My Home's in Alabama

...in which I contemplate the grass is greener on the other side of the Mason/Dixon line.

It's been a couple weeks since we got back from our summer tour of the Deep South, but I've been too busy/lazy to post anything about it. The trip was pretty good. We hit the usual four locales in three states--Pensacola (FL), Birmingham and Huntsville (AL), and Cedar Hill (TN). We had more time on this trip, though, so it didn't seem nearly as rushed as the holiday tour. I think the grandparents liked having more time with their grandson, too.

Ben had some sleep troubles toward the latter half of the trip. In fact, we had a few of the worst nights with him since we got him to start sleeping through the night back in November. I'm not sure if it was the teething pain or the new locations, but he really had a hard time of things. He was pretty chipper during the day, though, and he was great on each of our flights.

One thing that struck me on this trip was how new everything felt. I first became aware of it when we were driving with Jackamo's troop out of their neighborhood and headed toward an on-ramp to the interstate. They're in a quickly growing area outside of Birmingham, with newly constructed shopping centers, roads that are still dark black and have brightly marked lanes, homes that were built after the Eisenhower administration. Everything seemed so clean and put together.

It's not that Maine is falling apart (although our roads are), and it's not like Watoosa and Ben and I live in a hovel. But the communities where our friends and family live seem more dynamic and thriving and...fresh, for lack of a better word. I know the suburbs often get bashed for soulless blandness--I've joined in that chorus once or twice myself. But there's something to be said for safe streets, uncracked sidewalks, and a noticeable lack of emergency vehicle sirens blasting through one's windows on a daily basis.

I was especially surprised to notice how much my attitude to my hometown, Huntsville, has changed . As a surly teen, I couldn't wait to leave. It seemed so boring. Even now, it doesn't have the hip factor of Atlanta or Nashville. And yet I realized at some point during our stay with my family: I could live here and actually be happy. It was a bit of a shock. I never would have said that fifteen years ago. Or even five years ago.

Of course, part of the reason for that is family. The longer I'm away, the harder it gets to pull myself away from my parents and sisters (and brothers-in-law and niece) at the end of a visit. I envy Kathryn so much for living in the same town as my parents. And I envy Karen for being able to fly in from Dallas as frequently as she does. I'm lucky to get three visits a year. When I go back to Huntsville or even Birmingham, I feel like I belong there, even as I feel disoriented at how much both places have changed. And the fact that Watoosa's parents are just a stone's throw away make it all the more appealing.

This doesn't mean that I don't like living in Maine--far from it. Watoosa and I have been lucky in that we've really liked all the places we've lived. And since, in our nine years of marriage, we've moved to four different states spread out all over the continent, we'd like to stay put for a while. But I was surprised by how wistful I felt on this last visit.