Most of my relatives are gathering in New Haven this afternoon to pray and sing, to remember and give thanks for my aunt, Isabelle Tuttle DeWitt. My feet are planted squarely in Scotland, but my heart aches to be with my family at Trinity Church on the Green: to recall my elegant, dry-witted, steadfast, generous aunt; to support Margaret and my sister and cousins, and to lean on them for support; to share with Holly and Margaret in representing my mother at the service, and in the gathering after. Ninety-nine days out of a hundred, I’ve felt all right about being here in Scotland. This morning I felt all right about being here. Tomorrow I’ll feel all right about being here. But tonight, as people are bustling around the church, meeting up at designated points, making their several ways to the center of the city where my mother and my aunts grew up — tonight I wish I were back in the USA, doing what family does.