Scottish Things I Wish We Had in the USA

I recently returned from a trip to Scotland where I hiked, sipped whiskey, and tried not to stare at all the men in kilts – typical tourist stuff. It was hard to come back to Massachusetts and leave behind the many delights of the Highlands. Here are a few in particular that I really wish we had here at home…

Heated towel racks. Why are these all over Europe and not in the States?  How can we call ourselves a global superpower if, when we emerge dripping from the shower, Americans must accept a room-temperature towel? It’s not as if these towel racks involve complicated technology like the internet or something – they are nothing more than a (warm) series of tubes.

Clean, efficient urban public transit. My fellow Bostonians, indulge me in this little fantasy for a moment: what if you could get off the plane at Logan Airport, step onto a modern tram with plentiful seating and luggage storage no more than 50 yards from the terminal, and quickly get anywhere downtown for under $10? That’s a reality in Edinburgh. Conditioned to riding the MBTA, I was prepared for the ear-splitting squeal of grinding metal or the unexpected (and unexplained) ceasing of all forward motion. But alas, the tram moved smartly along and got us safely to our destination. Miraculous? Or simply the natural result of competent leadership and sufficient funding? We’ll never know.

Clotted cream. I’m not exactly sure what this is, but it’s delicious. My best guess is that a stick of butter met a container of whipped cream, and they fell very much in love. One thing led to another, they didn’t use protection, and voilà! A little bit of artery-clogging heaven was born.

Patient, polite drivers. Scotland has some very long (many, many miles) roads that are only one lane wide but accommodate two-way traffic. How can this be, you ask? Because there are occasional passing zones, and cars pull over and wait if they see oncoming traffic. They do so happily, with a jaunty wave to their fellow motorists as they pull over, drive, pull over, drive, ad nauseum for miles. We Massholes here in Boston could never do this – surely many a game of chicken would be played and lost. And I don’t have to wonder how this would go down in trigger-happy Texas or, God forbid, Florida.

Presumably the average Scotsman wakes up, wraps himself in the cozy comfort of a pre-warmed towel, breaks his fast with clotted cream on scones, and gets behind the wheel with a Zen energy we Americans can only dream of. Maybe there’s something in the tea. Or the whiskey. Whatever it is, I miss it. Thanks for the memories, Scotland!

Fourth of July, Patriotism, and Marching Band Memories

I grew up in Centerville, Ohio. As the name implies, it’s a comfortably boring and conventional Midwestern town.  It’s the kind of place that unironically calls the Fourth of July celebration the “Americana Festival.” I spent my teen summers marching in that parade as a member of my high school band.

I remember three things about those parades other than the actual marching: sweating, getting a sunburn, and trying to find shade.  We always nailed the first two.

Thank goodness we were allowed to wear shorts and polo shirts instead of the usual all-purpose polyester band uniforms (their “purpose” was to make the wearer either unbearably hot or borderline hypothermic, except for one single day in October when they would be Just Right).

Our July Fourths started early, with band practice / warm up on the steaming asphalt of the high school parking lot. The brass instruments got hot to the touch. Our damp fingers slid off the valves and keys. Sweat trickled from our temples and down the backs of our knees. Then it was time to step off.

Warming up in the high school parking lot – Centerville High School, 1987

Working hard together, playing music together, commiserating about extreme weather together – we were a tight group in that marching band. I cherished those friendships at the time and I’m grateful for the many that I still enjoy today. Modern political polarization has not been kind to all relationships, and I know that some of those kids I marched with don’t vote the way I do. But on those hot July days in the 1980’s, we were aligned in our patriotism.

Smiles that the parade is over!

We played from the familiar canon of American music, including the ubiquitous “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” Representing a small town in Ohio that’s obsessed with football, of course we played our high school fight song. Nothing binds us to our fellow humans like cheering for the same team, whether that be the United States of America or the Centerville Elks.

I sure do miss that special marching band energy, that sense of belonging and camaraderie. We could have been sleeping in or slathering our skin with baby oil by our neighborhood pool, but we got up early to march in that parade. I’m thankful for the time we spent with each other, playing patriotic tunes and celebrating our country’s birthday. Happy Independence Day to all, but especially to anyone who marched in a parade today. I hope you found some shade.