Repatriation

At the time this post goes public, I should be 12 hours away from setting foot again on Missouri soil. I'd like to say "will be", but for all we know, I might be snowed in on the M25, or there might be a rather lengthy customs and border interrogation waiting for me at O'Hare.

At this time, I'd like to disclose to the readers of this blog that my wife and I have made the mutual yet painful decision to separate. After giving it a go and trying out life in a foreign country, unfortunately we were unable to make it work. I do consider this a most unfortunate event, and I still value her as a friend. But in the course of my eight months in the UK, we faced a series of setbacks and conflicts that ultimately brought us to the realisation that we were simply incompatible.

It has taken me awhile to accept this, but sad to say I have done so and am moving on. In some respects, though, I haven't. For all we know, right now I could be balling my eyes out so obnoxiously that I'm preventing my plane for Chicago from leaving the gate area. (Of course, with travel security precautions heightened to their highest levels in three years, this post being automatically set to come up whilst I'm over County Roscommon will probably ring a few alarm bells in some corner offices at MI5 and/or the NSA.) I have had two weeks of packing and reflecting in the Folkestone Downs to come to terms with this and prepare to move on, back to terra cognita.

Not only will I miss the good times I shared with the Misses, but I'll definitely miss the Kentish countryside. Kent is truly the Garden of England, an area of steep, rolling hills, filled with woods, grazing pastures, and farmlands, even more pristine with all the snow that's descended on us the past month. And it's all connected by public footpaths and bridleways that would take lifetimes to traverse completely. Probably because I'd have to stop at every pub along the way, order a pint of ale & a packet of crisps or a warm meal, look around at the character and history engrained into the place, and move on after a good laugh or two. Yeah, I'll miss that too.

And believe it or not, I'll miss the food. Yes, a lot has been said about English food being bland and boring. From now on, anyone who says that gets a spoonful of Colman's Mustard jammed in their mouth. Tell me that's bland and boring! While recipes of English mustard have made their way to the States, several food items that I have enjoyed eating in the UK haven't caught on. Chicken Tikka Masala, Yorkshire puddings, squash, back bacon (which is a lot larger & juicier than American bacon made from pork bellies), cooking with extra virgin olive oil: all edibles that I will miss & seek to replicate once I set foot back in the land of Gates' Bar-B-Q, Taco Bueno, Mountain Dew, crab rangoon and deep-fried Twinkies. At least I've left behind a sensational barbecue sauce recipe.

And as wonderful it will be to be running this blog and Missives from Missouri from Missouri, I'll find it most unfortunate that I won't be in the UK when the next general election takes place. I was really looking forward to witnessing first-hand a monumental election, where for the first time since 1945 at least one out of every five seats in the House of Commons will be open. But alas, I will do so again from the transatlantic sidelines, spending a future Thursday evening staring at David Dimbleby & crew for hours simulcast on C-Span.

I will miss this nation. Even if Westminster needs to empower voters with a recall and the Hancock Amendment impressed on them to curtail government overspending, England is a wonderful country and one that I hope to visit again and very often. And even if I never leave the US again, I will remain the Missouri Expatriate, with eight months exposure of driving on the left side, merchandise labelled in 20 different languages (and priced in Sterling, Euros, Swiss francs, Czech koruna, and Polish zloty), and scenic views of the English Channel on my back. An experience that, in spite of the damage my pocketbook and résumé took, I am glad to have undertaken.

For now: it's the figurative Parent's Basement. Once I get through border controls at O'Hare.