Movie Critique: "THE CUTTING EDGE"

Greetings and Salutations to All my Kith and Kin and All the Ships in Outer Space: At the request of the spouse of an employee (who wishes to remain anonymous) here at the Armed Forces Retirement Home, I watched a DVD of the motion picture, THE CUTTING EDGE, made in 1992. Yes, it's a "chick flick", and no, I'd never have watched this movie if a special request hadn't been made for me to review it. The story is about a guy who plays hockey, but due to injuries, he is forced to quit the game. Then he is condemned to Hell, forced to become a figure skater. From a guy's perspective, the only good thing about figure skating is the girl. Hollywood wants us to believe a guy would actually do this, or that it's even possible for a guy with no training or experience to suddenly master arts which takes professional figure skaters a lifetime of discipline and self sacrifice to acquire. If you haven't seen this film, I won't ruin the movie by telling you anything more regarding the plot. But, since it's a typical "chick flick", you can probably guess how it will come out. What interested me was Moira Kelly's eerie physical resemblance to Patty Duke when she was a young girl, and sometimes, when speaking her lines, she even sounded like Patty Duke. I was also in love with the gorgeous redhead with blue eyes! Oh, how I wanted HER!!! I think the name of the actress was Rachelle Ottley, but I'm not certain. There are NO photographs of Rachelle Ottley anywhere on the Internet. But, she has red hair and blue eyes and - - - oooohh!!! So, that's my movie review. There are some scenes and dialogue which are sexual, and it wasn't necessary to put those in the movie. But, unfortunately, that's how virtually all Hollywood movies are being made these days. Pass the popcorn, please. Thank you. John Robert Mallernee, KB3KWS Official Bard of Clan Henderson Armed Forces Retirement Home Washington, D.C. 20011-8400 NOTE: "My unpopular and controversial personal opinions are independent of my Scottish clan."

Video: "WHO'S ON FIRST?"

Greetings and Salutations to All my Kith and Kin and All the Ships in Outer Space: Here is a video of Christopher Kovalenko performing the famous Abbott and Costello skit, "WHO'S ON FIRST?" At the time, Christopher Kovalenko was visiting me in my room at the Armed Forces Retirement Home in Washington, D.C. Thank you. John Robert Mallernee, KB3KWS Official Bard of Clan Henderson Armed Forces Retirement Home Washington, D.C. 20011-8400 NOTE: "My unpopular and controversial personal opinions are independent of my Scottish clan."

Movie Critique: "AUSTRALIA"

