Scotland

Well, my brother just arrived in Scotland on Tuesday, well maybe Wednesday, who knows what time zones he's gone through, for a two month travel around the country of our ancestors. My mom is mostly Scottish, my grandmother traveling over here when she was 6 in 1922 because of the potato famine. We still can't understand most of what she says and it's been a few years. Anyway, our childhood was full of Scottish tradition, Scotch meat pies, English tea with milk no sugar and as hot as a boiling pot of water, kilts and funny Scottish sayings. But as my brother shows in his first posting of his new blog, it's the Wally Dogs that kill us the most. My mother got some from who knows where and put them proudly in the living room on either side of the fireplace. They could possibly be the ugliest things we'd ever seen. My mom's defense every time of our insults was that they are "antiques" but my complaint is that this particular antique is ugly and that I never wanted to inherit them from her. In fact, my brother and I told her that if she does pass them along to us, we'll proudly sell them for the supposed "loads of cash" that they are worth. But my brother found them in a museum on day one of his adventure in Scotland. He should start a Wally Dog count...