There are some days when I miss living in the States-the heat and light that came with living in Texas. The wet windy weather that Seattle brought on a near afternoon basis. The sea grasses over the sandy azaleas in North Carolina.

I know I chose to leave-I know I live my life in a little English village and am about to spend half a million pounds on a house that will keep me here for many, many years, with a man that I would go anywhere with. Even though I get teased about being an American (often good-naturedly), I don't apologize for being one and I have absolutely no plans to try to shake off my accent, to try to assimilate like Angus' stepmother, an Australian who is so absolutely British now that you'd never guess she came from Down Under. Being an American is something that I am, like I'm brunette, I'm a veggie, I'm a nut. I don't shout out about any of these things, I live life on the down low, but they are parts of me that I care about and love.

She recently had a post about the things she does and doesn't miss about Dallas. Dallas, city of big dreams and even bigger hair. Dallas, the one city that I knew every single road through downtown on, so I could dive off the Mixmaster and race down the one-way streets, travelling through West End, Deep Ellum, Lower Greenville. I would zip through the streets in my green VW Cabrio, the top down and the CD player blaring. For some reason, when I think of Dallas, I think of Collective Soul and Toad the Wet Sprocket playing at top volume and the streets shimmering with heat, the sky cloudless and baking, the streets empty and the sidewalks quiet in the world's calmest downtown.

We watch a show sometimes on TV called Sheer Dallas, which seems to embody all of the absurd and ridiculous that Dallas can be. Although we're not fans of realite TV, it can be nice to watch them drive past the Cowboys stadium, it's nice to see the roads I knew so well, it's nice to remember what it was like to be there.

When I think of Dallas, I seldom think of my time in university, that horrible high school, or the years in the little house with Kim on Lower Greenville. When I think of Dallas it is with memories of the first house I owned, a house from the 1920's in Oak Cliff that was all my own. It cost me what was, at the time, a king's ransom to purchase-I paid $68,000 for it, and it was perfect. It was clean, it was lovely, and it was all mine. I had two dogs, a Rottie-mix named Boscoe and a lab-mix named Toby. I had a spare room that held all my books and my hockey kit for the hockey games I played in once a week. I had my work and I had a huge comfortable bed that I would spend most of Sunday in reading the paper with my dogs and I had a green and yellow kitchen that I loved being in.

Over time Dallas has become embedded in me as the Land of Memories.

Sometimes, I do miss Dallas.

I think back and remember what it was like living outside of Seattle at Tacoma AFB. There's not much I remember, but I remember the house with the large windows in the front, the front garden filled with my mother's roses. I had a pink bedroom and a Miss Piggy poster on the wall. I remember the time I took my Kiss Me Barbie's kissing lipstick and stuck it all over me, trying to convince my mother I had the chicken pox, which she didn't fall for as the marks were all lip shaped. Summers were purple popsicles melting down my arm, blueberries, and running around barefoot on warm grass, a clothesline spinning above me and clouds spending endless time drifting around, waiting for me to guess what shape they were in.

I remember not being a little girl anymore there.

Sometimes, I do miss Seattle.

I remember living in Raleigh, North Carolina. Trips to the Outer Banks with views over bridges that are impossible to describe, and even harder to imagine. North Carolina had quiet country roads and perfect bagels. I remember spending long Sundays with my best friend Jim, eating bagels and watching movies and pretending the world wasn't important. I remember sand at the side of the road, drives to bed and breakfasts in Wilmington. In North Carolina came working myself to death and many, many hours at the Raleigh-Durham airport as I got ready to go to Sweden, England, Singapore, France. I remember the bags under my eyes so deep the North Carolina sun couldn't get them out, I remember standing on a coffee table and screaming in joy as the Stars won the Stanley Cup, I remember one day later learning my grandpa was on his death bed.

There was overdosing. North Caolina had me sitting in bed, holding the phone in stunned silence as I learnt Kim was dying. There were rivers of tears. I spent hours going up and down, battling the mania and the depression, cleaning all night long and being unable to leave the house. I remember the feel of the North Carolina sun on my shoulders-different from Dallas, but no less loving.

I remember North Carolina in insanity-steeped memories.

