I know all my readers must be exhausted from the weekend of festivities, partying, and odes to uncontrolled Bacchanalia in the streets. What, you don’t celebrate Tartan Day? On Saturday there was a Tartan Day celebration in Balboa Park here in San Diego, a celebration for Scottish-Americans, expatriate Scots, and people who like getting free shortbread and hearing bagpipes. Did I wear my kilt? Yes. Yes I did. Child Harbat picked out a springtime dress for herself, a matching purse, then joined me as we marched toward the festival.
The highlights for me were the sounds of a pipe band, a tasty meat pie (shown below in mid-devourment), and reconnection with the Scottish community.
For Child Harbat, she was enthralled with the idea of a jungle walk, something I mentioned in an off-hand remark as we drove to the park. Once she knew the jungle was nearby, there was no stopping her. I’m counting down the days until she learns that in some places in the world, monkeys swing freely from the branches and coconut palms rustle in tropical breezes. When that happens she’ll grab her passport, give her ma and pa a quick wave goodbye, and make a run for the airport. I can’t say I’d blame her. Until that day, she can make do with the Palm Canyon trail in Balboa Park, a suitably junglicious destination that doesn’t require dengue fever inoculations and a midnight plane transfer in Tegucigalpa.