The Cry of Scotland: Freedom!

My son, I tell thee soothfastie,
No gift is like to libertie;
Then never live in slaverie.
William Wallace as taught by his uncle.

It's all for nothing if you don't have freedom.
Mel Gibson as William Wallace in Braveheart.

The problem with Scotland, is that it is full of Scots.
Edward I in Braveheart.

The Scots have a long history of quarreling and fighting among themselves but they don't lie down quietly for outside invaders. This lesson could have been learned from the Romans who had a brief foray into Scotland but withdrew and built Hadrian's Wall to keep the "barbarians" in the north where they belonged. Outside of Culloden, no other place in Scotland more represents the Scots' determination to be free than Stirling.

Stirling is not an exceptionally beautiful or rich place. It is strategic. The River Forth, or Firth of Forth - I love to say that name - cuts across Scotland east to west. To control the Highlands in medieval times an invader had to get across the river, and putting an army across the river required a bridge. Happens the Romans built a bridge at Stirling and this was the main point an army could cross into northern Scotland. Farther west than Stirling was too marshy. Secondly, a volcanic crag with sheer face on three sides rises up from the plain, a great place to put a defense and -voila!- there is Stirling Castle on a site likely fortified in some way since the Iron Age. Our castle was first built in the early twelfth century.

On my second day in Scotland, I set off by train from Glasgow to see the castle and walk the grounds of William "Braveheart" Wallace, Robert the Bruce, and countless others who fought the pesky English.


The Wallace Monument rises from Abbey Craig to the north and overlooks Stirling Bridge where in 1297 William Wallace and his buddy, Andrew Moray, led the clansmen - with no cavalry to speak of, poorly armed, and outnumbered five to one - to defeat the English. The English had captured Stirling Castle in 1296 and held control of the cities, but outside the cities was anarchy. Uniting the rabble was William Wallace after his young wife was killed by an English sheriff.

One of my favorite movies, Mel Gibson's Braveheart, captured the spirit of Wallace but had to sacrifice accuracy for a good story. For one thing, Wallace was a youth of about twenty three when he faced the English at Stirling Bridge, not the fortyish age of Mel. Did William Wallace paint his face blue in battle? No, but it was a nice tribute to the Picts. Did Robert the Bruce betray Wallace? No.

And for the sake of movie drama, the armies faced each other across a field. Wallace would have been smushed like an ant were that the case. Instead, the English and Scots faced each other across the River Forth, with the English walking into the trap likely devised by young Moray. The overconfident English began to move their cavalry and archers across the narrow bridge with the Scots seeming to wait patiently. After all, the chivalrous thing to do is wait until the army is fully across before starting the battle. The English hadn't counted on the guerrilla tactics of the Scots. When only half the English were across, the Scots attacked, likely using a schiltron (close formation with pikes) against the English cavalry. The English were massacred or driven back into the river to drown in their armor and a few days later the Castle was surrendered to the Scots.


The heart of Old Town Stirling has that ancient, historical look. It's been a burgh since 1124, Prince Charlie was here during the 'Rising, and John Knox of the Reformation preached at the Holy Rude, but I had one objective at the moment - to see the Castle.

Just up the street from the clock tower I stopped a Scottish gentleman for directions and, as the Scottish are prone to do, that led to more conversation. He asked if I were going to Bannockburn.

"Well, I was really on my way to the castle".

"Get in the car", he said. Usually I don't get in a car at the invitation of a stranger but I was improvising transportation. Besides,he had a cane. I figured I could outrun him if I had to.

I thought I was going to get a lift to the castle, but we were headed to Bannockburn. "Hated the English", he said about the battle at Bannockburn. Slight pause and he added, "still do". He was clearly determined I would see Bannockburn.



My Scottish gentleman dropped me off at Bannockburn a couple miles out of town and while I was wondering how I would get back into town I spotted a man in a kilt. I thought I'd worry later about the town thing and followed the kilt out to the battlefield.

Robert the Bruce was there, right where he likely sat on his horse directing the battle against Edward II.


Stirling Castle had been abandoned back to the English in 1298 after Wallace lost at Falkirk, Robert the Bruce besieged the castle in 1299 and took it back, the English besieged again in 1304 and Robert's brother was again besieging the castle in 1314. Robert showed up to prevent Edward getting reinforcements to the English in the castle and they had a full on battle here at Bannockburn. Robert had 9000 men, almost all infantry, and Edward had 25,000, including cavalry. Not the best odds.