Greetings and Salutations to All my Kith and Kin and All the Ships in Outer Space: On Christmas Eve, I went with my brother-in-law to see AUSTRALIA at the mall theatre. I very much looked forward to seeing this film, as I hold fond memories of my visit to Sydney and Darwin when I was an American soldier on R&R from the war in Viet Nam. I hoped the movie would be a sort of Australian version of my favorite American epics, HOW THE WEST WAS WON, or , GONE WITH THE WIND. Debbie Schlussel reviewed this movie at her web site, and warned that it would be disappointing. But, I'm a guy, and being a guy, I want to see Nicole Kidman. Did you know Nicole Kidman and I are relatives? It's true. We both have blue eyes, and using DNA research, Danish scientists have discovered that all blue-eyed people have a common ancestor. Anyway, the movie was indeed a disappointing let-down. Some of the scenes and dialogue appeared to have been directly copied from another Hollywood epic, QUIGLEY DOWN UNDER, which was a far better movie. AUSTRALIA could have been a great movie, one of the best ever made. But, it had to try and revise historical facts to suit contemporary fashion. It's all about the evil White man and the innocent noble Aboriginal. There's nudity and sex in the movie, which are completely unnecessary, and unbelievable. Would you hop in the sack with someone you barely knew, but who boasted of interracial promiscuity? Hello? Can we say, "syphilis", or "gonorrhea"? Our indoctrinated contemporary youth (including the writers, producers, and directors of this film) may not realize it, but previous generations actually had moral standards and religious faith, and they wouldn't have done such things. It was interesting that they worked the classic movie, THE WIZARD OF OZ, into the story, as "Oz" is one of the nicknames for Australia. It was also very unrealistic to believe that a White couple could, at that time and in that place, openly adopt an Aborigine child in defiance of law and custom. Have you noticed how, nowadays, no famous White movie star ever wants to adopt any White children? Now, as for the evil White man, where's the gratitude for all the good that the White man brought to America, Australia, Africa, and India? Would the aboriginal peoples in those continents prefer to return to the savage terrors of their uncivilized and uneducated ancestors (like much of Africa and India still are)? It is the White man who brought the concepts of individual liberty to the rest of the World, along with literacy, science, technology, and medicine. Yes, bad things had to be done in order to eventually accomplish a greater good, but that's the way of our World, and the nature of mankind. I read the news, and in Australia, they've got real racial problems due to Arabs kidnapping and gang raping White girls. Thanks to Australia's recent gun control laws penalizing and disarming Australian citizens, the rate of violent home invasion robberies has skyrocketed. As for the innocent noble Aborigines, the Australian government has been forced to send in their police and soldiers to seize entire Aborigine towns. Why? Because incest is so common among Aborigine fathers and daughters! So, I'm not about to apologize for anything my ancestors did, and yes, some fought Indians, and some owned slaves. It's possible there's even a Ku Klux Klansman in my family. So what? I don't want to hear any more of this trendy "politically correct" nonsense about how bad White people are and how good Black people are. I live in a very violent and trashy Black populated city, and I see it quite differently. Anyway, I do NOT recommend this movie. It's definitely NOT suitable for children. It's not suitable for adults, either. Pass the popcorn, please. Thank you. John Robert Mallernee, KB3KWS Official Bard of Clan Henderson Armed Forces Retirement Home Washington, D.C. 20011-8400 NOTE: "My unpopular and controversial personal opinions are independent of my Scottish clan."

MOVIE CRITIQUE: "THE GOLDEN COMPASS"

******************************** ******************************** Greetings and Salutations to All my Kith and Kin and All the Ships in Outer Space: I just finished watching the Hollywood motion picture, THE GOLDEN COMPASS, on cable television's Home Box Office high definition channel, a good clean family movie I can highly recommend. The movie is based on the British novel, NORTHERN LIGHTS, by Philip Pullman. I remember reading about all the controversy from sundry church spokesmen who asserted that this movie was anti-religion and would corrupt children. But, I saw it as just the opposite, especially from the perspective of a member of The Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints (i.e., the "Mormon" church). For instance, Latter-day Saints do believe that our Heavenly Father created numerous other worlds, much like this Earth, and we do believe in parallel universes and spirit beings. Doesn't the alethiometer depicted in the movie seem quite similar to either the Liahona described in our BOOK OF MORMON, or the Urim and Thummim described in our Holy Bible? Some of the fantasy in the movie actually corresponds to scientific "String Theory" in quantum physics. In my mind, there is no conflict between science and religion, but merely undiscovered data in both scholastic disciplines. Indeed, all of our religious ideas have a common source, but not every human has an equal level of comprehension, and thus, we are not united in our beliefs, but have many conflicting religions and sects. I enjoyed the scenery of the snow-covered Northern mountains, which reminded me of my days in Idaho and Utah. The story is all about children, animals, adventure, and fantasy. They even managed to get a cowboy into the picture, with what appears to be a Winchester 73 lever-action rifle! The ending of this movie definitely invites a sequel, and probably, a whole series. So, gather your little ones around you, send out for some pizza, and as a family, enjoy this wonderful movie. Pass the popcorn, please. Thank you. John Robert Mallernee, KB3KWS Official Bard of Clan Henderson Armed Forces Retirement Home Washington, D.C. 20011-8400 NOTE: "My unpopular and controversial personal opinions are independent of my Scottish clan." ******************************** ********************************

