Gone to Texas

Last week, I hopped a plane at Boston Logan one morning, wearing a shirtdress with tights, tall boots, a scarf and my plaid wool peacoat. Several hours later, I landed in sunny West Texas, where I spent the evening – and the next several days – in jeans or shorts, short-sleeved tees, and bare feet.

After two (more) feet of snow recently, the warm sun on my skin felt miraculous. But even better was the chance to spend time with this little guy:

That’s my nephew, Ryder, who came straight to my arms even though I hadn’t seen him since Christmas, and who will (I have no doubt) be walking any day now. Meanwhile, he’s a speedy crawler. He loves flipping through board books (especially those featuring Sandra Boynton’s crew of quirky animals), knocking down towers (which my mom builds for him over and over again), and clapping for himself. And anything with wheels. (My uncle has already bought him his first few John Deere tractors.)

Time seems to slow down when I go back to West Texas, especially when it’s not a major holiday and there’s no real agenda. I spent lazy mornings sipping tea and reading the newspaper with my parents (we have a longstanding tradition of finding typos in it – they abound). We ran through Rosa’s three times for chicken fajita burritos dripping with queso and paper bags full of warm tortilla chips. My mom and sister and I browsed junk shops for the perfect table to put behind Betsy’s sofa, then spent hours in my brother-in-law’s shop, painting and sanding and staining. (Their new house, which was still a construction zone at Christmastime, is finally finished, and gorgeous.)

I love many things about my life in Boston, including my new job (where my supervisors were kind enough to let me take this already-planned vacation). But every so often, I feel the urge to get back to that dusty oil town where I grew up, to eat fiery salsa at Mexican restaurants or juicy steaks grilled by my dad, to travel the familiar roads of my childhood and teenage years. To laugh with my sister and quote old movies with my dad and hug my mom, and to watch the dusky pink and orange and purple of the sunsets I still miss. To go to the church where I grew up and hug my parents’ friends, who are also my friends, and tell them about my life so far away.

Despite last week’s crocuses, it’s still cold and snowy in Boston. But I am warmed by the memory of four days of sun and salsa, and spending time with a few of my favorite people in the world.

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