk until I tried to lift them - solidly fixed.

I was shocked to see how high the tide could come in, say, High Springs and/or in a storm.  Clearly stuff (flotsam) from the Clyde was left in a field which was many feet above the present height of the River Leven.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

FROM THE ASHES: My Story of Being Métis, Homeless and Finding My Way, 

by Jesse Thistle

It was the top-selling Canadian book in 2020. Blurb says "debut memoir, Jesse Thistle—once a high school dropout and now a rising Indigenous scholar—chronicles his life on the streets and how he overcame trauma and addiction to discover the truth about who he is."

I have only just started it and it is not sitting right with me.  I am of the same mind as Thomas of GoodReads who gives a long explanation why, as a Metis, he found it a less than satisfying read.  Here are a relevant few sentences from his excellent contribution:

"From the Ashes communicates Thistle’s experiences without necessarily offering a lot of reflection on them beyond how horrific and wrong they were. It is a book full of anecdote, but any argument it makes must come from its reader rather than Thistle himself. It feels like confession more than memoir.

My gut tells me that a lot of the fault here can be placed at the feet of the publisher. I think they saw how sharp/brutal Thistle’s writing and personal history were (I notice some of the writing from the book used to be a on a personal blog) and wanted as many pages of shocking prose as they could get.  

....Simon & Schuster’s decision to market this book as a distinctly indigenous story feels like a calculated one, as a way to pitch the book in a topical way and to add an interesting angle to the popular 'addiction memoir'.....  "