Oh those Scots and their kilts

I've been keeping an eye out for books set in Scotland because I want to write a book set there. I'm not sure what kind but I'd like to explore the history of my clan, Clan MacBean. Several MacBeans fought and died at Culloden (picture at left is Gillies MacBain, a martyr/hero of that battle), and I've been to the Memorial Park above Lochness, seen pictures of the family homestead (alas, it was no castle). I'm not sure what form the novel will take--toying with a contemporary mystery, or maybe--branching out for me--a time-travel book.

(MacBain plaid to the right)
Right now I'm reading In The Time of Kings by N. Gemini Sasson. It's a time-travel, and I wasn't sure I'd like it but I find I'm anxious to get back to it. The main character, Ross Sinclair, falls off his bike, hits his head and wakes in the 14th century. What I like is that he maintains his 21st century identity in his mind, and thinks only about how he can get back to his bride who is in a coma in a hospital. At first he thinks he's fallen in with a bunch of whacko re-enactors but gradually it dawns on him he's really been transported back in time. And his fellow clansman know exactly who he is and where he's been--imprisoned in England. They attribute his lack of knowledge of family (including a wife) and current events to loss of memory. I'm only halfway through, but so far I like Roslin in the `14th century better the besotted, neurotic Ross of the 21st.
Next on my reading list is To the Hilt, the only book the late Dick Francis set in Scotland and one of the last he wrote before he began collaborating with his son or son-in-law.

One thing I know I won't write is a lusty romance of unbridled passion. There are a lot of contemporary romances that fit into that narrow genre and do very well, gathering awards and readers both. I've long held the theory that (almost) any man looks sexy in a kilt and I gather the idea is not unique to me. There's a fictional image embedded in the public consciousness of the lusty Scottish warrior brandishing his claymore. After the Clearances when so many were deported to America, they brought with them a reputation for fighting hard, drinking hard, and playing hard. What better heroes for romance?
I do believe I'd blush if I tried to write such a novel.
A final anecdote: the MacBain Memorial Park is on the banks of Lochness, above the village of Dores.  The other day I said if I went back to Scotland, I'd d want to spend a couple of days in Dores. Son-in-law Christian was incredulous: "Why would you want to stay indoors?"

Just call me Lady Judy of Glencoe

I am a Scot and proud of it. Did you know that the number of people of Scottish descent living in America tops the population of Scotland? Count me as one. My lifelong dream of visiting the Highlands came true a year and a half ago, thanks to my oldest son and daughter, and, as the saying goes, my heart belongs to the Highlands. We visited the MacBain Memorial Park (that's my clan, and the park is a tiny bit of the vast lands once owned by the clan and lost in the clearances--but that's another story) and I felt I had a connection to the land. But now there's an even greater opportunity. I found a site called Scottish Highland Titles.
Highland Titles offers small pieces of land, from one square foot to a thousand, on the Keil Estate in Glencoe Woods--not too far from Glencoe where, if you know your Scottish history (or ballads),  you know the Campbells wiped out the MacDonalds in a dastardly repayment of hospitality. When you buy your wee piece of land you get a properly registered title and may call yourself Laird or Lady. You can visit your land with its view of Loch Linnhe and the Salmon Burn, a river running with salmon (you cannot drive to your land but have to follow a path along the river). You may choose to erect a small cairn or plant a tree; if your land is big enough, you may pitch a tent and camp out--the preserve offers other camping areas too.
But the most important thing is that you are contributing to the preservation of the Highlands. Highland  Titles is devoted to conservancy. Their project focuses on the environment, nurturing the native flora and fauna of the Highlands, including varieties of the Highland thistle, while working to eradicate invasive species, such as one type of rhododendrum. The company keeps the land from developers and provides a woodland home for many native animals and birds--and bats. Animals on the land include red deer, roe deer, badgers, hedgehogs, pine martens, the wood mouse. Specially erected bat houses have attracted many species.
It's hard for me to think that the wild land I saw is threatened by developers but apparently it is, so efforts to preserve it are important. The MacBain Memorial Park does that for one tiny piece (maybe two acres). The Highland Titles Company preserves on a much larger scale. As my son said said, "At least you know it's not a come-on, with the money lining someone's pocket. It's going to a good cause."
Hmmm. Lady of Glencoe. It rolls easily off the tongue, don't you think? Check out the Highland Titles Company at http://www.highlandtitles.com/

