My face beamed with excitement when I woke up in the morning. Even six time zones away from America, on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, I felt myself amongst the Americans celebrating the country’s 238^th birthday and was overwhelmed with gratitude to the country that adopted me and transformed me into a happy, content, and fulfilled person. This was the second summer that I had come to this small town on the marvelous shores of the Baltic Sea or, more accurately, of its Gulf of Riga, to escape the heat and humidity of the Washington D.C. area and to work on my memoirs. I was delighted to notice the Latvian national flag at a single-story office building located exactly in front of the window where I was sitting and writing. Latvia also had something to celebrate on the Fourth of July. It was windy, and the flag, two red strips with a narrow white one between, was cheerfully fluttering in the breeze.