Burns Supper

One of the things that goes along with being a bagpiper is regular exposure to Robert Burns, the national poet and near patron saint of Scotland.  In Scotland people just call him "The Bard".  You may know him as the author of Auld Lang Syne.  I have to say, I think Scotland is pretty cool just for having a national poet, and for regularly celebrating and revering someone who writes beautiful words for a living.  This esteem I feel for the Scots is only slightly tempered (for me, anyway) by the wacky gatherings held in Burns'  honor every year.  I've attended some doozies.  

Robert Burns' birthday is January 25th and each year, all over the world, Burns nights are celebrated with much tartan, scotch, and Scottish brogue...both real ones and those valiantly attempted.  The best Burns suppers are gastro-literary  events with audience participation and a liberal sharing of verse, anecdote and song.  There are a few rules governing a Burns supper that are always adhered to:  

There must be ample access to scotch. 

 There must be Scottish music.

There must, specifically, be bagpipes...lots of bagpipes.

 A roaring fire is a bonus.

There must be speaking and reading aloud the poetry of Robbie Burns. 

And there MUST be haggis: a huge sausage-like dish made of sheep innards, oatmeal & spices which is stuffed inside a sheep stomach and boiled. Mmmm, yum.   It must be escorted in by a lone piper (this is called the Parade of the Haggis), then addressed (yes, I mean talked to) by the master of ceremonies   A Burns poem is actually read to the haggis before it is ceremonially pierced with a sharp dagger and served.  It must be eaten with mashed neeps and tatties (turnips & potatoes), which are pretty good.

A rowdy and jovial night is usually had by all, thanks to the scotch and the poetry.  You need to be careful not to drink too much, though...since expelled haggis is something that a person should never have to see.

A Sappy, Soapy Celebration

Twenty years ago this week I met my husband.

It was not love at first sight. As a matter of fact, neither one of us made a very good first impression on the other. We were both attending Glasgow University for our junior year of college and it was orientation week for new and foreign students. A student “mixer” was being held at the GU Union, a stately, 200 year old building with character and history. The large library and reading room had been converted into a beer bar for the evening. A space that was normally quiet and studious with its walls of books and large, red leather reading chairs had temporarily become abuzz with alcohol fueled conversation. I walked into the room with a bunch of Norwegian veterinary students I had befriended. There I saw my future mister sitting in one of those red leather chairs, holding two glasses of beer, wearing a fraternity baseball cap and t-shirt with a picture of drunk Bill the Cat, and in the company of a very loud American friend. If you could see me right now, you’d know that I have my fingers and thumb in the shape of an “L” on my forehead. I’m sure I shot daggers at him with my eyes. He thought I was a complete...ya know. We never spoke that first night, but I remembered him.

The next night there was a different event at the GU Union. This time it was a Céilidh, a traditional Scottish dance complete with fiddles, whistles and bodhráns. I grew up doing a bit of Scottish dancing because of that bagpiping thing I do, so this was not a new experience for me. It was, however, for most of the other foreign students in attendance. I couldn’t get anyone to try the dances with me, which I love (they’re a bit like square dances or Contra). The only person I could get to give it a try was that obnoxious guy from the night before. Turned out he was a pretty good dancer…and not nearly as obnoxious as he’d previously seemed from across the room. We danced and had a great evening. I also happened to have laryngitis and couldn’t really speak…not sure how much of a factor that was in us hitting it off. Hmmm.

Anyway, a few dances turned into dating, which turned into a trip to visit him and his family when he returned to the states a few months later, which turned into a long-distance relationship our last year of college, which turned into moving to Seattle together, which turned into marriage and three lovely children. It’s a good thing he was such a great dancer!

Because I feel that fate has been so generous to me, I am feeling generous in return. In celebration of twenty years and a friendship, partnership and love that has gotten better with time…I feel like giving away some soap! All you have to do to enter for a chance to win the give-away is comment on this post. My husband and I love watching movies together, so I thought it would be appropriate to have folks comment with their favorite romantic movie of all time. I couldn’t seem to narrow it down, so here are my top three:

#1 Across the Universe
#2 The English Patient
#3 An Officer and a Gentlemen

The winner will be chosen by a random number generator and will get TWO BARS of my soap in tins, varieties of your choosing. The winner will be announced on Monday, October 11th. Spread the word! I'm curious to see what everyone else's favorite romance flicks are!

