Home?

I have now lived in London for 4 ½ years and people are always asking me when I will go home. I used to use my dad’s line and say whenever I was told I had to pick up my toys go in. Unfortunately, no one seems to find that satisfactory at all. I reckon people over on this side of the pond are gauging my commitment to their country and people back in the US of A are wondering when I am going to come to my senses and get back to God’s Country.

But, really, to an army brat who went to 12 different schools, what is home anyway? Growing up, it was where everyone has to get out of the pool during the summer at 5 pm to face the parade ground where the flag was being lowered. Or falling asleep to the sound of mortar fire coming from the range on the other side of post. Or a stairwell apartment in a foreign country filled with the same beige-y bland Quartermaster furniture that filled all of your friends’ homes as well.

When I was a little kid, I used to keep a US flag up in my room (and, big ole dork that I am, would say the Pledge of Allegiance to it every day when I went to an English school in Indonesia) So, I guess home was the good ole Red, White and Blue.

And since I have chosen to live in London, everyone seems obsessed with when I will “go home.”

But, I gotta tell ya, I went back to Texas a few weeks ago – to “home.” And, as I was busy eating my way through every Tex-Mex, steak and fried food restaurant ( a friend once told me that he went to Texas and was overwhelmed with his food choice – so long as he wanted everything smothered, covered, dipped or fried! (And, yes, Houston is, like, the fattest city ever, I know.) But, I digrease. (See, I think I am funny!)), I enjoyed being “home. “ Nice friendly people, sunshine, wide open spaces....but, then I went to a formal event with my parents and, while, I must caveat this with the fact that it WAS in Texas (one of the most conservative places in the world. I mean, they don’t call it the buckle of the Bible belt for nothing!) and it was a military ball, I was still shocked at some of the things I heard coming out of people’s mouths! I had one woman go on and on about immigration reforms and how we needed to build a big ole fence. Maybe I should have reminded her that as I live in London, that kinda makes me an immigrant?

But, instead, I just stopped and said in my best Texas drawl, “Honey, I gotta stop you right there and let you know I am a Democrat.” To which she replied? “Oh, that’s OK, we’ll take your kind too.” Yes, friends, I am now a “kind.” I guess so long as I am not that immigrant kind. Oh wait.


And, then there was the woman who asked me if I was afraid to live in London and ride the tube with all those Muslims. I kid you not. I was flabbergasted! But, in her defense, people in the UK ask me all the time if I am afraid to be in Texas with all those concealed weapons. I actually had a Scottish doctor once ask me if it was true that in order to own land in Texas you had to own a gun. Um, what does he think there is some sort of reverse airport screening process at the mortgage office? “Sorry, folks, if you’re not packing heat, you need to go find yourself some place to rent cause you sure as hell ain’t gonna be able to buy. We don’t want your kind here!”

And, as far as Americans’ ignorance of geography – I admit it ain’t so great. But, we’re not alone in that. I was on a plane to Corfu the other day and I met a sweet 18 year old who positively squealed with delight when she heard my accent as she had never met a real “live” American before. And, bless her, she actually said, “WOW, I am going to Corfu, where are you going!?” Um, hello, we’re on the same plane.

And, yes, she was English. So, turns out, there’s different flavors of Stupid everywhere.


But, after this trip back to Texas and just when I think, yep, I may actually be the first person to apply for a British passport who says “fancy a cup of tea, y’all?”, I faced the ultimate dilemma last week (in Corfu. Which, for the record, is in GREECE.) (Yes, I know, I can hear y’all know....Countrydropper.....))but, anyway, my dilemma– both the US and England were playing a world cup match at the same time. All the people in my villa were hellbent on watching England play (being English, you kinda would! Or actually, after the Germany match, maybe not so much?)


So, I got in my car and drove to a little taverna in this tiny Greek town and asked them to put on the US match. And, I was the only person watching it in a room filled with English supporters (who, I might add had two giant screens and the sound pumped in while I had this rinky dink 27-incher bolted to the ceiling that I had to squint to see). And, while I kept my eye on the England match, it was the USA that had me screaming in delight at the 92 minute goal. And, this weekend, I am hosting some friends at a 4th of July cookout, complete with burgers, hotdogs, fireworks, potato chips and watermelon. (And, before you even ask, no, we sure as hell won’t be drinking Bud Light or some other watery American beer.)


So, maybe home is still the Red, White and Blue?

But, then again, so is the Union Jack.