First I must apologize for taking so long. This entry is meant to describe events which took place a month ago now. [Plus a few more weeks by the time I finished this entry!]

It seems I failed to record in advance the band's plan to put on a traditional Scottish Burns Night as a fundraiser. The concept's a standard in some places, but to our knowledge it had never been done in this town. Well, we did it, packing the local Elks' Club with a sell-out crowd: success. As a brother of mine pointed out, there's nothing going on here in late January to compete with it. (Yes, the Cornells showed up; I knew they wouldn't be afraid of haggis.)

The occasion, of course, officially commemorates Robert Burns, known as Scotland's national poet. The more literate may recall perhaps his two most famous lines, which I might quote if this project wasn't so far behind: One literally about a mouse, the other a louse (with lessons drawn for us humans). Besides dinner, our production included a dancing outfit I didn't know much about, plus pipes & drums from out of town to bolster our little band. We imported a few other guys to help out, including the MC, who it seems in fact was born in Glasgow. (He surprisingly asked if I was wearing the Black Stewart tartan; I don't think my Old Sutherland looks much like it.)

I'd previously offered the use of a basket-hilted sword from my disorganized collection of archaic weapons & exotic blades, having learned one was needed for the requisite ceremony. Well, just this day I found out that the gal who was going to carry it wouldn't, since the old member who was going to lend her his kilt reneged for some reason--so our management asked Yours Truly to "guard" the haggis being paraded in. (Some of us agreed this wouldn't be hard--who'd try stealing this stuff?) My name had already been printed in the program for this segment, anyway. Thus, when our pipe major came out playing, our pipe sergeant following with a haggis tray, I marched behind them holding my sword, which wasn't sharp anyhow. We stood at the head table while the MC recited Burns' famous address to Scotland's national food. Didn't realize this performance meant I'd be slugging down a shot of whisky. (I like booze in general but am not a Scotch drinker & don't take most liquor straight; it wasn't as big a deal as all that, except that I wasn't careful to drain the glass at once--& then there was the acquaintance "cheering" me on from my family's table.)

Stayed into the evening but had to leave early, evidently missing the fancier piping heard there afterwards. My main point, however, is this: Haggis ain't half bad.