It rained like Noah and the ark during the opening ceremonies at the Grandfather Mountain Games, but I had been assured that it usually _does_, and the participants would conduct their complete program, including the famous Calling of the Clans. Which indeed they did, the various clan chiefs and representatives being thoughtfully equipped with kerosene-fueled tiki torches. [G]
The kindly people at Black Bear Books in Blowing Rock, who had invited me, had told me that it was likely to rain (“That mountain is a weather-maker,” they said—a phrase I carefully filed away for later use), and also informed me that I should bring a blanket to sit on the grass, as there were not really any bleachers as such; merely a grassy hillside next to MacRae Meadow, where the games are held.
I did bring a small blanket, but instead of hunting for a perch on the grass, elected to stroll casually down Clan Row, where the tents of all the clan societies are located, and see whether anyone recognized me. [Cough] (I do a fair number of Highland Games, what with one thing and another, and the nice people who support the clan societies do, too. You get to know people.)
Fortunately, I was spotted by a hospitable bunch of Buchanans, and kindly invited to come and sit in the shelter of their tent for the ceremonies. And a good thing, too; had I been sitting on the grassy knoll, I would have been washed right down the mountainside, rather than allowed to enjoy the events while peacefully eating meat pies and Diet Coke. (Was also royally entertained by the Frasers, the next day, who gave me shelter in which to eat my hot dog in peace—and the odd dram of whisky. I signed 73 _cases_ of books (at 24 trade paperbacks per case) that day, and had my picture taken with just about every single person who bought a book, too. I needed that whisky.)
Unfortunately, neither clan Fraser nor clan MacKenzie had arrived in time to have a representative take part in the Calling of the Clans, because I was all ready to shout “Tulach Ard!” or “Caisteal DHUUUUUUN!” as required, but just as well, as this might have startled the Buchanans.
I also drove down to Greensboro, where I spent a delightful afternoon wallowing in the Guilford Courthouse Battlefield and Visitors Center. Walking battlefields and listening for the echoes is one of my favorite things, and the Visitors Center there is excellent, with a really good film explaining the battle (they used very talented re-enactors for it, and they did a great job. I will note for the record, though—I see a lot of these kinds of films, what with one thing and another—that while the actors’ clothes and uniforms are artfully daubed with mud, blood, and powder-smoke, they still have a sense of unreality about them, because the clothes stand away from the actors’ bodies, having been freshly made and put on for the occasion. To have an actual sense of reality, the people would need to have been living and sleeping in those uniform for weeks, so the fabric goes limp and clings to the contours of the body. But I admit that there are limits to what one can expect an actor to do for his or her art (or the National Park Service), and these people did a fine job).
More tomorrow, perhaps, about CONestoga and Just What Goes on at a Con, Anyway (if anyone invites you to “get fuzzy,” don’t do it, is all I can say).

I did mention travails, though. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to update the website of late; my webmistress, Rosana, has recently lost her father after a short illness, and has been spending time in New Mexico, taking care of her mother and settling things. Our profound sympathies to Rosana and her family—and our prayers are always with them.

In the meantime, I’ll put update stuff here on the blog, to be posted to the website later.