Natalie works on a letter
I took a walk in the meadows, and I found Fran.
Fran fends off girl cooties in a coffee shop.
Natalie reads Ovid's Metamorphoses.
I read something less intellectually stimulating.
On Saturday, Fran, Nat, Carrie and I all jumped into the car and headed for Crieff, a picturesque village about an hour's drive from Edinburgh to attend Lisa's ceilidh (pronouned kay-lee). It was Lisa's twenty-first birthday party and though I did not know her, I was nonetheless invited as an extension of Natalie. I knew nothing about ceilidhs, except what little I had been told, which amounted to "There will be bruises," which was highly unhelpful.
In our dresses
Ceilidhs are traditional Gaelic social gatherings wherein a band plays Gaelic music; a caller explains the steps before the attendants of the ceilidh dance. It was very fun. Natalie made me wear my black skirt because it twirls so well, and there was plenty of twirling to be had. On the very first dance, a handsome kilt-clad Scotsman named Ben asked me to dance, and I accepted. I had very little idea of what was happening, but he was kind enough to overlook my stumbles.
The ceilidh was held in what I can only assume to be the town hall. Between dances, people would come outside to cool off, specifically boys dressed in full kilt regalia--long-sleeved shirts, waist coats, wool socks and all. That they wear nothing under their kilt does not keep them as cool as one would think.
Ben in traditional Scottish kilt. Girl in modern club wear.
A very fun and much appreciated evening. Thank you, Lisa, for letting me come.
And as for bruises, I have a perfectly round bruise on the edge of my foot--the aftermath of a heel stamping down on me? I don't remember. Whatever the case, I take it as a sign of an excellent ceilidh.