Thought for the day

Is ghostwriting the new writing?

"In every dram, there's a different story." - Tom Morton

I've been looking forward to the Inverness Book Festival for ages now, and tonight's kickoff did not disappoint. Tom Morton is a Radio Scotland dj who I've been listening to for awhile now. (Check out his radio program on the link - eclectic taste, like on an old mix tape) He wrote a book called Spirit of Adventure about spending six weeks motorcycling around Scotland to various distilleries - I look forward to reading it. The small crowd was lively, and I was thankfully not the only person flying solo - I'll go to anything solo, but this felt odd as three wee drams were included in the £5 price - felt a bit like a boozer, but nevermind.
Editor's Note: If you're not a whisky person, skip this posting. It will bore you.

Morton played songs, told stories and read poems - my favorite kind of book festival event. We began with a dram of Glenmorangie, which I now know how to properly pronounce. Apparently, the word means 'great big field'. I like this whisky, it's got a sweet, light finish. While enjoying our first dram, Morton played a song called "Three Whites and a Goldie", based on the story of how distilleries used to have a difficult time keeping staff, so they added some perks to the job: three 'whites', or whisky at about 60% alcohol, and a 'goldie', a dram - free during and after the job. Best line from the song: "It's the story of a tiny country with a great big thirst." This led us to a poem taking us through the alphabet with words synonymous with 'inebriated'. Brilliant. He did the same later, with a song including the A-Z of distilleries.

Next was a dram of Laphroaig, one of my old faves, a peaty, zingy glass of love. Morton said (joked?) that this was the only spirit allowed into America during Prohibition, as no one believed it was drinkable. And we ended with Ardbeg, which I'd never had before and I enjoyed. It's got a peaty kick, but the finish - my mouth was buzzing. Fabulous.

You can't live in the Highlands and ignore whisky. It's everywhere - in the sauces at restaurants, on special at the supermarket, in the hand of half the people in any given bar. Morton, and any whisky connoisseur, speaks of the sense of place in each dram. It's a nice thought, especially coupled with the cozy surroundings of a country pub or the exhilaration from the top of a Munro - wonderful times to have a dram. Slainte.

When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it happened or not. - Mark Twain

I (heart) birthdays, especially my own. Earned laziness is always a positive thing. So I wake up this morning, Matt's got a lovely array of treats laid out on the kitchen table, including the coolest thing I've seen in a long time: a Selk Bag! Which is basically a twofold pressie: I'm warm, and the heating bills are low. It's Scotland, people. Maybe they make them in white and sequins for my wedding dress.
I've always felt that tiaras and hats should be worn by birthday persons all day, to ensure they receive rock star/princess treatment by everyone they encounter. Examples: I wouldn't have had to wait for 20 minutes in the post office queue; I'd have received a free cake at the place where I bought myself soup for lunch; I'd get a smile rather than a growl from the checkout lady at Tesco. This is a similar vein to Seinfeld's idea that the world wear nametags.

Age is such a weird thing. I was obsessed with it in my 20s, and now it just doesn't matter that much, except when magazines titter on about multiple house ownership and ovaries shriveling up. And in the Long List of Things One Wants to Accomplish - things to do before you're 25, 30, dead, etc. Is age a mindset or an expected group of behavioral traits? I think it can be both. I don't get upset when I see Cher in a barely-there dress or Madonna gyrating or Demi Moore marrying a guy who could be her kid. If you've worked for it, if you've got it, use it, sister. It's about time women got to behave as badly as (some) men do.

Which leads me to Sarah Palin. I've been sent a blog that contains some of the most inspiring words from women voters all over America and around the world. For all those thousands of people who have become enchanted by Palin's Palin-ness, thousands aren't falling for it - which makes me feel better about the mental state of my compatriots. Some of my male friends don't understand the big deal with this choice of VP candidate; this blog might explain some of these issues. Yes, it's about being pro-choice and pro-environment, but it's far deeper than that. Also read this, which is a brilliantly written piece.