Using the schiltron devised by Wallace the Scots fought a brilliant battle and routed the English. Edward returned to England tail between legs, and Stirling Castle returned to the Scots who destroyed the defenses of the castle to prevent them again being used by the English. Needless to say, this was not the last of Stirling Castle.

It has been besieged or attacked sixteen times at least, and clearly still stands today, visible on its crag from the Bannockburn.


I made my way back to the castle, by this time too tired and damp to think of much more than that the ochre color of some of the buildings would be nice in my bedroom.


But not so tired I couldn't appreciate the rich history, the realtor's dream view, and the many Scots and English that have lived, fought, died, and rejoiced in victory here.


Next post: Good friends and Charles Rennie MacKintosh

Afoot in San Diego: Imperial Beach, Donuts to Die For

Jennifer and I headed for Imperial Beach today. I wanted mainly to check out the Pier and a donut shop I had seen on Noah Tafolla's Wonderland show on San Diego's KPBS. Jennifer had just finished a morning swim meet. She was tired, more interested in the fish and chips at the end of the Pier, and glad there weren't a lot of historical buildings her Ouma wanted to see.


Imperial Beach is the very southernmost outpost of San Diego. Step across the Tijuana River and you're in Mexico...but first you'll have to get across the Border Fence the separates San Diego from Tijuana, more than 900 miles of fence completed to date but that's a story for another time.

Photo downloaded from Wikipedia

Early Anglo settlement of Imperial Beach was part of the 1887 land boom of San Diego when a couple fellows thought they would build a beach resort for folks looking for relief from the heat of Imperial Valley. If I were to pick a year for time travel in San Diego, it would be 1887. It must have been a jumpin' year. Even Wyatt Earp was here.

It's hard to miss that this is a surfin' town. Monuments, sidewalk surf art, surf shops, surfer dudes everywhere.


We walked down the Dunes, I.B.'s beach, toward the pier. One couple must have been getting practice for I.B.'s annual Sand Castle contest, the US Open of Sand Castle Building. They were adults with a full on man-size shovel, not the usual kid stuff seen on other beaches. Fortunately, the next competition is almost a year off. These guys look like they need a little more practice before getting to the level of the usual entries.


At the end of the pier, we enjoyed some fish and chips at a little outdoor fish place. Even though it was a misty day, we could see down to the Coronado Islands off Mexico.


The culinary highlight, though, was the Stardust Donut Shop on Palm Avenue, a drive in, walk up to the window place in need of a paint job but the donuts and cinnamon rolls are heavenly. Fortunately, they are not the huge Cinnabon type and no heavy frosting. Still, Jennifer and I had the good sense to buy just one glazed donut each for today and a cinnamon roll to save for Sunday morning.


The shop is run by two elderly brothers who have apparently been a fixture for the last thirty years. By now they open up when they get there and close when all the donuts are gone and a gaggle of customers hang around waiting for the next batch.

Jennifer's interest was beginning to wane... the Tijuana Estuary Reserve will have to wait for another time.

I Knew This Day Would Come

Since Number One Grandbaby, Hayley, was little she would come over on the weekend and we would have beauty shop, paint toenails, fix hair, and all those fun girly things.


Note the cottonball toe separators...can't smudge the wet polish

Number Two Grandbaby, Jennifer, came along a couple years later and she joined the Saturday "Breakfast Club".

The years went by and Beauty Shop evolved into Mountain Climbing, Track Practice, Theater, Film School, History Lecture, Cake Class, and don't forget Shopping.

Now Hayley is almost 15, a rower, a singer in a rock band, and a Facebook/iPhoner.

Talking on the phone with Hayley last evening about this weekend's plans, she said "Uh, Ouma, I'm pretty booked on Saturday".

Still another couple years with Jennifer before she is "pretty booked", and another several years with little Isabella in Montana. How lucky we grandmas are to be a part of these extraordinary growing lives.

On Foot in San Diego: Ocean Beach, the Haight Ashbury of San Diego

I intend to finish my stories about Scotland and Morocco, but I couldn't resist writing about our excursion to Ocean Beach.

