HOME WITH THE ARMADILLOS

I was born with a healthy dose of wanderlust and have shaken off most of it in the past few years. Age has something to do with losing the drive to wander all over the planet, but it is more likely from being back in my home state of Texas after being gone for too many years.  

I couldn't wait to leave my childhood home in the Texas Panhandle, as I was bored to tears. At the time, I didn't appreciate the beauty of the flat plains, the wide-open skies, and the friendliest and most honest people you'll ever meet. 

I lived many years in Dallas, raised my daughter in the area, and had a challenging career and many friends. I spent a decade traveling the country on business and visited almost every nook and cranny in the United States. Most vacations were spent in Europe or South America with the airline miles I accumulated. As soon as my daughter left for college, I moved to South Africa for a year…just for the experience of living in a different country far from Texas. My time there was an exciting time in the history of South Africa. Nelson Mandela was the President, and the country was transitioning from a dark era of apartheid, suppression, and brutality toward the black South African majority. His desire to bring people together, forgive the past and move toward a future of equality and acceptance was something one wouldn't expect from someone who had been incarcerated for decades. I had an unforgettable experience living amongst wild animals in Kruger National Park for several weeks. After a few months in South Africa, I missed the sweet sound of the soft, buttery, nasal Texas accents that grow stronger as you travel from the Panhandle to the rural parts of Texas. I missed the safety of Texas. In South Africa, conversations centered around who had been carjacked, whose house was burglarized, or about the farmer murdered for his land. The discussion would then drift to plans for moving to Great Britain or Australia. The level of fear was palpable and something I had never experienced in our country. It was noteworthy that the United States wasn't where anyone wanted to live because the white South Africans viewed our country as imposing unfair sanctions against South Africa during apartheid and damaging their economy.  

After a year in South Africa, I returned to the Dallas area but only stayed a short time before moving to South Florida. I retired from there after many years and moved to Seattle for a year to be close to my daughter and new grandbaby. After spending a rainy year in Seattle, the Texas Hill Country beckoned, and I moved again.

I always intended to retire in the Texas Hill Country, even though I had never lived here. I visited as often as possible during the bluebonnet season when I lived in Dallas and thought it was the loveliest place in Texas. 

Earlier this week, I listened to a Gary P. Nunn song about armadillos, Abilene, and Amarillo. He had written the song while feeling homesick for Texas in London. Nunn sang, "I want to go home with the armadillo/Good country music from Abilene and Amarillo/The friendliest people and the prettiest women/You've ever seen." After hearing the song for the third time and drinking the second glass of wine, I realized how much I had missed everything about Texas. Texas gets in your blood and stubbornly stays there until you're eventually pulled back home. My yearning for Texas all those years was always right below the surface. It took many roads to lead me where I was supposed to be. I hadn't been living here long before a longtime friend remarked, "I've never heard you sound so much at peace." I feel settled for the first time in many years.  

A few nights after hearing Nunn's song on the radio, we drove on dark, desolate back roads heading for Albert out of Johnson City. Suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, the night sky was brilliantly lit by what seemed to be a million lights. We had arrived at Albert Hall, where Gary P. Nunn was appearing. The dance hall was filled with cowboys and cowgirls in their boots and western wear. I had no idea how to country-western dance, but the music beckoned us, and we danced the night away. The evening reminded me of lyrics from a song by Tia Sillers and Mark Sanders; "When you get the choice to sit it out, or dance/I hope you dance/I hope you dance." Dance.