Scotland--a retrospective

As anyone who has been within shouting distance of me this spring knows, I have just returned from a trip to Scotland with my oldest son and daughter, Colin and Megan. It was an adventure, with what Colin describes as an "aggressive itinerary." We visited seven castles in seven days, not counting the ruin on Skye where I declined to get out of the car because it was too wet, cold, and windy. I have been driven over a good portion of the Highlands and walked more of the land than I expected (the natives call it the Hee-lands). I have climbed countless stairs and trudged up steep hillsides, amazing my children with my stamina and worrying myself with my breathlessness as I climbed. I have ridden on a small, six-car ferry across the Inner Sound, a double-decker sightseeing bus in Ediburgh, and held my breath while Colin negotiated a tiny one-lane twisty, curvy road high (and I mean really high) above a mountain valley (Colin lived in the Caribbean and quickly recovered his skill at right-hand drive; Megan navigated, with a few wrong turns, and they both had fun planning each day's outing). I ate all the salmon I could, both fresh and smoked, along with bangers 'n mash, haggis (twice, deliberately--with roasted onion and whisky gravy), and black pudding, which is really black. A confirmed white wine drinker, I sipped Scotch at distilleries and found some of it smooth and good, some harsh and burning. I know the difference now between a firth and a loch, and I've visited the 18th hole at St. Andrew's. I have a deeper appreciation of Scottish history, though I'd studied it some before, and, yes, Fran, I grieved at Culloden. I've learned that B&Bs can be fun places to meet really hospitable people. I also learned to trust Rick Steves and appreciate single-faucet sinks.
Scotland is a cold, rainy country but it is also lush and green, with amazing flower beds (even on tiny plots in front of houses with the front door almost on the sidewalk). Its hillsides are covered in the gold of broom, and its pastures are a lovely green, its cows and sheep shaggy to protect them against the wind that can be so cold, even in May, that you think your bones might break. Scottish cities, or the parts I saw, are old, with buildings crowded one upon another, the old-fashioned kind of duplexes with houses sharing common walls. The buildings are masonry with all kinds of turrets, dormers, bay windows, quoins and sunrooms--I think the Scottish build "conservatories" to take advantage of that small bit of sun. In short, Scotland is a wonderful land, and I loved it.
Colin and Megan did this trip for me--Colin planned the route, and Megan made all the B&B reservations, as well as researching places to eat. We stopped at as many pubs in small villages as we could and found excellent food, wine and ale at all. But I know that this trip was their gift to me. They have grown up knowing their mom wanted to visit Scotland (I am a registered member of Clan MacBean) and knowing I wouldn't go alone. So this winter, when Colin said "Let's plan it," Meg chimed in with "I want to go." So I am deeply grateful to them for a gift of love and caring. I'm also grateful to their spouses--Lisa and Brandon--who stayed behind and did child duty, and to Jamie and Jordan, the children who cheered us on. Colin and Megan both said they loved the trip, and I think they really did, but it was still a gift. And sharing quiet time with them was wonderful--we lingered over meals, laughing about old times, savoring our new adventures. What more could I ask for?
The kids suggested I do a daily blog about our trip, so I kept a journal, each night recording what we'd done that day. And I will begin that series of blogs in a day or two--depending on when Colin gets pictures to me. His are better, clearer, and more extensive than mine. They both have promised to comment and tell how it really was, as opposed to Mom's version. So if you have an interest in travel and/or Scotland, please do come back for the next week. I'll share everything from pub food to castle ruins to the MacBain Memorial Park. My memories of a wonderful week.

