Surprise encounters of the interesting kind

[His Excellency, Kenneth David Kaunda, first President of Zambia at Dunblane]

It has been a very, very busy few weeks - hence the absence of any blogging recently. But there have also been some interesting moments, and some interesting encounters.
Towards the end of May we were invited to lunch at the Palace of Holyroodhouse by the Lord High Commissioner, George Reid. We expected it was going to be one of those Holyroodhouse events where about 150 or more people would attend and we would be lost in a sea of people we didn't know or could only vaguely recognise.
As things turned out, we discovered there were only a couple of dozen people at the lunch. That in itself was something of a surprise and for once it wasn't difficult to get free parking in Edinburgh because we were able to park our car inside the palace gates in the forecourt.
But that was nothing compared to the surprise we got when we went inside to discover that also invited to lunch that day was Archbishop Desmond Tutu and his wife, Leah. [He had just come from addressing the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland - an inspiring address well worth watching and listening to.]
Unfortunately, after the introductions, I didn't get much opportunity to speak to Desmond Tutu himself but, during the very excellent meal, I was sitting between his wife and the wife of the Lord High Commissioner, and we had a great chat together.
I generally don't have much time for the cult of celebrity that fills the media these days, especially when so much nonsense is written and spoken about people who are famous mainly for being famous, but it was a privilege to share a table with someone who is a genuinely significant individual in the history of the world. And like most really great people he is really pretty humble.
But there was more...
I have just returned from Dunblane where, since Tuesday, I have been attending the meeting/conference of The Church of Scotland's World Mission Council to which I was recently appointed. Last night we had another surprise visitor, in the form of Kenneth Kaunda, the first ever President of Zambia. He joined us for our evening meal and then came to speak to us at our evening session. We even got to hear him play the piano, sing for us and do a bit of a dance!! Even without his surprise appearance it would have been a long day. But the additional item - which immediately moved us into Zambian time (and anyone who's been to Africa will know what I mean by that) - meant we didn't finish till after 10pm.
And we had started just after 8am!!
I had taken my camera with me hoping we might have had even half an hour of free time at some point over the two and a half days but it didn't quite work out that way. However, it did mean I could snap "KK" as he is commonly known.

Light in the darkness

[Under African Skies - Masai Mara 2002]

I think I am going to have to start carrying my old compact digital camera in my car at all times. Several times in the last couple of weeks I have seen some spectacular photographs- well, they might have become spectacular photographs If I'd had a camera with me to capture what I could see. Now these scenes remain only in my memory, which is about the least secure place in the Universe!
A few evenings ago, for example, I was returning from the Induction service for the new minister of the Douglas Valley Church. Approaching Hyndford Bridge,* which crosses the River Clyde just outside Lanark, I looked over to my left at the rolling landscape which at this time of year is painted in shades of brilliant green.
The sun was getting quite low in the sky and casting interesting shadows, then it disappeared behind a fairly large bank of clouds. Not such an interesting picture. Then suddenly, through a large gap in the clouds, the rays of the lowering sun broke through producing a pool of warm light on just part of the landscape, like some sort of cosmic spotlight. Hills and trees suddenly became translucent with a fragile kind of beauty, like a delicate watercolour.
And I had no camera...!!
We could do with a little bit of light in these dark days of economic recession, the scandal over MPs expenses, and the upcoming General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, which opens today, faced with some very divisive issues.
There are always plenty of reasons, and excuses, for feeling depressed, but I like to remember that Landscape Photography is really about photographing the light and capturing those moments when the light transforms a place. In a similar way, we can never deny or escape the darkness all around us, but rather than focusing exclusively on it, it is often worth waiting for and looking for the transforming light.

*Hyndford Bridge was built in 1766.

Three, two one...

There are some aspects of my work that are not intellectually demanding, nor emotionally draining, nor even physically challenging (actually when I think about it very little of what I do is really any of these things, but it sounded good.) However, occasionally I get to do something which is just sheer good fun!
Today our local primary school were having a special celebration to mark their silver anniversary - a balloon release!! Yess!
Perhaps they should have held off until tomorrow for the theologically appropriate 'Ascension Day.'
On second thoughts, though, I don't think the kids would have lasted any longer. They were much too excited about the whole thing. There is nothing quite like a couple of hundred youngsters feeding each other's excitement and anticipation to near chaos level. I was beginning to think the balloons wouldn't even need helium to get them airborne: the children themselves were as high as kites.
The adults, of course, were suitably restrained and dignified. (I may, however, have some photographic evidence to disprove that last statement.)
I had the chance to release a balloon myself, but a much greater honour and privilege was afforded me. I got to do the countdown. [The real (and only) reason, of course, is that I have the loudest voice.]
And so after a dramatic count of 3 - 2 - 1 ... the order was given to "GO!" and 350 green and silver balloons (minus the ones that had already gotten away) soared up into the drizzly, grey sky helped along by an explosion of pure innocent joy on the part of the children.

I remember away back in 1975 witnessing my first ever rocket launch at Cape Canaveral.
Unfortunately we had missed the launch of the very last Saturn V (the Apollo/Soyuz mission) by a mere two days, but we did get the chance to see the Viking mission to Mars being launched on a military 'Titan' rocket.
Like some gigantic firework display it was briefly spectacular but it was the countdown that got to me most. As I watched the launch-pad through the viewfinder of my camera, I listened to the countdown on the radio and I could feel my pulse quicken as the numbers got smaller and the moment got nearer.
What is it about a countdown that gets some folk so excited?
Is anticipation of the future a peculiarly human phenomenon?
In a desire to find out, I 'googled' the phrase "science of anticipation" only to discover that there is indeed research being done on this very subject. Indeed, it seems to be the way ahead (or so I anticipate.)

Talking of countdowns, in a few days' time our General Assembly will convene in Edinburgh and as I will be a commissioner this year I may not have the opportunity to do much blogging - but we'll see. (You can follow the link above to the live webcast of proceedings)
Would it be wrong (or just cynical) to suggest that next week I might anticipate... a few balloons... lots of hot-air... and one or two things ending 'up in the air'?