Meet Your Maker

…soapmaker, that is.

It has been suggested to me, by people whose opinion I trust, that when someone makes a handcrafted product like I do, folks like to know a bit about the person who made it. I struggled for a while with the question of whether or not anyone actually wants to read about my personal history, or if I am secretly harboring a huge ego that can only be fed by a me, me, me entry. I finally decided to go ahead with this post since maybe my kids will be interested someday. We’ll see about that.

So, then…here’s a little bit about me, Anne.

I grew up in North Idaho. My earliest years were spent on a ranch set between the Selkrik Mountain range and the Rathdrum Prairie. I lived there with my parents, brother, and lots of extended family. My people are an eclectic mixture of Scandinavians with Celtic connections. I guess it’s just one big gene pool anyway…those Vikings did get around a lot.

The creative and care-taking occupations are well represented in my family. Pretty much everyone is a teacher, a preacher, a counselor or a musician. I spent my childhood playing on the ranch with my brother and cousins, making forts, tagging along after my parents and grandparents, and watching Gilligan’s Island and Hee Haw.

When I was eight, my parents parted and I began to divide my time between the ranch and my mother’s house in nearby Coeur d’Alene. My younger brother and I comfortably went back and forth between the ranch life with our livestock-raising father and the “city” life with our college professor mother & stepfather.

My parents’ separation was a catalyst for all sorts of independent activity for me…I became a better cook, a better seamstress, a better gardener…all because I had more responsibility and wasn’t just depending on them to take care of things for me. I became my brother’s chauffeur too. Yes, I got my driver’s license at the age of 14. Thanks Idaho farm-friendly driving laws!

I was a complete overachiever and teacher-pleaser in high school. I got good grades, took AP classes whenever possible, played several instruments, edited the school newspaper, was on the debate team, in Model United Nations, went to Girls State (in Pocatello!) and was class president my senior year. I listened to folk and alternative music, cut my hair in a spiral bob which normally covered half my face, and secretly spurned people with tans. I did not date. Nobody ever asked me out. Ever. I wore a red blazer in my high school yearbook picture. See...Sheesh.


I decided to go away to college in Minnesota because I had connections there (it is the Scandinavian Mecca of the U.S.) and because it was sort of far away. I attended Macalester College in St. Paul, a Presbyterian school with its own bagpipe band. I played in the band, studied History and Art History, and tutored immigrant kids in English as a Second Language. I also studied abroad in Scotland for my junior year at the University of Glasgow. It was here that I met my polar opposite (at least on paper), New Jersey-born husband. Funny story.

We dated from afar for our last year of college and then decided to make our next move together. We weren’t sure where to put down roots, just that we would put them down together. Seattle ended up being our destination because it was enough of an urban area for his taste, and enough of the Northwest for mine. Good choice.

Follow-Up...Me, part deux.

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Highland Fling Soap

I thought I'd use this blog also as a place to give more information and background on some of the soaps I make, ingredients that I use and projects I've been working on:

One of the first kinds of soap I started making (in the early 90s) was a GREAT smelling bar made with honey, oatmeal and beeswax. The beeswax is added because honey makes the soap really soft and hard to get out of the molds. Beeswax firms it up and contributes to its color and natural scent. The soap is a beautiful amber with little flecks of ground oatmeal (which I use a coffee grinder purchased at Value Village to make). I made and loved this soap for a number of years before I decided to start a soap business.

When I needed a label and a theme for it, something Scottish seemed like an obvious choice. I have strong associations with honey, oatmeal and Scotland...and bagpiping, of course. I've played the bagpipes for the past 27 years and am a founding member of the Elliott Bay Pipe Band here in Seattle (since 1992). The bagpiper on the label was a tribute to those long-time friends in the piping world. After a name change or two, I have finally settled on "Highland Fling Soap." Check it out!