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An Old Story: My Mom met my her future husband on a blind date that I'd arranged. When they met he had an entirely different last name than the one he currently uses. It wasn't a very attractive name. It also wasn't his birth name. It was the name he'd been given after an adoption from his stepdad. When Papa Bear and my Mom decided to wed, they agreed on changing their last name to something entirely new. Or maybe the better term would be "recycled." They decided to use Papa Bear's original last name, one of deep Scottish origin.
The wedding was gorgeous. There were bagpipers and men in kilts. The women wore Celtic dresses and my Mom shouldered a sash in their clan colors. Papa Bear was a bit lost before he met my Mom, a military man with no purpose outside a government job. That day he gained a family and a passion. In researching his heritage, he became aware of himself in ways he'd never thought of before. Suddenly, he had a history. He dove into his Scottish lineage, practicing the art of ax throwing. This is what led us to the Scottish Highland Games on Saturday.
Scottish Highland Games:
Since this was to be a family event, all participants wearing kilts were required to wear undergarments. I would have hated to be the person in charge of checking.
Papa Bear, counting the paces from target to throwing line. This was the first year he ever competed. He got second place.
Hoop, trying his hand at ax throwing. He was beat out by the man who won first place.
Mmmm, Spotted Dick. Get your heads out of the gutter. It's just sponge pudding.
Hoop's view from the car. Lovely.... The little shit.
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19 comments
19 Comments:
Highland Games - how crazy and fun!
No Hoop conversations came out of that wackiness? :)
Sneaky picture.
SPOTTED DICK???? And it's SPONGE PUDDING???? What on earth is sponge pudding? Wait, maybe I don't want to know....
I am still choking over the can reading Spotted Dick.
WTH is that? Sponge pudding even sounds slightly crude, but it might be because the label put my mind into the gutter...
Second place at axe throwing? Hoop is definitely a keeper.
Chris: I'm sure there were some great "Hoop Conversations" in the mix, but unfortunately there were so many things going on this weekend I forgot them. I know, I'm ashamed.
Gradual Gardener and Emily: I have NO idea. Evidently it's a Scottish thing. Along with Haggis, a pudding made from sheep heart and lungs. Bleh.
TB: Papa Bear got 2nd place. Poor Hoop didn't place at all. But he was beat out by the guy who eventually won first place. Somehow that fact makes him feel better. :)
First of all Hoop? Hot.
Second of all, does Papa Bear chew? I'm so used to that little lip bulge (I said LIP!). Shouldn't you all be giving up tobacco?
And third, where's the not-smoked cigarrette count? Please don't tell me you fell off the boat!
Spotted Dick! LOL! You should send that in to Maxim's "Found Porn" section.
I love the pics -- the one of Papa counting the paces is great...he looks lost in thought. And the one of you is awesome. :)
Up in my area we have a large transplanted Irish population, so we see all the weird Heinz atrocities (mushy peas, anyone?). I've never tried the spotted dick, but I'm a big fan of the McVities biscuits.
There was a version of the Highland Games held in Pennsylvania that was even broadcast on local cable. They had a haggis-eating competition, caber tossing (like throwing an extra long telephone pole, after lifting it from its base to chest-level). It was pretty amazing. Did you compete in anything, or just watch?
Sounds like you had a fun and interesting weekend! I am notusre if I would eat a pudding called "spotted dick" too strange!
Mignon: Papa Bear doesn't chew, but he does have a habit of poking out his lips when he's concentrating. Hoop sticks out his tongue. I'm hoping I have a shot of that on the other camera :). Oh and...
$28.00 Saved. 145 Cigarettes not smoked.
I've been trying not to think about it as much. It seems to be helping. We're still doing good, despite our dingy and stressed-out moments.
Mama T: Good idea! I'll let Hoop send it in since he's the one that ahem... spotted it first.
Mrs. Harridan: I was too chicken to compete. These people take the contests VERY seriously. But it was really neat to watch.
GB: Hence the reason why I didn't buy it. Although we considered getting it for a gag Christmas gift.
Great job on the no ciggies!
Did the guys in kilts walk across a mirror on the floor? Thats how I was told they "check" for undies. What a fun job that would be..."Papa Bear, you will need to walk across again. NOt sure I could tell...."
Hoop with an ax. Scary.
We have friends who throw an informal party like this every year, but they call it "Scottish Fest." The guys wear kilts and engage in feats of strength & fighting. It's quite amusing.
Thanks for clearing up the spotted dick mystery. I've seen it at the store and always wondered about it. :)
Looks like fun! I have MacNiel na Bara and MacCallum blood and the full Scots build and temperament. But sadly, most of the scottish societies don't want much to do with mutts like me ;) Actually, I might do OK with the MacNiels - they are a bunch of pirates... ah, privateers, I mean... anyway. In the games, think the caber toss or hammer throw would be more my forte.
Thanks for the Dose of Tink! You rock.
"His tail was nothing more than a bleeding stump."
So sad...
This sounds like a lot of fun. The week before my husband and I got married, he told an Italian guy in our neighborhood, "I'm becoming Italian next week." I always liked that sentiment, and so now I consider myself a little bit Scottish (like my hubby), as well.
Sounds like Hoop and Papa Bear did really well!
Papa Bear is adorable in his Scottish threads-- Congrats to him on his Silver!
When's he gonna take up caber-tossing?
mmmm....spotted dick.....
I can't believe there is such a product out there-never heard of such a thing.
I'm not going to say it for sure, but I've read my fair share of Maxim and I'm pretty sure I saw "spotted dick" in there pretty recently actually. Sorry Hoop.
Spotted dick sounds like something you'd bring back from Tijuana after a reenactment of one of those gratuitous adolescent male coming-of-age movies. I ate a Mexican Bimbo once, but that was sponge cake.
I used to live in Glasgow, KY, and part of the price of admission into the high school band was a willingness to wear a kilt. We grew up tough, did the band geeks of Glasgow. Balls enough to show up and do a half time show at an away game in by-God Tompkinsville wearing a kilt?? F'geddaboudit.
Yessiree Bob. We learned pretty quickly that a trumpet mouthpiece worked just about as well as a roll of nickels, when you needed something to wrap your fist around for the inevitable post-show concession stand brawl with the locals.
Anyway, we growed up tough, and we growed up proud. Proud enough that I took a real interest in finding out if I had some Scottish blood so that I could sign up with the right clan at one of the Scottish Games that were held annually at the state park. Sadly, when I was older and started shaking my family tree, all that fell out were Germans, Alsatians, and an anomalous Luxembourger.
When I got married a few years ago, I lobbied for the privilege of wearing the full Scottish kit for my formal attire. Request denied. Maybe I should have worn liederhosen.
Yeah... that woulda showed 'er.
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