Appetizers and haggis

My daughter Jordan had a happy hour party for her girlfriends on her patio tonight and kindly invited Betty and me. Betty worried about her hairdo after a day of gardening, but I assured her the girls would never notice us old ladies. Everyone brings an appetizer--and there were some delicious things. Artichoke dip, cold cuts and cheese, a stunning vegetable tray, a casserole thing with tomato sauce over the top, a shrimp and pasta dip. We ate heartily--more than enough for dinner. Appetizers are, to me, a satisfying meal. I like a taste of this and a taste of that.
The other night I watched one of those chef face-offs on Food Network. This wasn't Iron Chef but a show called Chopped. Contestants, all established chefs, were given a basket of ingredients for each of three courses--appetizer, entree, and dessert. The requirement was that within 30 minutes they create a dish using all ingredients. The appetizer basket contained two items I remember clearly--some kind of fruity cereal loops (like Fruit Loops only not) and canned haggis. Robert Irwin, raised in England, knew about haggis though he balked at the fruit loops; Anne Burrell complained that it smelled like dog food. But they were innovative, making haggis pate and haggis patties, etc.
Haggis, in case you don't know, is a traditional Scottish dish, often piped in with great ceremony. Even Scots either love it or hate it. It basically consists of organ meats--liver, heart, lungs--mixed with spices and oatmeal--the steel-cut kind, not Quaker rolled oats) and baked inside a sheep stomach. I have tasted it--once, at a St. Andrew's dinner--and while it wasn't awful, I wasn't ready for seconds.
But I've heard that haggis, made fresh in Scotland, is a whole different thing and quite good. Hmmm--am I ready for that? If it comes in small servings, I'll probably try a bit. I know my kids won't touch it. What I'm really hoping to find in Scotland is kidneys and bacon for breakfast. Wonder if they have ketchup?

Searching for books and ancestors all at once

Writers bookshelves are supposed to be disorganized, aren't they? I don't think this one in my office is particularly bad, but I have searched through it for almost a week for one small book (small is the operative word here). Yes, there are other bookcases throughout the house, books everywhere if you will, but my gut told me the book I wanted was here. Jim Lee and I are presenting a program on Elmer Kelton in early April, and the book I wanted is about Elmer, written in the 1990s but still relevant in many ways. Most embarrassing: I wrote it. Well, tonight I finally found it and now have everything together for the program, I think. The book was tucked between two large books and had slipped to the back of the shelf. Now, on to other things.
In between searching for my book, I've been searching for my Scottish ancestors. I so want to make the link from the Candian family to those in Scotland. My dad believed that his great-great-grandfather was the grandson of Gillies McBean, a Highland hero who died in the Uprising of '46, fighting for Bonnie Prince Charlie. But I cannot get beyond William McBean, who was born in Scotland and died in Canada, which would fit with what Dad surmised. William insisted on going to war, and after his father bought him out twice, he let him go. William fought for the Crown in the War of 1812 and was rewarded with a land grant in Canada, presumably near Peterborough, the area where he died. That's how my branch of the family came to Canada. (The fact that Canadian geography is foreign to me except in the great big picture is not helping this at all.) Disconcertingly, I cannot determine for sure if William was born in Scotland or Ireland, but surely it was Scotland.
There are hints on Ancestry.com for other branches of the family--my grandmother, notably--and I'll pursue them. But I want to solve this MacBain puzzle first. Does seem however that those Scottish MacBains had a tendency to marry women from Ireland, so maybe I should be more passionate about claiming that side of my heritage.
My mother's family tree, as far as I can tell, is a dead end with my grandparents. She was German, and I never heard her express any interest in her ancestry. She loved German food but never served sauerkraut, because she'd been forced to eat it as a child. I was grown before I tasted it, and now I love it. I like German food a lot and am anxious to try real Scottish food in Scotland. Probably I'll pass on haggis, though I hear it's much better over there than what I tasted here once at a St. Andrew's Day dinner.
Ancestry.com is addictive, like Facebook and Twitter. My book on chili calls--I've finally straightened out some things that puzzled me--and I have a book on my desk to review. I did watch the Ancestry.com program, "Who Do You Think You Are?" tonight, but those seekers always have the help of genealogists and historians. I'm just bumbling along.