BOYCOTTING POTOMAC CELTIC FESTIVAL

************************************** ************************************** Clansmen, Et Alii: I was just now perusing the web site of the Potomac Celtic Festival, which will take place on Saturday 13 June and Sunday 14 June 2009. I refuse to attend, participate in, or support this festival. Whoever is in charge has published a new policy requiring all swords, dirks, and sgian dubhs be inspected by security officers, who will tie or tape the weapons into their sheaths or scabbards. Apparently, no Scottish clan will be permitted a bodyguard to render a salute with their swords during the opening ceremonies. There will be no posing for clan photographs with the swords drawn. You may remember that at last year's Potomac Celtic Festival, there was no Scottish flag, and only one lone bagpiper. The only Confederate Battle Flag was the one flying from the cab window of my pickup truck. This is off the subject, but, it's been several years since I last observed public display of a Confederate Battle Flag at any Celtic festival or Scottish gathering, and I remember that they used to always be included with all the other flags. Our clan did have swords at the Potomac Celtic Festival last year, and so far as I am aware, there was no problem. During the parade, we carried the swords in a salute, and later, we posed for photographs with our swords drawn. Obviously, clansmen are not welcome at this event. The laws of the Commonwealth of Virginia does permit citizens to wear loaded firearms, either openly or concealed, and local police are not permitted to interfere with that right. (See latest court ruling, Norfolk versus Szymecki - - - the judge ruled the arrest was legal, but the charges were dropped when it was learned that state law bars local restrictions on firearms.) So, what's the problem with swords, dirks, and sgian dubhs? My own sword and dirk are cheap, not classified as "battle ready", but are more like theatrical stage props, so if I tried to use them as weapons, they'd probably break apart. But, come to think of it, if the Commonwealth of Virginia prohibits local police from interfering with a law abiding citizen wearing a loaded firearm, then how are local entities authorized to interfere with a law abiding citizen wearing a sword, dirk, or sgian dubh? Anyway, I ain't going, not to that festival, nor any other festival that imposes a similar policy. Is this the same reason that National Tartan Day is no longer observed in Washington, D.C., and is this the same reason the Irish stopped having their shamrock planting ceremony in Arlington National Cemetery on Saint Patrick's Day? When I e-mailed an inquiry to Arlington National Cemetery and the Embassy of Ireland, I received no response. Slainte mhath! Is Mise Le Meas, John Robert Mallernee, KB3KWS Official Bard of Clan Henderson Armed Forces Retirement Home Washington, D.C. 20011-8400 NOTE: "My unpopular and controversial personal opinions are independent of my Scottish clan." ************************************** **************************************

