The rains have come, and it totally sucks. The skies have been gray every day for the past week; pregnant with the threat of showers as I scramble to get to college and do my errands – an OH NO, YOU BETTER NOT tango and then an OH, NO, YOU DIDN’T race to shelter. The blossoms in St. Stephen’s Green have all been washed away and the thermometer can’t decide whether to stick at 13 degrees or 22. This afternoon, I realized that it’s early June and I’m still wearing my winter coat.

This won’t do. Luckily, it being June also means that it’s Prodigal Expat Season; that is, the Annual Obligatory Wedding-and-Family Visit Home. OH YES. Someone get the Cinnamon Toast Crunch because it’s going down. One month, three states, two weddings, and one highly obnoxious dental procedure. I’m tired just thinking about it. Why couldn’t I have been born Irish? Then I could travel cross country by train for 10 euro in just 3 short hours. Alas.

So I’ll be monitoring the oil spill on the Gulf of Florida. I’ll be at Marie’s Crisis. I’ll make my first foray into the Midwest. I’ll shout “Have a nice day!” from the rooftops and no one will snicker. I’ll be home, or what used to be home. The longer I’m away, the more I wonder where that is, and where I belong.

Anyway, that’s the burden of the expat. And when I get back to Dublin next month, preparations for The Next Big Thing will commence. Another Next Big Thing? It appears we’ve become addicted to Next Big Things here at I Eat My Pigeon.

Well, you know. Fish gotta swim and pigeon gotta fly.