Searching for your roots

My friend Jeannie and my daughter-in-law Mel have both been tracing their family history on Ancestry.com. They are, to put it frankly, hooked. Mel suggested a couple of weeks ago I should hurry and do it so I'd have some knowledge before I go to Scotland, but I said I simply don't have time. Today though Jeannie said she could spend a couple of hours helping me search and find out if anyone had done the research before--if so, it would be there. Then tonight, I watched Rosie O'Donnell on "Who Do You Think You Are?" as she traced her roots back to a work house in Ireland during the potato famine. OK, now I want to know too. I have booklets on the MacBains, and I know we're descended from Gillies McBean who fought valiantly--and died--for Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden. Since I'm sort of between projects--two manuscripts off to publishers with more work to come, I know, but for now a breathing space--I guess I'll make that my project. I already know that the McBeans owned land near Inverness (tales vary but I gather it was a good bit of land) but lost it and were land-less or homeless for nearly two centuries. For a clan to be without land is a great disgrace and bans it from recognition by the Society of Clans. In the mid-twentieth century Hughston McBain of Chicago bought a small piece of the old family land, not nearly as much as he would have liked, but he allowed the clan members to once again hold up their heads. The McBain Memorial Park is on my must-see list in Scotland. And I know the homestead--sorry, no castle--is right there too. But I'm anxious to find out more. Jeannie has found she is descended from Robert the Bruce, and I told her that probably made us cousins but realized I was thinking of Gillies McBean, so I have to do some research. I've asked Jeannie to help me get started, but I'll pull out my dad's old files and see what I can find. I think most of the information I have is about the McBains (we spelled it MacBain) after they came to Canada. I'm intrigued. I remember writing a paper in, oh, maybe sixth grade, on how we are descended from MacBeth, a dubious honor that.
Had lunch with Jeannie today in a charming church converted to a bakery/restaurant. It was small but lovely and sort of soothing to eat in that atmosphere. We asked and found it had been a Christian Scientist church.
Spring is definitely here, though I doubt we'll continue to have today's temperatures in the mid-80s. I was actually a bit hot in the car with the top down. But this evening I spent some time planting two new herbs I bought--lavender for its smell and sage because it's pretty and does flavor dishes nicely--and scrubbing the first layer of winter grime off the porch. I'll go after it again tomorrow, in preparation for a porch party Sunday night for Jordan's birthday. Jordan manages to stretch a birthday out for a week, but she is my St. Patrick's baby without, as far as I know, a drop of Irish in her. The redbud is blooming, and the trees have that lovely light green of new growth, though I am still picking dead fall leaves out of the planter boxes. My fig tree hasn't come back but botanist Greg tells me I'm too impatient and it will come back when we have enough warmer weather. He trimmed some of the overgrown herbs and ivy that had survived the winter in pots on the porch, but I need new fountain grass. And a new spray nozzle--somehow winter always kills them, even with the water cut off.
Enjoy spring, everyone, and pray for a mild summer.

