HIGHLAND ENCOUNTER

I attend the New Hampshire Highland Games, which is, at its most basic level, a bunch of men walking around in kilts.  Oh, there's much more to it -- food, music, athletic and dance competitions, pipe bands, and lots of incredible vendors.  That's all fine and good, but, ladies, there are men in kilts; lots and lots of men in kilts.

Before I leave for the The Games, I have a brief conversation with a jealous friend that goes like this.

FRIEND:  "I hope you have a great time at the Highland Games."

ME:  "I hope it's WINDY!"

So many people are trying to send texts and pictures and make cell phone calls, that I lose all cell reception within about an hour of my arrival at Loon Mountain.  Unable to meet up with my sister, and leaving my daughter behind, I troll the entire grounds in search of some cell phone bars.  I meander back to the hillside by the athletic field, cross back and forth from food courts to trinket tents, round the parade grounds, and introduce myself to mutual clan members (MacKenzie being the dominant of the many), all the while searching for a glimpse of my family.

Finally, the 87 degree heat and the blaring sun force me inside for a respite.  I sit myself down in the front row to enjoy a small band of fiddlers, drummer, guitarist, and bass violin/banjo (one guy plays both but not simultaneously).  I assume (incorrectly) that their set is almost done when, in fact, I have arrived right after the beginning.

About an hour later, I decide I should probably find my kin.  We enjoy two more hours of music (Albannach and Preydein/Catamount Pipe Band) before my sister and I hit the bathrooms one last time.  No one knows how long the shuttles will take to get back to where we are parked, so better to be safe than pee ourselves.  We rush in (no lines, for the first time today), do our business, and rush back out again without properly checking for oncoming foot traffic.

This is a mistake.

I can hear my sister make a rapid apology as I careen out of the bathroom entrance, but there really isn't time for me to stop and assess what I'm hearing nor is there time for my sister to warn me.  As I step back into the sun-drenched hallway, I walk smack into a very tall, extremely handsome man.

The gentleman grasps my arms, ever-so-slightly lifts me off the ground, then repositions me next to him before gently releasing my arms, making sure I'm steady on my feet again.  We laugh, exchange pleasantries, then continue on our ways; my sister and I head off to meet the rest of our family in the bus lines, and the handsome man continues down the hall to the men's room.

I look at my sister and she at me, and we both gape open-mouthed at each other, near-silently whispering oooohhhh .... my ... gaaaaaaaaaaawd.  

Yup, with all the things that I see, taste, smell, touch, and hear at The Games, this is quite the moment to remember.  Too bad he is wearing jeans and not a kilt -- Truly, the only thing missing is the kilt.  Oh, that and a strong and hardy breeze.