Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Kilt.

      -noun; a costume sometimes worn by Scotchmen in America and Americans in Scotland.

        Obviously it's the latter I'm talking about here--to get in touch with my Scottish heritage.

                                                                 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
                                                                 My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
                                                                 A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
                                                                 My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

                                                                           -Robert Burns


Scotland is such a pretty place. Green everywhere. Endearing accents everywhere. Friendly people everywhere. Basically, happiness to be found everywhere.



According to my family history, I'm practically royal. Mary Queen of Scots is (or was?) my great, great, great, greattttt-something grandmother, ergo you could say I'm kind of a big deal.

I'm totally kidding. But seriously, I felt a deep kinship to this place. The name Walker was everywhere and considering I spent my entire life relentlessly being told I came from outer space (the UFO one), I found comfort and identity being among my true people.
                          
                                             .........You can excuse my obvious exaggeration.


I just really did have a lot of fun. Especially when Blake & Ramzi were man enough to embrace their inner-Mel Gibson/William Wallace and when I got to see my resemblance to the nine-month-old grandmother queen.









(the Edinburgh Castle.)



We also had the opportunity to stop in New Lanark, a cotton mill of the 18th, 19th, & 20th centuries. I toured the factory, their small homes, learned of the conditions of daily life. It was an eye-opener. And to think that even this, which appeared pretty bleak to my vain eyes, was the utopia that people of the working class status could only dream of being so fortunate of arriving to (thanks to the philanthropoist Robert Owens). Small one-bedroom homes for a family of six children. Working hours of 5am-8pm. A childhood spent not playing, but working. Crazy. But I didn't mean to turn this into a history lesson...


As the Scottish say, aye.




P.S. I should mention that these aren't my pictures. Thanks, Brenden!

2 comments:

Lauren said...

Incredible photos! And I just cant get over what an incredible adventure you are on. ...or what an incredible writer you are. Or how incredibly darling you are, Miss Royalty.

Love you and miss you, so INCREDIBLY much.

Vicki said...

Hello my adventurous AP English child whom I miss terribly and who absolutely cracks me up! I am enthralled with these posts of yours. (and laughing at your reference to Nick Lachey--have you no pride?) Honestly I am blown away by this adventure of yours. Just be prepared to work like those Scotish children when you get home to pay me back...!haha