Scotland the Brave

Today I got two small booklets in the mail from James McBain, the chief of the clan and the McBain of MacBean. In case anyone missed it, my maiden name is MacBain, and I'm going to Scotland this spring. I had written the clan headquarters for directions to the MacBain memorial park outside Inverness, and they referred me to the chief. He sent cordial emails and said he would send me a booklet he'd written on the story of the clan from prehistory until the present. I can't wait to dig into it. He also sent me a booklet by his father, titled An American Scottish Chief. His father, Hughston (being a Texan I misspelled it as Houston) was Chief of the Clan when I was growing up in Chicago, and he used to talk on the phone to my dad about how they were related. I have a file of correspondence between the two after Dad retired to North Carolina. From a brief glimpse at that booklet, I see that the clan was without a chief and without land for about 200 years, not recognized among the clans of the Highlands. I gather Hughston brought it back to life, so I'm most excited to read these two books.
Spent some of the afternoon hyperlinking the short stories in Sue Ellen Learns to Dance back to the Contents page for the Smashwords edition--something they require for their "premium" catalog. It took me a bit to go back and figure out how to do that, although I'd already mastered linking the chapters to the content page. But it makes me proud when I can do it, so I'm gloating a bit tonight. We'll see if they accept it. I spend a lot of time revising my electronic books.  But in some ways Smashwords offers a much better product than Kindle. Just now I got word from Smashwords that the short story I've posted, free, The Art of Candle Dipping, has too many consecutive paragraph returns. Scarlet-like, I'm going to worry about that another day.
Tonight Betty and I had tapas at Sapristi, one of our favorite restaurants, and then I blew it--ordered chocolate mousse which I can rarely resist. Betty just watched me eat it, the wretch. Tapas were good--smoked salmon on toast, a skewer of chicken and mushrooms, Spanish torta (an egg and potato baked thing), dates baked in bacon, and endive filled with blue cheese, diced apple, and walnuts. A really good and healthy dinner if I hadn't had the mousse. But everyone's entitled to a splurge.

The best laid plans . . . .

I knew the quote but wasn't sure how to spell the last word. Google at first told me that it was "The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray." No, that's not how Roberts Burns wrote it! I knew the words but wasn't sure how to spell the last word. Good old Wikipedia came through. It's "The best laid plans of mice and men oft gang agley." That's it--agley! A wonderful word. I like the quote in the Scottish dialect so much better--but that's me and my heritage.
Anyway, that's what happened to the best laid plans of my local family today. I had Jacob last night (thank you, he didn't go to sleep until midnight and then had the audacity to wake up at 8:15 and tell me he was tired!). Christian was to come over, we'd put my new booster seat in my car, and take a trial run--I wanted company the first time, but there was nothing to it--except Jacob pushed the release button on the seat belt at a stop light! I guess if he does that to me, I'll just pull over as soon as I can.
We were going to go to Central Market, where I had shopping to do and Jacob and Christian could play in the playground. Wrong! It rained all day sometimes lightly, sometimes quite steadily. And that's what did in the rest of the plan. Jacob was to come back to my house for a nap, and then I was to take him home and make King Ranch supper for everyone. Christian was going to dig at the site of their big sprinkler system leak until he had to go to work, and Jay would go repair the pipe. Susan would go with me, and we'd have a jolly supper. Not so! Rain ruined all the gardening plans, Christian got bumped from his job because the patio was closed and they didn't need part-time waiters, and Susan was busy with her mother who fell and broke her pelvis a few days ago--plus Susan's sisters and various other relatives had arrived in town.
So Jacob went home for his nap (note my sigh of relief) and I did what any sensible person would do on a gray, rainy day like this--I read and napped, ate meatloaf for supper (so good!), and that's all I intend to do the rest of the evening. It's that old thing about we need the rain, in spite of a wet winter and spring, and I am grateful,, but . . . .
A first for me: I never wear my hearing aids at home unless I have company (Jacob, Jordan and Christian don't count) but tonight "Celtic Women" is on PBS, and I could hear the soloists but not the background music, especially the violins. So I put my hearing aids in, and the sound is so much richer. That haunting, lilting music really speaks to me. I often have the TV on as sort of background noise, but tonight I find myself looking up from my book to watch the singers. Their rendition of "Amazing Grace" was--no other word forit--amazing. I also particularly love the woman who skips and dances while playing the violin--I can't even rub my stomach and pat my head at the same time and though I took violin lessons as a child, I was dismal at it (a tin ear) and surely could never play and dance.Maybe someday I'll get to Scotland yet--in the meantime, I go there in my mind and through programs like this one.
PS: I just discovered tonight that when you brush your teetch with an electric toothbrush whle wearing hearing aids, the sound is incredible! Like the first time I ate a crunch dill pickle with those things in my ears!
Tomorrow? More rain!