This past weekend Hayley, Jennifer and I decided to check out Ocean Beach, a funky little coastal town north northwest of downtown San Diego. On the drive down, I had the girls read the history of the neighborhood - naturally - and they were taken by Wonderland, an amusement park built on the beach in 1913 and washed away by high tides three years later. I was able to locate a photo showing it was quite the structure.

O.B.- residents are OBecians - was laid out by a couple developers, Billy Carlson and Frank Higgins, in 1887, during the first boom of San Diego, at the time Jesse Shepard was building his Villa Montezuma in Sherman Heights on the other side of downtown San Diego. In spite of its beautiful location, the town was a remote and hard to get to place until Interstate 8 connected in 1971. In the 1960's O.B. was the Haight Asbury of San Diego and still has that organic store, mom and pop business atmosphere.


Our plan was to check out any history and sights of the town but I sweetened the deal with a promise to do some shopping in the Newport Avenue vintage shops. I heard some groans when I suggested we browse an antique store - by vintage, they had more in mind some clothes - but they thought the store was pretty cool, and I took advantage of the opportunity to slip in some more historical stuff.

We checked out the clothing shop next door...


Jennifer is always the hat fashionista,


Then we walked the length of the Ocean Beach Pier, 1,971 feet, more than one third mile long, the longest concrete pier on the West Coast.


I wondered why in 1966 they decided to build this pier. No boats around, no harbor. Well, it's purely for the purpose of recreation, walking and fishing. Sounds like something OBecians would do.


We didn't find any feral parrots that hang out in OB, the O.B. "air force", but Hayley and Jennifer checked out the pelicans.


These guys are so regal flying up and down the coast.


End of the day is coming,


Hug your sister, and let's be off to World Famous for dinner.

Rethinking Facebook

Did you realize that Facebook goes into your e-mail account to find potential "friends" for you? I noticed recently that Jason Ibarra was being recommended as a friend to me. Kathie and I met him once in Skagway, Alaska, and blogged about him. His dad happened across our post about Jason, who then e-mailed me through our blog e-mail account to say hi. Other than e-mailing him back, I've had no other contact with him and we have no contacts in common.

So how else might Facebook have known to recommend Jason as a friend to me? That message wasn't even in my main e-mail account - the one I sign in to Facebook and Blogger with. Kinda Big Brother-ish, don't you think? I'm thinking of deactivating my account again.

Happy Birthday, Patty!

When Patty was little, I carried her around, fed her, probably wiped her little dirty butt, and on her birthday I dressed her up and took her picture. This photo is marked on the back "Patricia Dale Nute, August 29, 1955, 5:00 PM". Likely, I gave her that hair cut.

Here's to many more!

Glasgow Cathedral: Saints and a Kilt

Glasgow Cathedral and Stirling Castle were on my must-see list in addition to walking the Way. Kathleen and I went a few days early to get our history fix in before Sally and Jan came to start the walk, Kathleen to Edinburgh and I to Glasgow.

I was re-reading Ken Follett's Pillars of the Earth as a prelude to the recent sequel, World without End, both books set in the time period of the 12th-14th centuries when the Glasgow Cathedral was being built. Historical fiction is more painless and enjoyable than having to research how these guys managed to build these massive structures almost a thousand years ago.

Patty and I had seen the ruins of the Abbey at Holyrood in Edinburgh last year. Built earlier in the 12th century than the Glasgow Cathedral, the Abbey's rounded, thinking about being pointed arches, seem to me to be an example of Romanesque transitioning to pointed Gothic arches.


Holyrood Abbey, Edinburgh

The Abbey did have some pointiness going on, but Glasgow Cathedral was full of pointed arches, ten story high vaulted ceilings, and high celestery windows letting in the light.


Glasgow Cathedral

The statue in front is David Livingston, MD, famous medical missionary and explorer, of "Dr. Livingston, I presume" fame, and the Miami Beach style street lamps are from Glasgow's coat of arms based on St. Mungo's miracles.

Here is the bird that never flew
Here is the tree that never grew
Here is the bell that never rang
Here is the fish that never swam


St. Mungo, AKA St. Kentigern, built a chapel on the cathedral site in the 6th century. The story goes St. Mungo carried the body of a holy man, Fergus, in a cart drawn by two wild bulls, giving direction to the bulls to take it to the place ordained by God. The bulls pulled the cart to this area of Strathclyde where another saint, Ninian, had blessed the site a century earlier and, voila!, from St. Mungo's little religious settlement grew a marvelous city.

