I’m married to a man with fiery red hair who goes by the name of McCulloch, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise when I say I’m a sucker for a Scotsman. I’m still waiting for him to hoist a sword and smash through the front door, shouting “Scotland is free!” à la Braveheart. Aye, a lass can dream. And my dream is taking shape.
The other night, I attended a work function at the Lieutenant Governor’s mansion here in Victoria. There was a formal reception line and I was officially “received.” For once in my life, I was appropriately dressed and appropriately behaved (mostly). I bowed and scraped and made my way into the dining room, more aptly described as a hangar sized hall overlooking lush gardens, the Pacific Ocean, and majestic mountains.
I mingled, sipped a cocktail, consulted an extensive seating chart and found my place for the evening. There was wine chilling in a silver ice bucket, a bewildering array of cutlery and stemware, and a place card with my name spelled correctly, but of course. Really, I’m not in need of anything as fancy as all that. I’m just as happy with a plate of Rusty’s special mac-n-cheese as I am with finer fare. But what happened next has started me down an entitled path of no return.
From the front of the vast chamber came a cry from a crisply uniformed gentleman, “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the Lieutenant Governor, Her Honour, Judith Guichon.” And then, like a vision out of Brigadoon, came a bagpiper. Apparently this man has been piping in arrivals at Government House for over 30 years.
Oh well now this is just the thing I’ve been looking for my whole life. I’ve decided I want one at my side at all times. I shall emerge from the bedroom, all bedhead and sweatpants, “Please rise for the Lieutenant Spouse, Her Highness, Bobbi,” as Hamish Macgilliguddy blasts a tune announcing my presence. I would do anything to make that happen just once. Anyone who knows of an unemployed plaid clad piper send him my way please.
I suppose the odds are against that gift ever materializing, but you never know when a spectacular and unexpected offering will land at your feet. Like this one from an incredibly kind and obviously talented Finder, Chris …
A wonderful painting of the town square in Semur-en-Auxois. It was done using a photo from the blog/book and even better than a personal piper I’d say. I’m planning to hang it in my office and whenever the grind gets heavy I’ll fix my gaze on it and daydream of the days of wine and croissants and verb conjugation. Merci bien Chris and Diane. Now if I could just get Neil into a kilt, all would be right in this world.