Kilt Me!

My Great Grandfather's Ship

(Mattie J. Alles, built 1883, Yarmouth, Maine, Collection of John C. Goodwin.)

This is a photo of my great grandfather's ship, the Mattie J. Alles. He was captain until he sold her in 1927 and he sailed up and down the East coast carrying lumber and other goods.  His name was Captain Leonard B. Wallace, and while he was not known to be a kilt wearer, he did sport his Wallace tie.

 

Kilted Hammer Throw

Another great illustraton by Donna Mehalko. We're laying out our book proposal, and the illustrations are looking fantastic!  I should have it ready for an agent soon.

Mustering the Courage

When I walk into Doc Holidays without a kilt on I get scowls, yells, chastisement, and general attacks on my person.  It’s been a bloody cold winter though, so on more than one occasion I’ve stumbled into the bar bundled up in pants, sweaters, and scarves to keep out the chill.

“Where’s your fucking kilt!” the bartender screamed the last time I walked in, and I just shook my head. I didn’t have an excuse, and I didn’t know what to say. 

“I’m having it cleaned.  I spilled too much beer on it the last time I was here,” I mumbled, and she was kind enough to pour me a drink anyway. 

The truth is, that sometimes I just don’t have the energy.  When I’m feeling down, a little tired, and not tough enough to take on the stares of strangers, I throw on my jeans and walk out of the house.

Today I’m reminded that putting the kilt on and holding my head up high is often just what I need, no matter how low I’m feeling.  The smiles I get inspire me more than the laughter and head shaking, and the blues just slip away with each step. 

When I walk into the bar tonight, I’ll get smiles and hugs, and most of all, I’ll feel just that much better about the world.

 

No Idea What's Going on Here...

And The Wallace Tartan...

A Question of Honor?

"Are you, like Scottish or something?"

I looked down at her—she was twenty-two and blonde—and the hair rose on the back of my neck. It was a question I'd heard a thousand times and it wasn't one simply answered. She wasn't asking where I was from, and she wasn't just wondering who I was. She was questioning my right. She was assessing my honor and my claim to wear the tartan. In her little voice, stood a challenge. I stood up tall and smiled at her. I took a deep breath and it all poured out. 

"All around the world men have worn kilts with honor and pride. They've fought and hunted and danced and sang. From England, Ireland and Scotland, to Rome and ancient Greece, the kilt has been a symbol of power and strength.  

“I am the great grandson of Captain Leonard B Wallace who sailed the schooner known as the Matty J Alice. I come from a long line of pirates and thieves, nobles and merchants, and my family goes back over one thousand years.”

There was a moment of confusion in her eye as she took it all in, and I wondered, just for a moment, if I misunderstood. Was it possible she was thinking something else entirely? Before I could say anything her head went down and her eyes looked up. They were pretty and blue and her smile was coy as she put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. 

"It's totally hot."