Idle Christmas Reflections

Greetings and Salutations to All my Kith and Kin and All the Ships in Outer Space: I've been relaxing in my upholstered recliner, covered with the warm blanket that my sister, Suzy, gave me last Christmas, enjoying the crackling fireplace on my big television screen, as Christmas music plays softly in the background, and my three foot sparkling fiber optic Christmas tree revolves around before the window of my room. I sure wish you could see my crackling fireplace and my beautiful fiber optic Christmas tree! I've been thinking about how lucky I am, and how blessed. At supper, I went to the mess hall and ate roast beef, noodles, gravy, a roll, pinto bean soup with croutons, bread pudding, and a cup of hot chocolate. The worms and maggots were kind of bland, but I seasoned them with plenty of salt and pepper. My comfortable situation, for some odd reason, made me imagine the lives of those who weren't as fortunate. Yes, I know about the homeless and destitute currently among us. But, my thoughts turned to even more extreme suffering, in particular, imagining the horrific tribulations endured by prisoners of the Nazis in the death camps, or the doomed inmates in the Soviet gulags. They were hungry, deliberately starved, freezing, wearing little more than thin pajamas, paranoid lest a fellow inmate betray them, or seeking a chance to betray their fellow inmate, in hopes of obtaining at least one more day of life on this Earth. Yes, the Jews would be loathe to acknowledge that aspect of the Holocaust, but the bitter fact remains that survivors only remained alive by betraying other Jews. The deliberate starvation of millions of Ukrainians by the Soviet Union exceeded the numbers of Jews who died in the Holocaust, but you won't hear much about that, either. Nobody knows how many millions of Chinese were murdered by their own Communist government. And that reminds me of what happened in Cambodia, which is just ONE tiny insignificant country in that primitive part of the World. There are so many, many more. Imagine you're a prisoner, whether in Germany or Russia, or some backwater Third World country, and it's cold and you're famished and sick and hurting all over. From within the guard's barracks and the commandant's quarters, you see the Christmas lights, hear the laughter and music, and smell the roasting sausages, potatoes, puddings, and pies. What would that do to you? You have no hope. The war will never end. You will never be free. Even after hundreds of years and millions of dollars in Western attempts to civilize Africa, it still remains a continent of ignorance, starvation, disease, and unfathomable horrors, including cannibalism, slave trafficking, and sexual deviance. Will it ever change? Imagine if you were a small Negro child growing up under those conditions. What chance do they have? So, these are thoughts which cross my mind, as I relish my undeserved blessings, and loll about in the plush luxury of my room here at the Ol' Soldiers' Home. Take the case of just ONE of those millions upon millions of unfortunate souls. There was no one, not a single person, no attorney, and no organization to plead in their behalf, or who even were aware of their existence, and each one of those innumerable statistics was a living, breathing human being, a child of our Heavenly Father, with a brain, and emotions. Yes, there's a reason I think of these things. I'm reminded of the terrors I endured as a lad, when I was locked up in a state mental hospital, because I was deemed an ungovernable youth by the local juvenile court. I underwent repeated electric shock treatments, experimental mind altering drugs, and sexual assault by fellow inmates. An especially vivid memory is the utter hopelessness I felt, when I was housed in a special locked ward designated for those considered "incurable" and who would never be released. I was stripped naked, placed in a bare isolation room, and injected with a powerful tranquilizer. A teenager, I gazed through the window and thought: "This is the end of the line, and as low as I can go. There is no hope, and I'll never be free. This is the end of my life. I'll never get an education, or go to college. I'll never have a girlfriend, or get married. I'll never get to be a soldier. I'll never travel to another country. I'll never drive a car or fire a gun." So, you can see how deep in despair I was, at that time and place. Miracles do happen. I eventually was released, although the years had severely affected me, greatly retarding my ability to assimilate into ordinary society, much like the character in the movie, SLINGBLADE. Still, I was exceedingly blessed, for I converted to The Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints, passed a G.E.D. examination, and succeeded in being inducted into the United States Army. Thus, my unimaginable dreams came true, as I got to do all of the things I never thought I would, and even more. It's better than a Hollywood script! Why was I so unusually fortunate? I have no idea. Maybe my life is a testimony of the unpredictable goodness of God, and how He can so richly bless someone who plainly is not deserving. Will I still make it to my sister's house for Christmas? It's iffy. There's the problem with all the accumulated snow. Although my truck is a four wheel drive, I don't have any snow chains for my tires. Do you suppose I can drive over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house? What about all those police roadblocks? Do you think I should try and drive around them, or crash my way through in a hail of gunfire? Of course, with the Arctic temperatures we currently endure, I might not even be able to start my engine. It'll be hard driving through the frigid blizzards and super high gale force winds in Virginia. It'll probably take several days to get there. I wonder if I have enough rations? If I do make it to Grandmother's house (my sister Suzy is a grammaw), how will I recognize it beneath all that snow and ice? Will the snowplows smash into my pickup truck? Also, I'll need to be on the lookout for all those lions, and tigers, and bears - - - oh, my! After driving over the river and through the woods, when I get to Grandmother's house, I want some roast goose, plum pudding, and a bowl of wassail. So, what's a "bowl of wassail", you ask? I'm not sure. It's in a song. "Here we go a wassailing among the leaves so green." Gosh, gee whillikers, if the leaves are green, then what happened to all that snow? But, as for the poor among us, "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses? What about the treadmill, and the poorhouse, are they still working?" "If they'd rather die, then let them do it and decrease the surplus population." Christmas? "Bah! Humbug!" "Anyone who wishes a 'Merry Christmas!' should be boiled alive in their own pudding." "God bless us, every one!" Thank you. John Robert Mallernee, KB3KWS Official Bard of Clan Henderson Armed Forces Retirement Home Washington, D.C. 20011-8400 NOTE: "My unpopular and controversial personal opinions are independent of my Scottish clan."

