The Silver Screen Oasis

It's here, it's here that bestest time o' year!
I'm off for the the New Hampshire Highland Games, the biggest annual Scottish cultural event in the Northeastern US!
THREE SOLID DAYS in me kilt!!
Och aye, I love it fair & fast, I do!
Marching, music, whisky, fellowship, pomp & circumstance, heavy athletics . . . flashing collies herding frantic sheep, savory-crisp bridies on a frosty morning, tartan blazing amongst the Autumn foliage where'er ye look . . . . and the PIPES - ohhhhh, the Pipes!!
I'll see ye, tired & happy, come Monday Noon!
Slainte!

Watch that cable toss, MacKlondike. But have fun.

I see you're online so I guess no one got hurt.

Here's a link from a movie that might help put you in the mood

Well, there was no bodily impact, I can confirm that much, Chris.
But there was this:
At one point between toasts # 9 & 10 on Saturday at the Governor's Lodge top deck, a strappin' big, young kinsman of Clan MacPherson brought me over a tall, frosty beer, and when I inquired after his generosity, he informed me it was from sympathy - as he'd just learned that day that the MacIntyres were in-laws of the Campbells [typical, juvenile interclan cheap-shot].
When the laughter from the MacPherson table subsided, I appropriated a smoldering cigar from the Clan Boyd shriner standing to my right, dropped it into the proferred beer (still in the dude's hand), and suggested that I'd wait if he wanted to swap his kilt for a pair of britches. When my antagonist asked why he should be wearing pants, I informed him that it would be far less embarrassing for him when a fat old man kicked his bahookie down three flights of stairs. Upon hearing this, Mr. MacPherson angrily hurled the glass of ash-polluted beer to the deck between my feet, soaking my glenfinnans & wool hose. What he didn't figure on was that the bagpipe quartet drinking at the next table were all police officers, volunteer firemen, army vets & master masons, and before he could get a really good grip on my weskitt, they'd rendered the irritable young fella horizontal, and, one man hoisting each limb, trucked him right off to the security station down at the parade ground.
When I asked the red-faced clansmen at the MacPherson table if they were going to pay for my stained socks, or if I should just write to their chief in Scotland for recompense, I really wasn't at all serious, and yet three $10 bills were quietly collected and sheepishly handed over.
I used most of that loot to buy a round for the fire-guys when they returned - seemed like the right thing to do.

I'm just glad no shots were fired.

movieman1957 wrote:I'm just glad no shots were fired.

Oh, one must never shoot a Highlander - it makes them very angry!

Klonnie,

Me darlin', one of these days we really must meet and a hoist a few together. Coach Vic would like that and so would I.

Och aye, Lass, twul be a boon o' the saints to parse a quaich o' uisge bheah wi' ye.
Lot of country 'tween Lost Wages & the Venice of Vermont, but eventually we'll sit down around a steaming plate of poutin on work-worn formica somewhere, solve the problems of life, then kill a bottle in the name of the Ancestors . . .
'Til then, watch for me in the Dreamtime - often I like to cruise my '55 Pontiac convertible up the PCH; just dress like Susan Hayward for a long beach holiday . . . sooner or later, I'll spot ya.

I had to go reread your last sentence I was afraid you were dressing like Hayward to drive your Pontiac. But Lynn as Susan Hayward, hmmmm, I like it.

I'm more built for Marjorie Main's wardrobe, Chris.
But thanks for a good hearty laugh before bedtime, my friend!

I looked up the games online, curious to know what you were up to! It looks like quite an event and you must be exhausted - did you take the rest of the week off to recup? I'm happy for you that you to got to go celebrate heritage with your clansmen. B

Hey, Birdy!
Sorry to be getting back to you so late.
Thought you'd enjoy watching an imbed from YouTube on last year's first-ever global Clan Gathering in Edinburgh.
(My paternal clan appears @ the 1:56 mark.)

[youtube][/youtube]

Klon,

Me darlin'm I wish I looked like Susan Hayward but you would you settle for a blonde Milly Natwick-type?

Och, sold American, Friend; Mildred has melted my heart in every film I've seen her in, as has Annie Revere & Flora Robson - there's just something about the way their hearts peep out through their eyes, as though their souls were ever on tiptoe, just behind the windowsill of their jawlines . . . somehow, when the human spirit's painted with just that tint of patience & defiant hope, it lends one an aura of grace . . .
Myself, I try my darn'dest to look like Torin Thatcher, or a young Finlay Currie, in the Dreamtime . . . but stare at my profile too hard, and the glamor evaporates away, revealing a resemblence to Jerry Garcia, or Dan Haggerty, depending on the light . . .