Good thing I chose to carry my computer in my backpack the other afternoon. I almost told myself no, but every time I leave it behind, I am sorry. This time, for sure. Here I sit in a corner in the Writers Museum, especially designated for people like me. At least that how I feel. The sign on the table in front of the couch invites me to relax and browse, but I figure writing is implied and accepted.
The museum features exhibits about Sir Walter Scott, Robert Burns, and Robert Louis Stevenson.
It is run by the Edinburg City Council and is located in the Lady Stairs House along the Royal Mile. It gives inspiration to all kinds of writers, including me, a woman, who at my stage of life, is happy blogging.
I love to travel alone, and so I do. My husband of 54 years loves to stay home and garden, and so he does. But he knows I love to go off by myself for extended periods of time. For five years (2009-2014) I rented a cottage by the sea, an hour and a half from our home, and spent the weekdays there alone. For the past twenty years I’ve been traveling by myself, primarily to Scotland (Iona, the Highlands, and Edinburgh) and Italy. When I say Italy I really mean Florence, with occasional short stops and excursions around Tuscany and Umbria and to Rome.