Sometimes, I do miss North Carolina.

I do think about Sweden a lot as well. Sweden was my next stop in the world after North Carolina. I remember sparkling blue water and spiralling copper-topped buildings. There was love, fear, the smell of hospital straps and a happy Collie. Stockholm hasn't begun to register in the memories, I'm still really only on my Dallas years, but in time the memories will begin to fit into my past, and I suspect when these memories finally come they'll smell like gingerbread.

I have lived all over the States but the only places that stay with me are North Carolina, Texas, and Washington. Even though I left them, over time they've become a part of who I am. I can slide back into a slight Southern drawl without thinking about it (much to the amusement of Angus' kids). I can remember what it was like the day Mt. St. Helens exploded (we watched a lot of TV, had no school that day, and it was pretty damn dark), I know what the smell of plywood over boarded North Carolina hurricane windows smells like, and I can remember the purple-green sky of an impending Texas tornado.

To make life simpler I have sometimes been guilty of trying to play down where I'm from and where I've been. But all of these are a part of me, and the thing about these memories is even though some of the memories as so painful I could scream in agony, most of them are precious and dear, sights and smells and colors, patchwork pieces of places that has made me who I am today, and things I will remember until I die.

Here's to you, America.

And thank you.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 12:35 PM | Comments (13) | Add Comment
Post contains 1222 words, total size 7 kb.

1 I share the Raleigh experience, Helen, and I would like to travel like you do, but I never want to live anywhere but here. Of course, I have been here longer than you have been alive. You ae right that all those places and experiences have made you what you are today.

Posted by: kenju at January 06, 2006 01:35 PM (xO1SY)

2 It always amazes me what sticks in your head, especially the smells. Bremerton, WA will always smell like Green Tea for me, and I'm not really sure why. Westerly, RI is the smell of the ocean in winter. Thanks for reminding me of these things.

Posted by: amber at January 06, 2006 02:01 PM (VZEhb)

3 Get ready because the new reality show is Dallas SWAT! As if COPS in Fort Worth wasn't enough. When you were describing Dallas it's almost like I was there with you. Jef

Posted by: Thunderfish at January 06, 2006 02:27 PM (Ib1on)

4 That was just lyrical.

Posted by: RP at January 06, 2006 02:36 PM (LlPKh)

5 God i love your writing, I could just read it for hours and wish that it never ended. It's so lyrical and beautiful. You have a gift girl. Write the damn book.

Posted by: trouble at January 06, 2006 03:46 PM (j2vfb)

6 No, no. Here's to you, Helen. And thank you.

Posted by: amy t. at January 06, 2006 03:55 PM (xKhv0)

7 America thanks you too, Helen. Well, at least this American does. I'll say it again and a hundred times more- christ, you can write. I feel like I was in all those places with you. So thank you.

Posted by: Teresa at January 06, 2006 05:40 PM (zf0DB)

8 There's something about the way you write, Helen. I am sooooo homesick for North Carolina now, but yet I'm not sad. Thanks And you're right, the bagels ARE good.

Posted by: caltechgirl at January 06, 2006 08:25 PM (uI/79)

9 I live in a mid-sized East Texas town (we are about two hours east of Dallas)....That city is truly amazing. I do NOT, however, want to live there, as I could never in a million years adjust to the traffic.

Posted by: Mitzi at January 07, 2006 05:26 PM (Vp6CN)

10 Great post Helen. The comment about the sand on the side of the road really struck a chord with me. Childhood memories of driving down south in the summer to see relatives and getting excited to see the sand on the side of the road because I knew we were getting closer to the beach.

Posted by: Lee at January 08, 2006 10:09 PM (PYZOC)

11 This made me kind of teary. In a good way and all. :-)

Posted by: Amber at January 09, 2006 04:33 PM (zQE5D)

12 What a sweet post...

Posted by: sue at January 09, 2006 08:47 PM (WbfZD)

13 great post Helen... but I have to ask... where in the heck were you in NC that you got "perfect" bagels???? I live in Raleigh and travel to the Outer Banks at least 6 times a year and have yet to find them!!!

Posted by: keira at January 11, 2006 12:47 AM (0mpRu)

Hide Comments | Add Comment