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  • We were driving along this winding road through the eastern midlands of Scotland on our way to Peter's homestead. He hadn't been back since he was 17 in 1963. He'd lived a lot of life in the meantime, but the idea of being in the UK and not at least doing a drive-by seemed ridiculous, or so I said. He acquiesced and on we drove. The countryside was beautiful and lush this June. Sheep everywhere and Clydesdales. We finally arrived. It was as he had left it. Even the old lady, Lilly, who had helped to raise him was still there. He remembered her much older but obviously the memories of youth often bend time. She was nearly 100 but she came out of the cottage, freshly curled hair still bearing the fat tubular impressions all over her head. It was a sweet reunion, and an emotional reunion considering they both admitted that she never liked him. They shared news of who was alive and who had gone. I guess when you're close to going, it's what you're curious about. They laughed a bit and then we pressed on to see the other sites of his youth: the soccer fields, the Academy, the church graveyard. All were lush with memories for the world traveler who had come home one more time.
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