Two weeks from today, Chris and I will be en route to Glasgow for our annual pilgrimage to see my Granny P. and my Uncle Douglas. We made the plans for this trip months ago, bought the tickets when it was still all imaginary and yet, here we are, days away from going. It takes me by surprise every time. This year, we'll be taking my niece Rebecca, 8-almost-9, with us. It's her first international trip, first time away from Mom and Dad for that long. She's just about the coolest kid around, so we can't wait to experience the ol' homeland through her insatiably curious eyes.
Last week I had the fabulous experience of calling Granny P. and telling her that we were bringing Rebecca with us. My grandma hasn't been stateside for over a decade and while she's spry and quick-witted, still climbing the steps up to her third-floor flat every day, the trip is likely too much for her. I got to hear her gasp of delight, transmitted across the wires, at the thought of meeting her great granddaughter for the first time.
And while Rebecca may wind up less enchanted with why some old lady's crying about meeting her than with the double-decker buses and funny accents, this is essentially an opportunity to make a dream come true for my grandma.
Take that, reality TV with your scripted tear-filled family reunion moments!