While walking with Joseph and Willow this morning we got on the topic of ethnicity. “We’re part Ukrainian, right?” he asked. Well, not really, I explained. Our Mennonite ancestors lived in Ukraine, but they didn’t intermarry. The family on both sides are fairly pure German until, well, me. I married an English/Scottish guy. Hm. I never really thought about it like that before. Me. It ends at me.
And I just used Grandma Joyce’s Christmas money to order a practice chanter. That’s the instrument you learn to play bag pipes on, before you use the actual bags and all. It’s the pipe without the bag, so to speak. I’m fascinated with bag pipes. I’d love to stand on a Scottish hillside overlooking the sea and play. Would I wear a kilt? I actually looked that up. Do female bag pipers wear kilts? Apparently opinions differ on that.
But anyway, rather than say that the German Mennonite purity ends with me, let’s say that something else begins with me. To German Mennoniteness I am adding the windswept Scottish hills and the mournful sound of bag pipes ( perhaps very mournful, since I may not be very good at it if I ever get my hands on real bag pipes).