On entering the cathedral nave, the height of the ceiling made possible by the pointed arched vaults was breathtaking.


Everywhere in the church were reminders and memorials to Scotland's fallen soldiers and, as on our last trip, I saw Scotland as a nation grieving.




Beautiful stained glass windows...


The Creation window


The Millenium window

While I was taking in the Nave, an eightyish gentleman sitting next to one of the great pillars started a conversation about the marks on the pillars.


"It happened during the Reformation", he said. "The people wanted to save the cathedral so they stripped it of all its (Catholic) decorations". Later I read there were altars at each of the fourteen pillars of the Nave in pre-Reformation times; perhaps these were what had been ripped away. In any event, the cathedral survived the destruction of the Reformation.

Then he directed me down to the crypt beneath the church where St. Mungo's body lies.


St. Mungo was buried in his 6th century churchyard and later moved to the crypt built under the cathedral to house his body. Huge pillars in the underground church support the weight of the church above.

While I was checking out the subchurch, another volunteer approached and gave me an hour of his time, telling me all the things I had missed, like the bullet holes in the only original door left in the church, a remnant of not so peaceful times. He knew all those fascinating things that aren't in the tour book, all the more fascinating because he was wearing a kilt. He said he had walked the Way, "don't need to do it again". He filled me in about Rannock Moor, "it's floating and it has the only Ice Age forest left in Europe", he said. I didn't want to ask why he didn't need to do it again, but I put Rannock Moor on my list. I got his name, Mr. Montgomery, should have asked for his phone number. What is it about a man in a kilt?

Next post, Stirling Castle, Braveheart, and Robert the Bruce.

Homecoming Scotland 2009

Over the course of commenting on the last post, Surviving Scotland, Patty asked about my "certificate for the returning". On reaching the Isle of Skye, our last destination, Kathleen and I went to the Visitor Center to collect our certifications for Scottish descendants returning for Homecoming 2009.


Our Scottish ancestral line runs through Reuben Steele of Brayll County, Argyllshire, who immigrated in 1745 through Philadelphia to Virginia. Wouldn't it be fascinating to know why this young man and his wife came to the colonies? Was it about the 'Rising? Was he a deportee of the English? As lowlanders, probably Presbyterians, they most likely came for religious freedom as the Church of Scotland had an Episcopal constitution. One of his 15 children, Robert, our fourth great grandfather, was a soldier in the Revolution in the company of Captain Alexander Sayers.

When I was talking with a Scot about The Homecoming during our Walk, he lamented "our greatest export are young people". Indeed, an estimated 1.5 million Scots have immigrated over the centuries, many to the colonies and a free America. Lucky for us as they were well educated, liked a good fight, and liked freedom, albeit they were a bit split during the Revolution.

The Homecoming coincided with the 250th Robert Burns anniversary, a hero to the Scots. This poster was in the Kelvingrove Museum. Hm-m-m, who does it resemble?


All over Scotland were Festivals for the returning, busloads of clans who had come back to celebrate their identity. On the plane over to Glasgow, I sat beside a distinguished man from Texas and his college student son, Madisons they were, and the son had made the arrangements for them to go "home".

I felt like I was home.

Surviving Scotland

I walked the West Highland Way in the Scottish Highlands with three buddies -- Kathleen, Jan, and Sally - now just back a few days, recovering from jet lag, settling back into San Diego and missing the cool days, even the rain, of Scotland. Ninety five stunning miles, the most challenging long distance walk in Scotland.

Day one of the hike, I put on my hiking shoes and realized I had brought the wrong pair, an old pair smaller than my current sturdy, comfy shoes. How could this happen? What could be more important for a climb or long distance walk than your shoes? What an idiot, I thought, but I'll just have to make the best of it. After two days of walking I recognized that purplish color in my big toe nail that heralds the nail falling off. On the third day, the sole of the left shoe came loose, flapping freely as I walked. I borrowed duct tape from an innkeeper and wore the shoe again the next day. Double idiot...not only did the duct tape give out quickly but I was going to lose that toenail for sure by continuing to use the shoes.

I resigned myself to wearing my not so sturdy, not at all waterproof trail running shoes, took the traditional end of trail still life -- in this case, end of life still life - and sadly left the shoes behind in Inveroran.

