Return of the Kilt

With my brother and mother at the Downtowner Woodfire Grill, Saint Paul, Minnesota. My mother labeled this photo, “Erin, Tom and Mom.” My sister, Erin, took the photo. I, Chris, am on the far left. Mother….This is just like that time you were cutting up photos to paste certain people into cards and such; and you threw out the scraps (understandably); and coming home from school I found there in the grass at the end of the driveway, where the garbage had been, my head.

Return of the Kilt

On Thursday I stopped up at the Lake Street Garage to see Billy Watkins and get the latest. Ol’ Boy was in kilt, per usual for a Thursday, and it reminded me that I am well remiss in wearing my own. Perhaps to the coffee shop on November 1 for Samhain?

I wonder now whether my brother and his fiancé will let me wear my kilt and winter socks to the rehearsal dinner next week. TK? Hope? What say you?

K from the Attorney General’s office stopped up, and though he’s often very diplomatic in what political information he spills, we were able to squeeze a few interesting stories out of him before we retreated to safer ground about our families and such.

Heather, if you are reading this, please know I’ve let Bill know about you and Ty out in Vegas. Bill’s son Danny is flying over from Ireland to get married on, I think, November 1. There will be something like 70 cats in kilts about this time. I should have them find you in the casino, though I’m worried you might not talk to me anymore. …

Bill’s second memoir is called Scotland is Not for the Squeamish. But fair warning: Watkins is not for the squeamish! Vegas will never be the same with such an Irish and Scottish brigade coming through.
-cK