The Scottish Christmas Walk of 2008

Greetings and Salutations to All my Kith and Kin and All the Ships in Outer Space: Today is Sunday 07 December 2008, the forty-first anniversary of my induction into the United States Army. I always liked the idea that I went into the Army on the anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Yesterday, Saturday 06 December 2008, was the annual Scottish Christmas Walk in Alexandria, Virginia, and boy, what a day it was! Although the parade begins at 1100 Hours, it's always necessary to arrive hours earlier, in order to ensure finding adequate parking. I parked my big four wheel drive pickup truck down by the river, and walked up the hill to the courthouse. I wandered into La Madeleine, where I met President Rex Maddox and his wife, Pat, and eventually, numerous other members of Clan Henderson drifted in. It was nice to be able to sit down and be inside, out of the cold weather. After we'd killed some time, I walked across the street with a young couple (whose names I've forgotten) in hopes of doing some Christmas shopping among the myriad exhibits being offered in the courthouse plaza. But, I didn't see anything I wanted to buy, and anyway, how could I buy something and then go march in the parade, since I didn't know if there would be enough time for me to walk back down to my truck before the parade started? Actually, I had more than enough time, as it takes a long, long, long time to form up and begin the parade, so we stood around for quite a while. As I walked to where we were forming up, I encountered a uniformed Scot carrying three full-sized flags, which he was trying to give away. He told me he was here all by himself, representing Scotland's renowned Black Watch military regiment. This was the largest gathering of Clan Henderson ever documented, probably occasioned by the personal appearance of our clan chief, Alistair D. Henderson of Fordell, who came here all the way from Australia. Almost all of the Henderson men were wearing kilts, and many of them had swords, which is really saying something, for purchasing a kilt is expensive, as is purchasing a sword. Since I live on a disability retirement pension, I consider myself very fortunate to own a kilt, complete with all my Highland regalia accessories, and a traditional Scottish basket hilt sword. David S. Henderson, the high commissioner and clan chieftain for North America was there from North Carolina, and I was delighted to meet him, as I had grown up in North Carolina. I admired a comely lass wearing a long green hooded cloak, who looked quite Medieval, and complimented her on it. It turned out that she was Cari(?) Henderson, the new bride of David Henderson, the son of David S. Henderson. She reminded me of the scenes in BRAVEHEART, of the Princess of Wales, and I wondered why women today couldn't dress more like that, as those styles were so pretty. I also met another sweet lassie from Washington (the state), who had a sticker identifying her as being in the "Sisterhood of the Traveling Kilt", an obvious parody of the movie, SISTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING PANTS, a "chick flick" that I've never actually seen. I think her name was Ellen Bentley, but I might have that wrong. She told me that they're a group of gals who take turns wearing the same kilt, which they take to various Scottish events all over the world. Despite the cold temperatures, it was very pleasant being in the midst of our large gathering of clansmen, chatting and getting acquainted. As we milled around, I think our combined body heat made the day less chilly, and one fellow compared it to the survival technique employed by penguins during Antarctic storms. Eventually, the parade got started, and we marched along, to sounds of bagpipes, drums, occasional gunfire, and cheering spectators. Our clan bodyguard looked very impressive, holding forth their swords in salute, as our color bearers carried the flags of the United States of America, Australia (in honor of our chief), and Scotland. Oh, but in defiance of the bitter cold, the streets were crowded with throngs of onlookers! Among the marchers in our clan were a family with two little boys, and the wee tykes were dressed in kilts, and carried rubber swords and shields. To everyone's delighted amusement, they scampered back and forth, waving their swords, attacking each other, and sometimes tumbling down and momentarily bawling until Mommy picked them up, and then, they'd instantly be right back at their playful pursuits. One of the boys had a Glengarry cap way too big for him, and it kept falling over his eyes. Enroute, we met a man dressed up in a Scottish terrier costume, and the young'uns just loved him! When we reached the end of the parade route, Christian Garin, the head of our clan's bodyguard, urged everyone to stay together until after we'd gotten our