The sky at 7:30 am...I do love the Highlands.

AMERICANS: REGISTER TO VOTE. (Absentee ballot deadline: OCTOBER 4)

Finally, the Other Quote of the Day:
Thirty five is a very attractive age; London society is full of women who have of their own free choice remained thirty-five for years. - Oscar Wilde

Once the grammar has been learned, writing is simply taking on paper and in time learning what not to say. - Beryl Bainbridge

I've always loved September, not least because it's my birthday month. The scent of new school supplies and the stacks of textbooks in bookshops give me a weird, inexplicable buzz. I've begun tutoring a couple of local girls who need help with their English Highers exam (sort of the Scottish A-level) and it's been great teaching literature again after years of working with ESL students. One of the girls is reading The Alchemist, which I hadn't read in years and have loved rediscovering. That book gets such an undeserved bad rap from the intellectual set. It's a simple fable, but a lovely story and a wonderful book to explore with an 18-year-old about to embark on the rest of her life. I recently took a collection of Coelho's nonfiction writings, Like the Flowing River , from the library and devoured it - it's a fantastic read that resonates with the Polyanna mentality that I am inclined to channel. It touches on his relationship with Brazil, gratitude, challenges, politics, spirituality, bravery, personal legends - it's a beautiful way to spend a few lazy hours.

Inverness has been settling into the early autumn. The sand at Falcon Square has disappeared (hurrah!) and the Halloween tat has engulfed the store windows. Christmas card sellers began sitting at a table on the high street a week ago. And the weird and wonderful Highland festivals have begun. My favorite I happened upon a few Sundays ago, when a loud parade of vehicles towing people in fancy dress seated in boats drove through the streets of the city center (to the chagrin and grumbles of my neighbors). An hour or so later, the boats and inebriated sailors floated past the Greig Street Bridge, which I can see from our front windows. By the time I found the camera, I missed the more elaborate designs and had to settle for these guys, who were scream-singing a Glasgow Celtic song to mixed applause from the (not so huge) crowd assembled on the bridge.
The Highland Feast festival has apparently taken place throughout September, but other than a fantastic food market the first Saturday of the month (which always happens), I'm yet to realize the significance of this well-marketed festival - basically for lack of the £40+ it takes to attend an event. Other Septemberings include a comedy show, a ceilidh with the young doctors of the Inverness area, a few curry meals, and reacquainting myself with how to properly paint a wall. Exhilirating work. Got in some more driving practice. Please note that though I have been driving for more than half my life, I have to learn 480 pages of a book of weird words and ridiculous laws (there are pelican, penguin, puffin and giraffe crosswalks in Britain) and it's doing my head in. And those damn roundabouts! I think I might take my practical test in Matt's village that has one traffic light and no roundabouts.
The above is a view of the Kessock Bridge and Inverness from a beautiful tree-filled forest walk. I'm a city girl, and when I get broody for a bit of grit and filth and noise I remind myself of places like this that are a short drive away. And, below, a view of the Highlands from the Black Isle.
Book is finished; revising has begun. I'm loving the new story, and I know it's infiltrating my head as I'm always thinking about it while doing other things. Letting go of the book in its past incarnation wasn't difficult. Balancing the elements of story, character, plot, description and the nuances that make books magical is the tough part.

Oh, and got my absentee ballot. Only a week left to get one, Ameritskys!

1967.

The year MLK denounced the Vietnam War. The year the Doors released their self-titled album. A volcano erupted on Antarctica. It's the year my father bought a Plymouth Barracuda, which he still owns and I'm still not allowed to drive. It's also the year my parents got married, on September 2. Forty-one years seems a hell of a long time. So congratulations, Mom and Dad. And thanks for teaching me that laughter and love are what makes things last.
Word count: 56,062
Groove: better today
Bubble: the fear is slipping away