Sushi and other stuff

Betty and I went for sushi tonight. We like to go to the Tokyo Cafe, where I am in a real rut--I order salmon sashimi, the appetizer portion of chicken yakitori, and the dinner salad, which has a slightly sweet dressing that I would dislike anywhere else but really like there. But they have a new chef, who's brought new ideas, and they got a great review in the newspaper, along with several recommendations for dishes I didn't know they had. So both of us branched out. I had the abalone tostada--an abalone salad (much like I'd make crab salad but with a real subtle kick of spice) on a fried wonton--absolutely wonderful. Betty had something with shrimp (she always does that, and I say she does it to spite me because I'm allergic) in an avocado half, which she declared was equally wonderful. Then we split a "Crunchy Roll"--salmon, scallions, cream cheese, and I don't know what in rice topped with panko crumbs to make it crunchy. Terrific! I particularly liked that the roll didn't have seaweed around it--I do try to be "trendy" but I don't like dealing with seaweed (texture, I guess, not taste) and I don't like seaweed salad.
Old age is fast creeping up on me. The latest sign was that I went to the podiatrist today to have my toe nails cut. If you'd told me a year ago that I couldn't cut my own toe nails, I'd have scoffed. But they get tough and thick, and I have one unmanageable nail--it grows so thick I can't cut it. He cut, trimmed, and generally cleaned up all my nails and my troublesome corn and told me to come back in two months. I remember a podiatrist friend who said if you can keep elderly feet comfortable you can keep patients happy and functioning. I think it's true, and I intend to take care of my feet, which I took for granted for too many years.
My Scotland trip is almost upon me, and I'm making practical plans all the time--someone to stay in the house, getting the sprinkler system repaired, animal care, etc. And I'm making travel plans--checking the medication supply, laying out clothes, etc. I've never been "across the pond" so this is a biggie for me--and one of the longest vacations I've taken. I have lots of mixed feelings--mostly excitement and anticipation, but a bit of anxiety that is accompanied by a wish that it would just get here so I could stop anticipating. I truly know that once I'm there I'll have a wonderful time, and I'm envisioning all kinds of happy scenes in ancient castles and on windswept coasts--okay, I'm a bit of a romantic!
Meantime, I can't settle down to much work, so I've given up the idea of serious writing for the next two weeks. And I've requested that Jordan and Christian come for a send-off dinner the night before I go--and maybe Jamie and his family. I feel about this trip like I do about my approaching 70th birthday--it's a big, once-in-a-lifetime deal!
This weekend TCU Press has its big springtime event--Books & Music in the Garden. We've got about 150 people registered, so I'm pretty excited. And I need to marshal my thoughts on that and not Scotland. Someone asked if it was being catered, and I replied, "Yep. Jeannie and me." Lots to be done.

Lame Mondays

You know people who party too hard on weekend and have a headache (read hangover) on Monday? Well, I have a limp on Mondays. I had noticed in the past that my right foot was occasionally really painful to walk on, but a little clinical observation has proved to me that it's always on Mondays after I've had a cooking weekend. This morning, after fixing two large dinners over the weekend, plus tending to a houseful of kids and grandkids, I could barely walk on that foot--and truth to tell, I felt achy and bruised all over. By mid-day I felt better, and by tonight I'm back to normal. But that soreness and limp are things about aging that I don't like to confront.

As a result, it was a quiet day. I came home a little before noon and did all kinds of household chores--laundry, emptied the dishwasher, put away dishes from dinner last night, etc. And took a long nap. Tonight I had dinner with good friends at a lovely small Italian restaurant, relaxing and fun, though I meant to have a salad and ended up with lasagne.

Now it's time to explore Scottish history some more. I've decided if I'm going to do a book on Scots in Texas I have to really grasp Scottish history, including the difference between Scots who came to America and Ulster-Scots, those who had migrated to northern Ireland or whose families had--it's a complicated story that I'm trying hard to understand.

Meanwhile, here's another grandkids picture. I can't resist!

