papa

Today would have been my Papa's birthday. Every year I try and have a wee dram of whiskey around this time - this year whiskey-purists would have hated me, on Thursday I had a Tennessee Honey Jack Daniels with a couple of girlfriends and it was OH SO good.

Papa (Ingram Taylor McLaren - what a name) was a fantastic man. I was only young when he died but I remember this. I won't root up all the stories of him here but one in particular is special to me: Papa took the exam (unbeknownst to everyone) and was accepted into MENSA in relatively ripe adulthood. I'm the proud owner of his certificate, which sits on my dresser at home proudly displaying his enormous IQ. I think this story has always been a secret inspiration to me to be smart and have a geekish enthusiasm for studying. I thought of him a lot when I got my acceptance letter into Cambridge, and also on the day I finished my final final last year. No doubt he'll be on my mind when I'm receiving my degree in June next year.

Here's me and the big guy:

Papa was a Burns' fan I believe but I'm more partial to a bit of Robert Service - he was a Scot born in England, spent his youth in Glasgow and went to British Colombia at 21, and so I identify our England-Scotland-Massachusetts family spread with his life. Here's my favourite of his works, My Madonna:

I haled me a woman from the street,

   Shameless, but, oh, so fair!

I bade her sit in the model’s seat

   And I painted her sitting there.

I hid all trace of her heart unclean;

   I painted a babe at her breast;

I painted her as she might have been

   If the Worst had been the Best.

She laughed at my picture and went away.

   Then came, with a knowing nod,

A connoisseur, and I heard him say;

   “’Tis Mary, the Mother of God.”

So I painted a halo round her hair,

   And I sold her and took my fee,

And she hangs in the church of Saint Hillaire,

   Where you and all may see.