I anticipate today being the first of many Fourth of July’s that I spend outside of the States. If I were ‘home’ today, I’d definitely spend the holiday at my parents’ house on Lake Conroe.
I’d probably get up at 6 AM to squeeze in a jog before it got above 90 degrees for the day. Then I wouldn’t bother taking a shower before laying out on the dock, because I’d just start profusely sweating the second I walked outside anyway. After laying out until it was unbearably hot (10 AM is usually my boiling point), I’d go inside and rinse off. I would jump in the lake to cool off, but since there is yet another draught in Texas, the Lake is too low, and wading into the ankle deep water might leave me with a horrible flesh eating fungus. True story.
But I’m not in America today. I’m in Scotland. And it’s a cold day in July. And I’ve been waiting to use that Dixie Chicks line since we moved here in May.
The fourth of July in Aberdeen goes mostly unnoticed. Rather than hanging out by the lake/pool/beach/other body of water, I drove Jonathan to work at 7 AM. I met up with some AWA ladies for a “Catch Up Coffee” at Starbucks followed by lunch with some other American friends. Tonight we are celebrating America’s (and our friend Jayna’s) birthday with dinner and drinks at The Albyn. All that without even breaking a sweat.
Of course, all of this “I’m not homesick” talk is a front. The truth is, it’s a hard day to be an ex-pat. Right up there with Thanksgiving. A day that you’ve grown up believing had sentiment and inherent reverence, and yet the general public around you just go on like it’s just any other foggy and dreary day in Scotland.
No, I don’t miss the Texas heat. But I do miss my family. And friends. And sunshine. And Abita beer. And bar-b-que. And Margaritas on the dock. And a warm summer breeze on the lake. And country radio. And this is a slippery slope…
Happy 4th of July everybody! Please have a sno-ball in my honor. I’ll have a hot cocoa and the soup of the day, because “it’s a cold day in July…”