Back aches and Scotland

Two posts in one day! It's because that Spam one was written a long time ago, and I just got around to emailing it to myself at work so I could post it--maybe I could do that at home, but if so, I haven't figured it out Next experiment.
But back aches and Scotland are on my mind. Sunday I did some weeding--not all that much, not like I worked for two hours or something. Probably ten minutes. But Monday morning my back ached a bit. I decided to work out anyway, which made my back ache more--but I remembered that old training thing about "work through the pain" and I persevered--up to a point. I didn't do as many toe touches--because they really made my back hurt--and I didn't ride the bike for as long. But I was in real pain all morning--getting up from my desk and that first step were really awful. After I got going it wasn't so bad. Much better today, and I have decided two things: "work through the pain" is a bunch of hooey, at least at my age, and I'm going to hire someone to do my weeding. Actually I have a good yard man--he just doesn't know what's a wildflower and a weed, so now I'm on a mission to teach him. But the thing about having a back ache that severe--or any other ailment that makes you think a lot about how you feel--is that you think of yourself as fragile. And that's a mentality to be defeated.
My Scotland explorations continue. Fred Erisman saw me through graduate school and a dissertation as my major professor, and he remains both good friend and mentor. When I told him about my insight into the similarities between the Scottish Highlands and the American Old West, he reminded me that Mark Twain blamed Sir Walter Scott for the American Civil War. Twain thought Scott's romanticization of chivalry and the code of honor and fighting inspired the South, which was, of course, mostly inhabited by people of Celtic descent. Makes sense to me.
Then today a new friend, a successful author of mysteries set in England, wrote me. She travels to England frequently and was once married to a Scotsman. She directed me to a book, some b&bs and the Braes. I finally had to write back, somewhat shamefacedly, and ask what the Braes are. But since I found it on google--a remote and wild area in the north of the Isle of Skye. I told Jeannie we have to go there and suggested instead of two weeks we should be spending three months in Scotland. Earlier that suggestion led Jeannie to offer to fly over with me, leave me, and come back three months later to get me. But I think I'd like to go to Skye and the Braes. There's just so much in Scotland that sounds intriguing!
Susan in my office responded to my tuna post with two recipes, one for creamed tuna on toast. I tried creamed chicken last night--didn't have milk but made a sauce of chicken broth (that good organic kind that comes in a box) and white wine, added green peas and a bit of thyme. Put it on sourdough toast, and it made a tasty dinner. Tonight, because it had thickened, I added some sour cream--still very good.
Got to get to work on revising the cookbook.

Scotland on My Mind

When my kids were little, they listened to Neil Diamond tapes endlessly--those old eight-tracks--on cross-country trips, and to this day they can sing most of his songs, including "Georgia on My Mind." But these days it's not Georgia but Scotland that's on my mind. We've made our reservations, and I've paid for business-class tickets--a hefty investment, but, hey, this is a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Today I went through the photo and application process to renew my out-of-date passport. I'm really going to Scotland!
I've been reading How the Scots Invented the Modern World, a fascinating book that taught me a lot of Scottish history and made me believe that without the Scots we would be primitive intellectually and morally. I really have learned a lot. But last night, reading about Sir Walter Scott, I was struck by a comparison. In graduate school, my dissertation was on the development of the myth of the American West, the ways in which our mythologized and romantic view of the West shaped out whole sense of ourselves as a nation--we still either glory in it or suffer from it, depending on your view of the wannabe cowboy in the presidency.
The Scottish Highlands were for centuries considered rough and uncultured territory. Kilts were "barbaric frummery" and were at one point outlawed. But for an 1815 visit to Scotland by the Prince of Wales, tartan kilts turned up on civic officials who only twenty years earlier would not have been caught dead in them. The difference had been rendered by the novels of Sir Walter Scott, who rescued Highland culture "from the rubbish heap of history" and made it respectable. He gave it a panache that has made us identify Scotland by the Highlands ever since.
Scots who came to America in the 19th century found a similar land in the American West: inaccessible, governed by tribal warriors, about to be displaced by the forces of progress. Until the novelists and the artists got hold of the American West, it was often dismissed as a rough land, uncivilized, needing only to be conquered and civilized. But then novelists like Owen Wister (The Virginian) and artists like Charlie Russell and Frederic Remington saw the imaginative possibilites of the American West. They mythologized it, and it became the symbol of American virtues and strength--courage, fearlessness, strength, determination, a certain willingness to endure hardship, and a large dose of heroics. Those are pretty much the virtues of the Scottish Highlander too--our heroes wear buckskin; Scottish heroes wear kilts. Either is, to most modern minds, outlandish. Wister, Russell and Remington did for the American West what Sir Walter Scott did for the Highlands. And both myths endure to this day.
It might be a bit much to draw parallels between the Highland Clearances in the 19th century, with the potato blight, and the removal of Native Americans to reservations and the disappearance of the buffalo that sustained their way of life--still, the thought lingers.
And where do I most want to go when I go to the United Kingdom? London? Edinborough? Nope, you've got it--the Highlands. I want to go to Inverness, where's there's a MacBain Memorial Park, and to St. Bean's Kirk at Fowlis Wester, north of Inverness, where early MacBains are buried. And I'll find the homestead, no longer in the family but still standing. I haven't read Scott in years, but maybe I should again.

