Friday, January 25, 2013—Robbie Burns Day

It sure is quiet around here with Kay back in central Arkansas. I pretty much spent time around the motorhome today, but joined neighbors in the center of the circle near the palapa for ladder ball. The first two games were not very competitive, as the team of women trounced the team of men. I was coerced to play and our team of men squeaked out a narrow win. Al Crawford, a neighbor, remembered that it was Robbie Burns (Robert Burns) Day, and took a break from observing the ladder bowl games to return to his fifth wheel. He was gone for several minutes, and when he came back out he was dressed in knickers, short sleeved shirt, and Tartan plaid tam, with the requisite bottle of single malt Scotch. Robert Burns was a famous Scottish poet most notably known for Auld Lang Syne, and those of Scottish heritage celebrate his birthday each year, generally with a Robbie Burns dinner consisting of haggis, creamed turnips, and creamed taters with a dram of Scotch. Haggis is not fit to eat according to most, though the literature says it is a bit like boudin from South Louisiana, except that haggis is made with oats rather than rice.

I did not go to the entertainment venue as Kay and I miscommunicated about the ticket location. It was probably a good thing because several people said that while he sang well, he got a little too intimate with people in the audience—stereo typically a French Canadian from Québec. Anyway, we can see him in Branson as he sings at the Hard Luck Café.

Here’s Burns’ original Scots verse of Auld Lang Syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.


We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin auld lang syne.


We twa hae paidl’d i’ the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin auld lang syne.


And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
and gie’s a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.


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