Men in Kilts

If you had asked me what I'd be doing in Australia, I can tell you with perfect confidence that dancing with men in kilts at a ball would not have made the list.  Yes, kilts and yes, a ball.  A Scottish Highland ball, to be perfectly accurate.  Our usual co-conspirators, Ian and Joan are always going on about their Scottish Highland Ball revelries.  Their old friends, the charismatic Col and lovely Marg had invited them to a ball similar to the annual one they attend.  I was tired of hearing about how wonderful it all was and decided I wanted in on the action.  Ian and Joan were keen to have us along, and with a quick phone call to Col, it was all set. 

We didn't exactly know what I'd gotten us into, but we decided it was worth "having a go" (a phrase that captures the adventurous Aussie spirit).  One day at playgroup, I mentioned to a couple of the moms that we were going to a Scottish Highland ball.  I asked their advice on what to wear (Joan had been so specific as to say "well, don't wear jeans").  It was a pity I'd sent home my dresses with mom, but thankfully, Suzi came to the rescue. 

Suzi is a mom who comes to playgroup with her daughter, and she offered to let us come play dress up in her closet.  She runs a vintage clothing stall at a market and is always smartly dressed.  When we showed up at her house, she brought us straight into the kitchen and made cappuccinos.  We stood around the kitchen and listened while she talked about God's goodness and providence in her life. 

After draining the last drops of caffeinated elixir, she showed us into her room where she'd laid out dresses from her closet and from her market stall.  I'm not talking about 3 or 4 dresses.  I'm talking about 15 or 20 dresses.  SG settled on a black dress with fluttery mini sleeves and dotted with pearls.  I chose the moonlight dress.  It didn't stop there.  You can't just go to a ball with a dress.  There's jewelry to be thought of and shoes and bags!  Suzi opened her treasure trove of necklaces, earrings and bracelets.  She picked out a few pieces each for us and assured us she'd bring the shoes and bags to play group the next week.  She was as good as her word and I had silvery shoes and a bag and SG had the same in black.  And they were fabulous. 

The days passed and suddenly it was Friday, the big day.  We started preparations an hour and a half before we were to be picked up.  Somehow, it got to be fifteen minutes until the ETD and we were still wearing the equivalent of pajamas.  I was mid-twist, taming SG's tresses, when we heard a "HULLO?" from the living room.  We exchanged looks of panic, I handed SG the strand of hair I was working on and put on my best hostess face.  It was the Matthews.  They wanted to see us all dressed up before we left with Ian and Joan.  We were still in our pjs.  They understandably asked weren't we supposed to be leaving at ten to six.  I said yes, and don't worry and all those reassuring phrases you use to tell people you're about to perform a near miracle.  I told them to entertain themselves and handed them the telly remote. 

I retrieved SG's dress from upstairs, finished pinning her hair, slathered my eyelashes with black gloop, and put on the moonlight number and shoes with rhinestones.  A few flicks of the wrist and hairpins later and the tresses were contained.  Not quite as good as a fairy godmother, but it would have to suffice.  By that time Ian and Joan had arrived and were chatting happily with the Matthews.  We emerged from the bathroom, quite different from our previously pajama clad selves.  Pictures were taken, and we piled into the Merc. 

The beginning of the ball wasn't much to speak of.  Some people were thanked and introduced, the pipe (bagpipe) band played and we met Col and Marg and their daughter Fiona.  Soon enough, they announced the first dance.  Joan and Ian were up and off to the dance floor.  Talk about grace in motion.  They've been dancing together for more than 50 years, and it shows.  Thankfully, Ian was keen to dance and took turns dancing with SG, Joan and I.  He's a great leader.  You might not know the steps, but you'll know well enough where you're going.  We also took turns dancing with Col, whose knowledge of Scottish dancing is extensive.  Some of the dances were progressive, which means you rotate through partners around a circle.  That's fun because you get to dance with everyone.  I've never danced with so many men in kilts.  There were plenty of jokes about what Scots wear under their kilts, but we won't get into that here.

This ball was not unlike a barn dance or a bush dance, except that the program was interspersed with a few ballroom numbers.  There was no caller running through the steps during the dance, but a man with a Scottish accent would bark into the microphone before the music started and introduce the dance and give us a quick run down of the set.  For those dances, it was fortuitous to be dancing with Col because he could direct if we got lost.  Dances ranged from something hearkening back to more refined balls (think Netherfield and Mr. Darcy) to good old fashioned Western barn raisings.  If a  waltz came on, you'd hope you were dancing with Ian, whose spiritual gift seems to be artful footwork and keeping time. 

There were several courses of dinner served in between sets of dances.  You had to eat in a hurry if you didn't want to miss a dance because your soup wouldn't still be there when you returned from the floor.  That's ok, as I'd rather dance anyway.  After several hours of whirling and twirling and do si do and waltz four sets, my feet were sending distress signals.  That was OK, because it was midnight and time to go anyway.  Luckily, Suzi's dresses didn't turn to rags at the stroke of 12, we didn't misplace any glass slippers, and we were able to sleep in the car on the way home.  When Ian dropped us off, there was no Mr. Carson to welcome us (Downton Abbey reference) or ladies' maids to help us out of our coats and undo our jewelry clasps.  Never mind, we managed without a household staff somehow and lived to write about it. 

Wishing you grace on the dance floor and decorum at the dinner table,

Little Miss Sunshine