group photograph. Excellent photographs were taken by Gary Carnaday(?) and his wife (whose name I've forgotten!), who came here from Oklahoma City. So many pictures were taken, by multiple photographers, that it would be impossible and impractical to e-mail them, so I'm hoping someone in our clan will make them available on a CD, or DVD, or at a web site. You should see that camera that Gary uses! He says he bought it for using when he goes scuba diving. Afterwards, I began walking down to the river. As I walked along, because I was all dressed up, wearing my kilt, with my sword at my side, and medals arrayed on my coat, tourists would ask me if the parade was still going on, and I replied that I thought it might be over, but there would still be a concert by the massed pipe and drum bands. One group of ladies stopped me and asked if that was a knife I was wearing in my sock. So, I explained to them about the custom of wearing a sgian dubh (pronounced "skeen doo"), and why it was done. Sgian dubh, which is Gaelic, translates into "black knife", and the reason it's called a "black knife" is because it is normally carried concealed from view, usually secreted beneath the kilt, under the armpit. Out of courtesy, when visiting a clansman, all other weapons are left outside the door of the home. But, the sgian dubh is a weapon of last resort, and to be polite, it is taken from its hiding place and put in plain view, usually tucked into the top of one's hose. Some speculate the sgian dubh is also used for eating, which might be true, but regimental dirks include a small fork and knife for eating purposes, so the sgian dubh would not be used in those instances. I thought I was pretty tough, and that after living in Idaho, cold weather would have no affect on me. Hey, I'm a typical macho guy, right? NOTHING can affect ME! I can take anything! But, when I got to my pickup truck, I was moving in slow motion, utterly exhausted, and in severe pain. I could hardly take my coat off and put on my sweater. I was a good long while starting up my engine and getting out of that parking lot. Before going to the church to participate in our clan's ceilidh (pronounced "kay lee"), I happened to drive through some secluded suburban neighborhoods in Alexandria. I believe that in some of those Alexandria suburbs, if federal agents ever have to shoot it out with local residents, the federal agents will lose and be annihilated. Those secluded neighborhoods are like a massive maze, unnavigable by strangers, as you need a GPS to find your way in, and you also need a GPS to find your way out. I arrived at Saint Mark's Episcopal Church hours early, but fortunately, they left the door open for me. Only the foyer was open, as all the rooms were locked, but still, I could be inside and relax in a comfortably upholstered chair, while rehearsing my songs and strumming my guitar. It was cold in the foyer, but not nearly as cold as it was outside. So, I played my guitar and waited - - - and waited - - - and waited - - - and waited. The sun went down. It was dark. Parking lot lights activated. I hunted for the light switch and illuminated the foyer. WHERE was Clan Henderson? Had they cancelled the ceilidh at the last minute? Was someone in a terrible accident? But, as I began singing "DANNY BOY", there was a pounding at the rear door. It was Christian Garin needing to unload food from his car, AND it was snowing! As I was helping Christian Garin at the back door, Mike, Joan, and Bill Henderson arrived at the front door, with lots and lots and lots of more food to be unloaded and carried in. We kept alternately locking ourselves out of the church, because we couldn't figure out how to unlock the door and prop it open. But, a visiting Army chaplain, a lieutenant colonel, showed us how it was done, and we had no more difficulty. Yes, we had a HUGE turnout at our ceilidh, probably the biggest one our clan's ever had. Chieftain Henderson's wife, Lilly, requested I instantly make up a poem on the spot, commemorating an amusing incident during the parade involving earmuffs, David Henderson, and Larry Henderson. Yes, I was certainly put "on the spot", and so, I did a bit of pacing and worrying, as I wracked my brain trying to hurriedly create some amusing rhymes. Before the meal began, there were snacks. One of the snacks was (I think) dates sliced open and filled with cream cheese. They were delicious, but I thought they looked exactly like squashed cockroaches! Chaplain Fred Sanford (yet another "Tar Heel" from North Carolina!) pronounced an amusing traditional Scottish blessing on the meal, and we all went at it. The tables were laden with plenty of hams, chicken, meat balls, fruits, melons, cookies, candies, and pies, along with a big bowl of non-alcoholic punch. The entertainment began with a fellow named MacEwen(?), from Nashville, Tennessee, who recited the