You know when you have those moments?
I'm having one.
I'm sitting here, eating a piece of Georgia's leftover (and totally unhealthy) German Chocolate birthday cake contemplating the ‘big' things in life. Like my giant belly.
I don't think the cake is helping with that.
It's one of those weak moments where I'm just missing home. I'm missing my family. I'm wishing they could share in things with us – and hating that they can't.
It also may be important to point out that currently, it seems as if my entire home state is on fire. Have you heard about these Washington fires? Y'all – they are bad. The air quality is so poor, schools have been shut down and people are evacuating (or wearing respirators…seriously!). It's weird in a way, as thankful as I am to be breathing this ‘ol fresh Alabama air, I feel like I'm missing out.
Like a soldier that has trained for battle with a battalion who isn't there in the fight.
I feel like I should be there to share in the experience – to share in the battle.
Is that strange?
I can see now why soldiers risk their lives to fight with their friends. There is this sense unique of commitment – a strange sense that you want to be along their side for the bad, as well as the good.
Maybe it's just comes from being a part of that town for 26 years.
But I'm missing being a part of this with them.
I've found so many things I love about Southern Culture since being down here. The people, for instance, are fantastic. I've established friendships faster here than anywhere I can remember. I'm sure part of that comes from being desperate and needy – I think people could sense I was sending out SOS signals.
Help! Please! I'm lonely and need friends and encouragement or I'll die! Die, I tell you!
But then at a local coffee shop the other day, I saw a young man who looked something like this:
And it made me so desperately miss living in the West. Isn't that weird?
No. I don't dress like that. Neither do most of the people in the Pacific Northwest. But if you've been there, you may know what I mean.
It's cattle and coffee shops. Vineyards and rain forests. Hippies and cowboys.
Cool rivers and clear water:
With lots of mountains:
It's where people dress like this:
And somehow, it still all makes sense.
It's been far too hot here to rock my cowboy boots (which were every day attire back home) and I still wonder in this upscale community what people would think of my red flannel and PBR hat.
A new friend of mine here advised me that despite the ‘typical' Southern Woman attire, I should totally rock them anyway.
Which I will proudly do.
Once it stops being a million degrees.
All that to say, I do love the South. I love so many things about it. But it will never have that coffee-house-sage-brush-pear-orchard-cool-fall-giant-mountain-cool-river feel that my home has. It's not supposed to. It's special in a different way.
A way that is beautiful and unique, all it's own.
As demonstrated in the wonderful citrus trees.
And the red cardinals that land on our porch.
And the beautiful and soft brown magnolia tree leaves.
And the sweet smell of a gardenia bush.
Washington can't have any of these things. Each place is unique to what the good Lord designed them to be.
Just like me. And you. And even though I'm a transplant to the South, the Western part of me will always be that. A woman who loves the ‘ol West.
Point being, I don't see myself learning to smock dresses anytime soon. Not that there's anything wrong with smocked dresses. I just have a feeling Georgia may be wearing a flannel to church instead.
And that's okay.
Because I have a belly full of German Chocolate cake at the moment. And everything is okay when you have a belly full of German Chocolate cake.
Even melancholy moments.
That you choose to share with the entire world on your blog.