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.

How will you age?

My friend Charles is 92. A year ago he was running the streets of his Fort Worth neighborhood and riding his bike, although he hung up his car keys voluntarily a couple of years ago. Today he spends much of his time in a nursing home bed, but he gets out--oh, boy, does he get out. He goes to the Unitarian church, and friends pick him up; then they all go to lunch afterward. He goes to lunch on Wednesdays at the Black-Eyed Pea with a church group, and today he and his youngest son had lunch at the Swiss Pastry Shop which he loves. Tonight I took him to a local bistro that serves mussels, which he remembers eating as a very young child. He told me several times how much he was looking forward to the evening, and enjoy he did.. He ate a small serving (looked pretty big to me) of mussels in Italian sauce (wine, cream and pesto)--I tried my first mussel and thought it was neither good nor bad but not something I'd order. Then he had a crab cake, and I could tell he was only avoiding dessert because of my diet, so we finally compromised on chocolate mousse with two spoons. He ate 3/4 of it, while I happily took a few bites and ate the raspberries. When I asked if he was going to have wine, he said, "Oh, yes, that's part of the meal I'm looking forward to." He savored every bite, eating slowly and enjoying--something I should learn to do. I should mention that he arrived with his mouth set for crab cakes but they weren't on the menu--I too wanted crab cakes but the waitress said they had only one left from yesterday, so I gave it to him. I ate Caesar salad and steak tartare. We had a lovely evening, teasing each other as longtime friends will do, and when I took him back to the retirement center he guarnteed me he'd be asleep in an hour. I enjoyed the evening, doubly because he enjoyed it so much. But it made me thinnk--I want to age like Charles. Even though he now uses a walker, confesses that he's gotten clumsier, and refers to himself as disabled, he has an absolute zest for life and thoroughly enjoys the string of visitors who come and go from his room. Obviously they enjoy him too, and except for moments of forgetfulness--he called me last night to ask if we'd missed our date and I explained it was tonight--he's as lucid and brilliant as he always was, one of the smartest men I ever knew. I want to age like Charles.
Funny thing, but when I go to the retirement home to see him I keep running into some old acquaintances who now live there. One said tonight, "I wish we could get you down here,"and I said, "I enjoy my house too much." I guess I made a faux pas because when I walked in I saw a woman I know, we spoke, and I asked if she was working there. "No," she said, "I live here now." Charles laughed when I told him the story.
But on a sad note, we lost a good friend who died last night, a surgeon who had been my ex-husband's senior partner and who, when I was left alone with four children, kept a close watch to see that we were all okay. We've remained friends over all those years, and I lunched frequently with his wife. She was the one who called this morning to give me the news. Charles says he wants to go to the memorial service, so I'll go pick him up Monday morning.
I realize, with some shock, that all that is not that far away for me--twenty years, and I'll be Charles' age. I truly hope to do it gracefully, as a joy to my family and not a burden. But I know it ain't easy.