Poetry/Burns

 

There isn't a drop of Scottish blood in either my husband's or my veins. Yet we love Scotland. I suspect my husband's love is partially golf related. He has played his golf Mecca, St. Andrews and later became enthralled with the old time hickory sticks and is playing in hickory tournaments around the world.

The old course, St. Andrews

I love Scotland for its history, writers, people, writers, bagpipes, writers, cows and more not in any order.

Writers Museum, Edinburgh

In my novel, Murder in Edinburgh, one of the characters is trying to open a Scottish poets' museum

 

                                     That's Walter Scott's statue on Princes Street in Edinburgh.

January 25, 1759 was the day Robert Burns were born. Over the years we've celebrated Robert Burns Night in a variety of ways.

Sometimes we've been with Scottish friends when the Haggis is featured along with his poems. One year in Geneva, my daughter brought Haggis.

The year we can find no Haggis. But at lunch my husband and I will read a Burns poem or two. Sadly we have no Irn Bru. We will play Scottish music. Don't ask what we'll be eating, please.