I Can Still Hear The Pipes 4000 Miles From Home

I was born and raised in Scotland and moved to America as a young lad.  As I age I feel more connected to Scotland,  I feel her pulling me home like a welcoming Mother at the end of a troublesome day. Today I read several great posts written about Rememberance Day, some of them included pipers and montages of Scotland's mountains and typical scenery and something about it made me shed a tear. How can images on a screen draw out emotions so powerful that you question your whole life? Is it possible I don't belong here any more? Are the images and haunting notes of the pipes calling me to uproot my family and settle back in the land of my ancestors.  Where would I work? what the hell would I do? Should I sell the house and business, load up the kids and the dog and make a transatlantic homecoming?  

It must be a mid-life crisis. The desire to gypsy over to another spot on the globe, seeking greener pastures and leaving darker ones in your wake before you get too old and the desire fades to a distant memory of youthfull dreams.

Someday I will gaze upon your purple heather and rolling hills, someday I will feel your tepid sunshine and bitter rain upon my welcoming cheek, someday I will stand on the terraces of Tannadice with my Father and be gleefully drawn back to a moment in time. Someday I will come home, but not today, someday....

The old stopming grounds...

Broughty Ferry Castle