I’m getting on a plane today. By myself. I’m not taking much with me in this daydream – just a few changes of clothes, a journal, a camera, a sketchbook, and a few other sundries that all fit nicely in a backpack. It’s a long flight, but I’m going to enjoy the quiet by reading the magazines on board, watching several in-flight movies of the grown-up kind, and sleeping. Oh, yes, sleeping. Someone else will make my lunch, and it will be will quite satisfying. I suppose at this point in my fantasy I should put myself in first class so I can recline, be offered warm towels and such, but that is so beyond my comprehension that I’ll stay put back in the poor seats.
After a day of flying in the quiet of solitude, I will deplane in the land of my family ancestors. I smile and my heart melts a bit as I soak in that beautiful, melodic Scottish accent. With a map and bottled water in hand, I will easily maneuver out of Glasgow to places unknown. Over the next week I will slowly meander on foot through green fields, stopping to talk with the local sheepherders. I’ll eat lunch in small, tucked-away pubs while reading novels by authors like McIntosh, Wallace, and McGregor. I will find perch on stones larger than houses, sketching puffins and gannets as they hunt for their daily fish along the magnificent shoreline of the Orkney Islands. I will search for our ancestral land – asking a local young man to photograph me in front of Lach Cash or the town signs of Easter or Wester Cash. An old man will keep me company as I walk along a dirt path, sharing with me the history of his clan before I leave him at the gate of his farm.
I will come back refreshed, rejuvenated, replenished. I will be more in tune with my own self and with my God. I will be ready to be a better wife, a better mother, a better worker, and a better friend.
I’d better get packing. I may have to take another trip later today.