Day ten, after walking into Fort William the day before and getting ready to set off for the Isle of Mull, I dropped my camera on the pavement. It was irreparably damaged, and at that point I had not even a camera to take a still life of my dead camera.

After I dropped the camera, we went over to the car rental place and found we had a stick shift car reserved (since 95% of cars in Scotland are stick shift!), compounding the terrifying fact that we would be driving on the "wrong" side of the road, in the rain.

What?! Did I leave all my judgment on the other side of the Atlantic? Desperate to get to Mull, we took the car and Sally, an experienced stick shifter, drove us there and back. After we left Sally and Jan at the train station to go back to Glasgow, Kathleen took over driving - saying something about she drove a truck some years ago and she knew it would come back.

Twenty minutes out of Fort William heading to the Isle of Skye, I asked Kathleen if she didn't think it was unusual that the hood was vibrating. Scot that she is, she said she could handle it, no worries. Ten minutes later, the entire front tire came off, all in one piece like a doughnut out of the deep fryer. The car rental place didn't buy the plea that we were two ditzy American women, and how were we to know we were driving on a flat tire and burning all the rubber where the tire met the wheel? They charged us the full amount for five days rental - plus 500 GBP deductible - and wanted us to take back the same car! We said, "just take us to the bus station", and we made our way through the rest of Scotland by foot, bus, and train. I can't help feeling that flat tire saved our lives.


The final "oh, no!" came when I walked in the house, hugged my kitties, and the little scoundrels showed me $40 worth of expensive hiking socks they had chewed up while I was gone. I could see the "serves you right" look in their eyes.

On telling the car story to a neighbor, with dramatic effect of course, he said "I can top that". He and his wife had rented a car in France, returned it to the agency where a man met them in the parking lot, clipboard and papers in hand. They left the car with this guy and flew back to San Diego. Later, they received a bill from the car rental agency for the entire amount of the car. Evidently, the man in the parking lot was not an employee and they had handed the car over to a thief.

Next post, the joys of Scotland!

Can we get past our fear of change and come together to get this done?

While we're waiting for Kathie to get over her jet lag and show us some pics from walking the Western Highlands of Scotland, I'm going to throw myself into the healthcare reform debate. Having witnessed firsthand the inner workings of a Medicaid HMO, I can tell you that people are already making a LOT of money rationing healthcare.

So what got me going this morning? Like everyone else, I've been thinking about it for a while. On Facebook, I see several of my coworkers bashing Obama and his healthcare reform and I'm not clear on what their objections are. I love them all but - as women and mothers and nurses - how can they not want this system fixed? (Of course, that last assumes that the current proposal can fix this mess - a big assumption, I grant you.)

This morning, I found a link on Janet's kitties blog to a Washington Post editorial that makes sense to me. Here are the last two paragraphs from the editorial...

"Can there be anyone more two-faced than the Republican leaders who in one breath rail against the evils of government-run health care and in another propose a government-subsidized high-risk pool for people with chronic illness, government-subsidized community health centers for the uninsured, and opening up Medicare to people at age 55?

"Health reform is a test of whether this country can function once again as a civil society -- whether we can trust ourselves to embrace the big, important changes that require everyone to give up something in order to make everyone better off. Republican leaders are eager to see us fail that test. We need to show them that no matter how many lies they tell or how many scare tactics they concoct, Americans will come together and get this done."

OK, gloves off. I gotta go walk the mall.

The Next Videographer in the Family

And to think it all started with a $20 generic - but pink! - digital camera with video from WalMart. Lauren and Jennifer would be a dynamite team!

Where's Kathie?

Behind the camera, of course!

Actually, right now she's doing a 95-mile hike in the Scottish Western Highlands. I am so jealous!

Gordon Brown at TED

When you have sixteen minutes to spare, you should watch this. The commenters on the TED site are merciless, but I thought his talk was compelling. Viva bloggers!!

Eyelash Transplant

When I have my eyelash transplant done, I want James Patrick (or his sister) to be my donor.

On Not Having the Sense You're Born With, or "Huh?"

I gotta quit listening to NPR news on my way to and from the mall every morning. The topics and perspectives presented are a little too revealing for me. For example...

