So today is apparantly "A Day Without Immigrants" and I just realised that this means me as well, technically speaking. Does it not seem strange that so immigrants should be held to be the source of so many problems in America, of all countries? And people in the southern border lands appear to be particularly prone to that finger-pointing, when they are living on land that was originally part of a Mexico too weakened by its own war for independence to be able to defend it from the young states to the north.
I'm coming up to the eighth anniversary of my "stepping off the boat" as it were — it's easy to work out as I just add on one year and a couple of days to my wedding anniversary, which is how long it took for my permanent resident visa to come through, plus a couple of weeks to get the last things packed and get a flight. I missed my first wedding anniversary by just five days I think. From the visa (and later job) interview questions I was asked I was apparantly suspected of being an economic migrant, which made the enormous paycut that I took to move from London, UK to Dayton, Ohio rather ironic.
On the other hand, I don't really think of myself as an immigrant. I'm think I'm really someone who is just hanging out here for a while … seeing the sights, doing a bit of shopping, being married, having kids etc.. On the other hand I've only been back to England once in all that time, for my brother's wedding in Cambridge last year. With my parents living in Spain and my parents-in-law living near Rome we tend to pay fleeting visits to Heathrow every now and then just to see if they've finished building it yet (which they haven't) and to stock-up on the few goodies that are available there and not from our local Fine Imported Goods emporium — ie. the commissary at Peterson AFB. They sell Flakes, Crunchies, Milk Chocolate Hobnobs etc, although they fly off the shelves because everyone panic-buys them apparantly.
So anyway I get itchy feet everytime I see Oracle blogsters writing of their travels, and we're regularly overcome by an urge to move back to Europe. Any part of it at all will do. We were recently thwarted in an attempted move to Slovenia or Romania, and now we're trying for Germany. My brother tells me we should be moving to Denmark — in fact a friend of a friend ended up there after some kind of incident involving rowing to Iceland in a replica of a Viking longboat, during which voyage he apparantly had an affair with the wife of the group leader which must have involved either extraordinary levels of discretion or some extraordinarily tense mealtimes — but frankly it's probably Hobson's choice where we land. If the USAF doesn't have positions for a Developmental Engineer at least available then it's not on the list.
So where was I?
Ah yes, the immigrant day thing. Well it turns out that most of my work colleagues will be in a Customer Acceptance Test for most of the day so they wouldn't notice me not being here (here being 1,200 miles from them) anyway. However, I applaud the priniciple and I may go down the Monica's Taco Shop for a breakfast burrito to show support for the cause.