I wish I had a picture to show you. She was absolutely adorable in her blue denim jumper that didn't quite cover the black, obviously high-quality basketball shoes, her short white hair and her whimsical but faded Scottish accent.
Her name was Monica, and she was an 80 year old woman, born in the birthplace of golf, Scotland, and now residing in the birthplace of waterskiing, Lake City, MN. Having never met me and only hearing of my move via my aunt, she insisted that I come to her condo for conversation about Scotland, and of course for a cup of tea, or two. And a Biscott. And a piece of shortbread fresh from the oven.
It was a delightful visit with her, sipping tea with milk and sugar, and listening to her tell stories about her childhood in central Scotland and return trips to her homeland. She told of the food she ate as a wee child at her mother's table and gave me a list of "some of the most delightful B&B's that side of the world." She told me of the places I absolutely must go to see and how to eat at a "pub lunch" to save money. The whole encounter was all very random, but also very interesting.
She's been here in the States for the majority of her adult life, but was obviously a lover of all things Scotch. I'm pretty sure that by the end of our time together she still had not quite learned my name, but she certainly had me excited about getting across the pond to check out this new place I'll eventually learn to call home.
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