Now I'd be the first to tell you that I'm not the sharpest tack in the box, and I'm sure no Harvard professor. I would hope, though, that I'd have sense enough to not follow a policeman - who has just come into my home and questioned me about my right to be there - out onto the porch to continue the discussion. Hello? Apart from the fact that the cop is armed, there's no point in fussing at him. No, I would do what many years of complaining to the wrong person finally taught me - call the turkey's superior, and then that person's superior, and so on until I find someone who can fix the wrong. (I don't know if the cop was a turkey or not - I'm just saying...you get my drift.)

Well, maybe Gates is young and experienced? Nope, turns out he's at least a year older than I am. Kinda rules that excuse out. :)

On my way to the mall this morning, NPR played an audio clip of Professor Gates stating that he now realizes how vulnerable black people are. Looking at Harvard's webpage that describes his accomplishments, I think he should have had this epiphany a while back. Otherwise, about whom has he been writing all this time?

No, I think Gates was supremely pissed off - as most all of us would've been - and is now using this as an opportunity to make a point...loudly. Or, maybe he's having a hard time admitting he shouldn't have followed the cop out onto the porch. Whatever the cause for it, I find his rhetoric to be unduly incendiary and racially divisive, and personally I'm embarrassed for him. Even I know better.

Furthermore, I voted for Obama, have the highest respect for his rationality and ability to see both sides of a situation, and will vote for him again, but honestly - huh? I'm hoping there's some serious reflection going on about that "stupidly" comment.

Then, on my way home from the mall, NPR reported on the declining number of members in the Southern Baptist Convention. Before this I didn't realize that the SBC says women can be spiritual leaders of other women and of children, but never, NEVER, can women be spiritual leaders of men. HUH??? As I pulled the Explorer back onto the pavement, I thanked God that I wasn't raised a southern baptist.

One of the commenters said that in a hundred years people will look back on the way the SBC treats women today and label it as slavery. Why so long? Good grief.

OK, who else wants to be picked on? (Sorry, Kath - I'll get back to my innocuous/inane photo posts now.)

Gotta Have It! (A Toddler Poem)

Gotta have it.
Gotta have it.
Gotta have it.
Got it!

(Edit: I didn't realize until looking at Pam's blog three days after publishing the original version of this that it's actually a Toddler Poem.)

My Protector

I love Kathie's photos. I just don't like to be in them. Lauren Kelly protects me from Kathie's camera. She's a much better subject anyway.

Saturday at the Park with Jennifer

I digress. I'm supposed to be finishing my stories of Morocco, but I can't resist putting out some creative pictures by my grandbaby, Jennifer - 11 years old...but aren't they always babies?

Yesterday's excursion with our cameras was to the San Diego Wild Animal Park. The park's free range setting is appealing but still the 99 degrees tested Jennifer's blue eyed-blond haired body. Those northern Anglos don't seem to hold up as well as this brown eyed person.

Jennifer always seems to have a different view through the lens of her camera. I guess that's what a future film director needs.

Capturing the mood of a pensive stork...


Prayerful bird...


Off center catches this guy's weirdness.


A gorilla with his afternoon popcorn.


And Jennifer's favorite, a meerkat watching her from a pack of napping meerkats.

Did someone say "Cake!"?

Sometimes a picture is worth so much more than a thousand words.

Misgivings

On Kelly's birthday, Jackson was wondering why he had bought the iPod Touch for her instead of for himself.

Ray was just trying to figure out what the hell an iPod Touch is...

Another Set of Twins

There are other sets of twins in our family. This one is James Patrick and his Great Uncle Ray - both such sweet and precious men. (In fact, this set may actually be triplets...I'm ashamed to say that I've yet to meet Ray's grandson Jonathan in Kentucky. Gotta get up there and check him out someday soon.)

A Sense of Humor

At 95, she still has one. I bet she framed the birthday card you gave her and perched it on her bedside table, Ray. Heh heh...you devil!

Endangered Species

July 4, 2009: American men who marry for life and take good care of their children. On the left, our cousin Don, whom we hadn't seen in many years. On the right, our brother Ray, married to his lovely bride Janet for 42 years! Two wonderful men, these.

Jump!

On my home page this morning, I noticed a headline about a YouTube video of Filipino prisoners dancing to Michael Jackson's "Thriller". Of course I had to go check it out. They couldn't come even close to Michael's talent but I was so impressed by their precision - no, that's not the right word...anyway, check out this video of them dancing to the Pointer Sisters' "Jump".



It looks like there isn't an ounce of fat on any of them. Bet they don't need many meds either, Kath!