The folks at church are very friendly, and everyone seems to want answers to the same set of basic questions: what's my name, where am I from, what am I doing in Edinburgh, how long am I here, and is Creative Writing really a master's program. (Oddly, they seem vaguely impressed with mine, and vaguely impressed but worried by the Texan alto, Emily, and her MSc in Politics.)
Today I had a few moments alone with Isa, an adorable 97-year-old lady and former choir member who knows everyone at church, even if she can't see or hear them most of the time. Unfortunately, Isa has poor eyesight and is rather hard of hearing, so the way to talk to her is, apparently, to shout in her right ear. Fair enough.
Maggie, one of the sopranos, made the initial introductions by shouting my name a few times (Roy the organist later had to spell it out for clarification), and was then called out of the room. "Sorry to leave!" she said to me. "Isa is deaf!"
At that moment, Isa asked me where I was from. Figuring I had better give as many clues as possible without yelling it, I slowly replied, "United States."
"Oh, that's nice," she smiled. "Glasgow is a lovely city."
I tried a few times to get it across to her (Roy's comments in front of the two of us about American hymn tunes notwithstanding), but gave it up. She's too cute to yell at, and that's the first time anyone's taken me for Scottish.
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