A lone piper plays a sad air on the edge of
the central green.
I never knew my grandfather Kelso. He died a few short months before
I was born. As such the Scottish traditions in my family were never as
prevalent as they were on my dad's side — the English. So a couple of
years ago I decided to try to connect with the Scot side of me. As such
I have intended to go to the Spokane Highland Games for several years
now. But two years ago I figured that I wasn't in good enough physical
shape to spend time walking around several hours at the Games. Last
year, after my valve surgery, I felt up to it. But having another surgery
scheduled in just a few weeks I decided to pass it by in 2011 also.
But this year I finally went. It was an incredible feeling when I arrived
and, walking the few blocks across the parking area, heard the bagpipes
in the distance.
I wasn't able to stay as long as I would have liked to — several of my
medications don't mix well with bright hot sunlight. But I did see a
number of athletic events — the men's weight throw and hammer throw,
and the women's caber throw. And I spent some time listening to the
various bagpipe and drum bands rehearsing for the day's competition.
Next year, I'm wearing a kilt. In spite of my skinny legs.