I know we been doin our part
Got a caribbean soul I can barely control
And some Texas hidden here in my heart
The opening strains of Margaritaville reached my ears as I eased onto State Highway 259. My long weekend was about to come to an end, but summer and my first road trip of the season were just beginning. Miles of highway and hours of time alone stretched in front of me. A strange mix of memories and anticipation mingled with the songs from Jimmy Buffett’s Meet Me in Margaritaville as I remembered summers gone by and looked forward to my reunion with Adventure Guy after several days apart.
The drive from my parents’ home in Texas back to Suburbia is a long, rather lonely one. Each time, though, I’m struck by the natural beauty I come across during the trip. Wildflowers, rolling hills, and sparkling lakes grace either side of the highway. Often, my car is one of only a few cruising by the cattle grazing and the maize and cotton crops growing in neatly plowed fields.
And, best yet. There’s the occasional “rest stop.”
Don’t worry. I’m a girl who favors the classics. Rather than partaking of the chili cheese meltdown hunger buster, I indulged in the ever-popular chocolate dipped cone. The locals were a bit concerned by my out-of-state license plates and my propensity for photographing the DQ sign, so I cut my stay short and headed back out on the road. Back to my music and back to making steady progress home.
I love my life in Suburbia: my work, my kids’ schools and activities, my friends, our church. But each time I cross the border out of Texas, my heart aches a bit. I’m a Texas girl, born and bred. And no matter how long I’m gone or how far away I move, there will always be “some Texas hidden here in my heart.”