Roots revisited

Dave stepped back to assess my attire. "You're getting more ethnic with age."  Yep.  "At eighty you're going to be totally tribal."  Pretty much.  I think I'm going back to my roots.  

Segue to Aunt Lil.  I knew that we were kindred spirits.  From the beginning, truth be told, I thought that she might have left me at the hospital and Gwenn took me home.  Gwenn was my official mother.  Aunt Lil was my unofficial mom.  More details on that front later.  Before there was "ethnic," Aunt Lil was apparently very much in touch with her tribal side. 

And, no, we were not a band of gypsies.  At least not that I knew about.  We were, however, a mysterious lot/that's definitely another blog.

My grandfather was not a gypsy either but he did travel around Europe in one of those Chariots-of-Fire-style wagons speaking to whoever would listen.

  

He is somewhere in the center of that group addressing the crowd.  A preacher.  Later, a horticulturist.  And eventually, my Grandpa. 

Fascinating, I think, that my other grandfather/not yet knowing that they'd eventually meet and become relatives/had come that day to hear my Grandpa Thompson speak.

I'm thinking that a trip to Scotland to retrace my roots could be pretty interesting.  Quite possibly even more colorful than my current "scarves as skirts" clothing concept.