Auld Reekie

I woke to the smell of tomatoes and macaroni.

My mother used to make tomatoes and macaroni routinely for lunch. It was literally a handful of macaroni cooked with a jar of home-canned tomatoes. Maybe some salt and pepper, I dunno. I wasn't paying attention. But it was really basic.

My brothers and I would sprinkle about 10 tons of Kraft Parmesan Cheese (with the green label) on it. Sometimes she would make tomatoes and bread, which was about the same thing, but I stayed far away from that. Didn't like the texture.

Anyway, it was 6:00 AM and macaroni and tomato smell permeated the apartment. I didn't feel great. I had polished off the last 2 glasses of Bunnahabhain the night before, and while I didn't have a hangover, I didn't feel like working out at PureGym. But I forced myself outside into the cold April air.

To my disgust, all of Edinburgh smelled like tomatoes and macaroni. And not in a good way.

This, combined with my half-hangover, put me in a really bad mood. I got to PureGym and ... goddamit, I forgot my earbuds! Sometimes the only thing that keeps me on the elliptical is watching geeky YouTube videos like TheoGG or Marcus Brownlee or Road Guy Rob or Chef John. It took my mind off the pain.

Now I didn't even have that. There was nothing but pain ahead of me. What could I do? It was too late to go home. I sighed and boarded the elliptical.

Gym rats with well-tuned bodies walked past me. They needed a scone more than they needed another workout. I could see them judging me out of the corner of their eyes.

I hated them. Hate, hate, hated them.

It was a bad morning in Auld Reekie.

On Top of Old Smoky

"Auld Reekie" is an affectionate nickname for Edinburgh, and although it looks like "Old Smelly", the accurate Scots Gaelic translation is "Old Smokey". It got its moniker in the 1800's because of all the smoke in the air, caused by unusually tall buildings smooshed in together by the Frith of Forth up North and the hills at the bottom.

"For gods sake, don't call it that," says Amanda, our friend from church who lived in Edinburgh during her formative years.

But Dunediners (= residents of Edinburgh) think "Auld Reekie" is hilarious. They call Edinburgh that all the time. Our Stirling Castle tour guide used that moniker in describing 1700's era Old Town. Back in the good ol' 1700's, residents would empty their chamber pots into the Closes (alleyways) where the contents would scoot down the hill all the way into the lowest point in Old Town, next to the cemetery. Here, they would form a giant cesspool.

Much later the cesspool was filled in and became Princes Street Gardens. (There is a picture of it on this blog's home page). The flowers that grow there are immaculate. They are certainly well-fertilized!

It Brings Up Stuff

The name Auld Reekie has another attraction - that of being dangerously close to my last name. People are generally baffled by the name "Riecke" and have pronounced it "Reekie" or "Reek"

"Riecke" has no connection whatsoever to Scotland, being a German name that apparently was butchered in translation to America by adding an extra "c" to "Rieke," which is far more common.

Anyway ... back on the elliptical I am beginning to sweat. My workout clothes, which haven't been washed from my previous outing, are starting to emit a Pig Pen-ish dark cloud. Bluggh.

And then my mind, having nothing to occupy itself without YouTube, goes back to the 7th grade. Axtell Park Junior High in Sioux Falls. I'm going through puberty.

Here's one thing about kids going through puberty - they smell. It's not their fault. Their armpits start sweating, something that hasn't happened before, and all kinds of glandular changes are wreaking havoc. I was no different.

There's a girl named Jill in my 7th grade English class. I have to walk past her every day to get to my seat. I dread this because I know what she's going to do.

"Stinky!" she hisses at me, under her breath as I walk by. Then giggles like it's the funniest thing.

Wow. I can't remember the voices of any of my classmates in 7th grade, but I remember hers. Clear as day.

Why is that? Yeah I know it's bullying. (As far as bullying goes, it's probably the mildest form on Earth.) I'm sure Jill wouldn't remember it. She might have done a lot worse in her day. Hell, I've probably done worse to others, but I have conveniently forgotten about it over the years.

But I haven't forgotten that hiss, "Stinky!"

If I were a well-adjusted Internet-age dweller, I would:

• Go to therapy and sand down this memory like a plastic surgery until it no longer bothered me at inopportune moments (like a workout)
• Find Jill on Facebook and exact my revenge!

But I have things to do. Like finish this damn workout.

In my "auld" age, I do believe living well is the best revenge. It is certainly the easiest mode of revenge. And come to think of it, since Jill doesn't remember me or give a crap anyway ... it's probably the only one.

I believe that scars make humans interesting. I don't want to minimize the big scars - I have a few of those too. You definitely don't want these scars to define you.

But scars are part of your story. They remind you that one of the best things about humans is they survive bad times ... and even do OK. They extract good stuff from bad stuff. I am still in awe of that. Every single day.

Epilogue

You know something? The day turned out OK.

By the time I got out of the gym, the tomato and macaroni cloud had left Edinburgh. It now smelled like nothing. Nothing is very, very nice.

I made a big bowl of Cullen Skink. Smoked haddock chowder with onions and potatoes. OMG, it was so good I just about melted all over the dining room table.

And then Amy and I went to a Ceilidh and danced our ass off! More on that later.

Yup the day turned out OK.

Because, DUH, I'm in Scotland!!! Auld Reekie!!! How could it not be OK?