… or at least it seems that way when you’re driving across it.
I’m not too grossly behind on my Camp NaNoWriMo word count. In fact I’ve managed to get the first four chapters of the novel I’m a year behind on whipped into shape. I feel comfortable with my set up for the first time; I’m confident that at last I’ve introduced all the ingredients of the hypergolic mixture that will blow up in my protagonist’s face after four more chapters…
As for the purposes of this trip, one at least is accomplished. My niece got married to the man of her dreams last night in Houston and all the California contingent of the family—including me—were privileged to attend! Congratulations Amy and Carlos!
Texas is forever in another sense, too. I’ve gotten back in touch with my inner Texan. I lived from age 5 to age 12 in Corpus Christi. Now, Texas is so vast that much of it doesn’t feel like home to me. But as I got closer to Houston, I began to feel more comfortable. And when I stepped onto the beach at Galveston, I was home. I am a Gulf Coast girl.
I like mountains. Colorado was very nice. I loathe the Plains, whether Texan or points north; they’re depressing. The Texas “Hill Country” does nothing for me. But no place feels more like home to me than the Gulf Coast, or California.
The primary purpose of this road trip is to find a place that is cheaper than California in which Hubby, Younger Son, and I all want to live. (Otherwise we’d have flown.) We’ve checked out several cities (results are not yet in) in the areas I’ve mentioned. When the three of us sit down to talk it out, who knows what we’ll decide?
But at least I had a chance to walk the sands of home.