Touring the Midwest…

At some point in every man’s life, he takes a step back and has to take account of his standing and condition. Today marked that time for me.

I stepped out into the yard to talk to the guy who would be resealing my driveway. I observed his toothless grin and pitiful demeanor as he groveled for extra money on a job that he hadn’t done right twice already, and I realized now, more than I ever, that I had to get the hell out of the Midwest. I gave him an extra $60 out of pity – both due to his condition and not-so-subtle pleadings and the fact that he was just as stranded in this hellhole as I was.

The Midwest is a pitiful place. If you need any evidence of this statement, look no farther than the people and activities they hold in regard. I won’t get into the details on this but suffice it to say, we wouldn’t be talking about MENSA members at any point in the discussion. I’m not entirely sure they even have a MENSA chapter here, but if they do I’m fairly certain that it occupies a single stripmall office somewhere just north of Oolitic. The people here, by and large, are generally OK from my observations but most of them appear to be beaten down. The best way to describe them as a group is that they don’t have any “swagger” and they all seem to live in a fear of something I can’t readily discern. And I can’t discern it, because I’ve never actually taken the time to “plug in” here. When I first arrived I tried to take the time to get to know people, I tried to get an understanding of the place but it was too foreign, too weird. In other places, the “weird” is tangible, it’s like an undercurrent that threatens to carry you away, forcing you to embrace it to get back to the normal. Here it simply sits stagnant on the surface and rots everything it comes into contact with. Unfortunately, it came into contact with me and led me to the arms of some pill popping trailer trash that injected a healthy dose of crazy into my system that took years to purge. Luckily I was able to climb the walls of that well and escaped with only some minor damage. However, over the course of that disaster, I managed to tear down any lasting friendships I might have built and decided to just say screw it and sit tight until I could launch my breakaway move to get back home. So basically, what it boils down to is: I’ve lived here for over 13 years, and I’m still a tourist.

I wasn’t born in Texas, but I was raised there, and even now, I expect to walk outside and smell raw crude mixed with the fragrance of bluebonnets. I always half expect to see a longhorn in one of the pastures I pass on the way to work (there are, in fact a few in one, and I’ve made it a point to take that route, every day.) I still keep an eye out for mesquite trees for branches to toss in the grill. I’ve looked in vain for edible Mexican food for the better part of a decade here and even though I can find a workable steak – it just isn’t the same as getting a 2 inch thick t-bone, cut to order, grilled over a mesquite pit and served up with some fresh corn bread, greens and a baked potato. I also long for the wide open spaces, long streaks of highway that go on for hours and the massive sky. Here, I just feel claustrophobic. The trees are like weeds in a meth heads yard. Everywhere you look, the view is obstructed by some impenetrable variation of wretched fauna.

As an aside, this is Basketball country – and even though none of the local teams here are worth a damn, the people that support them still act as though they won a championship last week. The Colts, while a fair group are no substitute for the Mighty Cowboys, even with all their dysfunction and disappointments. The Pacers try to fill the role for me with their seemingly daily dose of idiocy, but since I can’t seem to wrap my head around the game itself, their efforts are in vain. (Someone once tried to explain the ins and outs of basketball to me, but about 2 minutes in my eyes glazed over, and I can’t recall a thing he said.)

However, the things that I miss the most about Texas are the people, customs and general pace of life. To say Texans are a forgiving bunch is an understatement. In my day there, I committed a fair amount of transgressions, sins and exhibited what might be generally considered unruly behavior as a matter of course. However, the friends I had in my youth there, are my friends now and any ill will I may have mustered up there over the years seems to have been more or less forgotten, unless it’s part of a punch line – which I can live with.

Some things have gotten better here, I married a Texas girl who was gracious enough to join me in this rotten, reeking cornfield, Spoetzel Brewery finally took pity on me and started shipping Shiner recently and the new grill I anticipate getting in the next couple weeks should solve any lingering culinary issues in the short term.

FredBob just left Abilene, and I understand the reasoning behind it, but in all honesty – a windy day in Abilene, sitting on the banks of the creek on a big flat rock with nothing but a cooler full of Shiner, a few friends, some BBQ and a bowl sounds like heaven after what I’ve been through up here…

So, in short – I’m coming home soon, and I can’t wait. I feel like a kid the night before a Six Flags trip. Granted, this night will take about 5 more years, but now there’s a light at the end of the tunnel – and I’m racing towards it with the pedal to the floor.