Babysitting and Baby Love

I babysat with Jacob last night, and he had a hard time going to sleep. He'd fuss, then he'd cry, then he'd be quiet, and I thought I was home free. Then he'd start through that litany of sounds again, and I held my breath. But after 20-25 minutes, all was quiet, and I thought he was asleep. Well, he probably was for about 45 minutes, and then he awoke screaming--I was on the phone with my brother. When I went into his room, poor little Jacob sobbed and held his arms up to be picked up. Well, discipline and good habits be darned, who could resist that? So I picked him up, and he clung to me like I was the last and only port in a terribly scary storm. I sat in the rocker and talked to him, and soon he was asleep--a great snuffly sleep because his nose is still stuffy from whatever attacked him earlier in the week.
Grandmothers have to realize--and it's hard--that we aren't the primary people in our grandchildren's lives. It's not the same as when we had children, and they instinctively turned to us--we were the anchors in their world. Grandchildren turn to their parents in the same way, and since I'm usually around my grandchildren and their parents at the same time--after all, they live far and I love the parents' company too--I'm not alone with the babies. So it's probably been over 30 years, when Jordan was a baby, since I've had a warm little body press itself against me in that kind of desperate hold. I've got to admit I loved it. I rocked him long after he'd gone to sleep, probably at least 30 minutes--and friends will tell you I'm not one to sit in a chair and rock for thirty minutes. But that warm, snuffly little body was snuggled into me. When I did finally put him in his crib, he cried, but I patted his back and he went to sleep.
Of course, he woke up about 1:30--the monitor was still in my bedroom, though Jordan later moved it. So I went to check on him. This morning Christian said he too checked on him. I laughed and said Jacob would figure out that if he cried in the night he'd get a parade of people into his room. But babysitting was a lovely event last night.
Here it is September, and we're not going to Scotland until April, but we're already shopping. I bought some shoes today--Jeannie insists they must have good arch support because we're going to walk a lot--and a hat (Scotland can be cold in April apparently). And I found a fling and a corduroy shirt that I want for the trip--I'm going to blow my budget on clothes beforehand and not have any left for the trip! I've also been exploring the web to find b&bs near Loch Ness. I guess planning is half the fun. Jeannie, on the other hand, worried most about tickets. Being a former flight attendant and the wife of a retired pilot, she flies on miles all the time and knows the ins and outs, mostly, of reservations--I don't give it a thought. But she insisted we figure it out yesterday, and we did. She's flying miles and I'm buying a ticket business class (don't ask!) but as of yesterday we are both ticketed. I'm really getting excited about this. Doing lots of reading about Scottish history and the MacBain clan. I even paid my clan dues, as though it would make me legitimate.