complete Robert Burns epic poem of TAM O' SHANTER, all from memory! Mike Henderson said I looked worried that I might not still be the clan's bard. But, actually, I was sitting there thinking that this guy is much better at it than I am, so why isn't he the clan's bard? The only reason I'm the bard is because no one else wanted the job! I was AMAZED at his ability to MEMORIZE that entire lengthy poem! Could you believe anybody could do that? Wow! Then I was invited to give my brief poem, the one that had to be spontaneously created right then and there! Let's see if I can remember what I said: "From North Carolina, came the Henderson call, Make up a poem and start a Henderson brawl. I was put on the spot and not given much time To wrack my brain and think up a rhyme. Here is the tale they wanted told Which was caused by that day's cold. David Henderson wore earmuffs to march in the parade. Larry Henderson took them, and gave nothing in trade. So, put up your swords, and don't draw your gun. It's just Tar Heel mischief stirring up fun!" Then, Douglas Henderson played the piano, and we all stood and sang "WALTZING MATILDA" for our chief and his lady. We were entertained by our two (02) bagpipers, one of whom is currently on active duty in the United States Air Force. I think there was other entertainment also, but I can't remember everything, nor can I remember everyone's name. At each table, one person was selected to introduce everyone else at that table, telling something personal or amusing about them, so we got to meet everyone who was there. Chief Alistair D. Henderson of Fordell officially installed Rex Maddox as President of the Clan Henderson Society of the United States of America. Christian Garin officially installed a couple of guys as clan bodyguards for their respective state or region. Awards were presented for exceptional service to the clan, but I don't remember to whom or what for. Then, a few of us were invited up to have our kilts christened. I bought my kilt a couple of years ago, but it's never been christened. So, Ellen Bentley(?) from the State of Washington assisted me in the process, directed by Chaplain Fred Sanford. A few drops of uisge beagh (pronounced "is kee bay ah"), which translates as "water of life", were placed in the bottom of a glass. The lass knelt down, dipped a corner of my kilt into the wee dram, and handed the glass to me. The chaplain invoked, having each of us repeat after him, "This ain't no skirt. This ain't no dress. And with this drink, This kilt is blessed!" We then downed the drink. What a surprise I got! I didn't know it was real whiskey! It didn't smell like alcohol. I thought it would just be some of the non-alcoholic punch. But, mox nix. The amount ingested was only equal to a teaspoon of ordinary cough medicine, so I reckon there was no real harm done. I did drive home without getting stopped by any police or having any collisions. So, I reckon my kilt is now officially Scottish. I got another surprise, too. At the end of the ceremony, that gal kissed me! Wow! Hey, I can't tell you how many years it's been since I've been kissed. That is definitely something us guys need, huh? Because of where I live, and my limited resources, I never date. So, now, I've got a very happy memory that'll last me a long, long time, even more so, because I know nothing about that gal. Then, Leon Hicks conducted a charity auction, benefitting an Army chaplain's program for military personnel currently in the war zones, selling numerous items, as only he can. Probably the most interesting item being bid on was a set of books, which were truly antique. It was eight of nine volumes, with one volume slightly damaged, of the history of Scotland's queens and England's princesses, printed over a century or two ago. I'm guessing that it was a lot more valuable than what it sold for at the auction. Finally, we all stood in a big circle that went all around the room, crossing arms and linking hands, as Douglas Henderson played the piano and we sang for our chief, "WILL YE NO COME BACK AGAIN?", followed by "AULD LANG SYNE". I hauled my guitar out to my truck, and by the time I got back inside, tables and chairs had already been put away. Boy, those guys are fast! I was so tired and in so much pain, I could hardly walk, so it was sure good to finally get back to my room at the Ol' Soldiers' Home, so I could enjoy my Christmas tree and my flickering fireplace. But, what a day that was! Folks, if'n you've never been to a Scottish or Celtic event, I urge you to someday attend our annual Scottish Christmas Walk, and if you can, be sure and go to a ceilidh. You'll love it as much as I do! Thank you. John Robert Mallernee, KB3KWS Official Bard of Clan Henderson Armed Forces Retirement Home Washington, D.C. 20011-8400 NOTE: "My unpopular and controversial personal opinions are independent of my Scottish clan."