Author Archives: wendywelch

“Fill this bottle, Sir”

Posted on by
3

Having been raised as a true Scots Presbyterian, I am of the generation that doesn’t go to the doctor unless you’re really, phlegm-producingly sick. This has resulted in a couple of serious incidents over the years, but the habits of a lifetime are deeply ingrained.

So it came to pass in my 71st year that Wendy finally persuaded me to have a health check. (Read: she made the appointment and threatened me.) Last Monday I duly presented myself at Doctor Ashley’s office and had my first proper check-up in ten years.

I’d taken along the medical history brought with me when I moved to the US from Scotland, and the academic paper on Nail Patella Syndrome that features a photograph of my toe-nails. (It’s a hereditary condition). To my great relief I received a clean bill of health – a surprise to Wendy, and I suspect even to the doctor!

But this wasn’t the end of it – oh no, not by a long way! This Monday I was scheduled for lab work. Admonished to fast beforehand and come early to deal with paperwork, when presenting myself at the counter, I admitted I’d had a breakfast bar at 7a.m.

The secretary said “whaaa?”

I repeated my crime, fearful now that I’d be turned away. She called in a senior member of staff, who asked me to “repeat that, please.”

“I had a breakfast bar at 7 a.m.”

“What’d you have?”

“A baaaaaarrrrrrr.” Experience has taught me that, when accents collide, strengthening the vowels can help SW VA ears.

“Yes,” said the woman, in the patient voice of one dealing with an imbecile. “But what was on it? Eggs? Bacon? Oatmeal? How much did you eat?”

Realization dawned at last, as my father-in-law is fond of breakfast bars—the Shoney’s kind, not the six-per-pack granola kind. I laughed and explained, she laughed and took me to the back—

–and poked me repeatedly, trying to get a vein. I told her a funny (now) story about a nurse years ago in Scotland with the same trouble. She bit her tongue and tried again. This became very unpleasant until she got what she wanted. I regretted telling her the funny story.

Several unspeakable samples and a couple of preventive shots later, I was wending my way home, a bandage the size of Russia around the drill site that had been my arm.

Satisfied, my darling Wendy?

Holding Each Other Up

Posted on by
8

Certain events pull me through the year’s rhythm: in January the Methodist church up the road has its Epiphany service. In February we all hunker down in the coldest month of the year, trying to heat our houses, pay our Christmas bills, and eat something besides carbs and legumes.

In March, the ceilidh cometh.

017 A ceilidh (“Kay-lee”) is a Celtic communal dance featuring Dashing White Sergeant and Eightsome Reel and Gay Gordons. Think American Square Dancing, pre-America. Take out the guitars, add fiddles, and throw in a bagpipe as Wind the Clock becomes Strip the Willow.

This year the dance is Saturday, March 9 (and if you’re close enough to come, it starts at 7 in the Presbyterian church next door to the bookstore). It’s free. Some people come to dance, others to view the dancing. Watching cheerful Appalachians of all sizes and ages muddle our way through the steps of various dances we sorta learned in grade school, but forgot when our brain space was required for algebra class—well, it’s tres amusant, as they say in Scotland.014

None of us know what we’re doing, and that’s half the fun. More or less held together by Sigean, the house band, laying down underpinning ribbons of rhythm to which we cling, we listen to Cynthia West (dance instructor) shout “No, left. Left! THE OTHER LEFT!” and get through it, together, holding each other’s hands. Sometimes we hold each other up as feet falter. It’s teamwork at its finest, even though you probably don’t know the name of the last six people you’ve twirled with during a reel.

When everyone’s face is red and we’ve ditched our sweaters—and in some cases our shoes—and drunk every last ounce of water from our bottles and started on the pitchers provided out of the church kitchen, we have the traditional Ceilidh Half-Time Show.

Circling chairs on the dance floor, everyone who wants to takes a turn. As the old saying goes, tell a story, sing a song, or show your bum. Everyone contributes to the community amusement at a ceilidh, one way or another.027

I look forward to the ceilidh all year. It’s a physical manifestation of what our bookstore is: space to come together and cheer ourselves and each other up simultaneously. Snow on the ground? Christmas bills kicking your butt? Never mind; dance with me, and we’ll drive the cold winter away. And give each other a lot of kicks and giggles doing it.