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Vacationing in southeastern Iowa in early March is a test in meteorological fortitude.  Never is a place so gray, so brown, so muddy and despairing as cold, rainy Iowa in March.  Unless it is Iowa in November.

Seriously.  Did you know that there are about 6 different shades of brown.  Even the things that are normally a lovely yellow or green are really just a slightly different hue of brown. And I have seen every single variation of brown and gray that can exist in the world here in Iowa in the last three days.

My mother accuses me of  being urban.  Which I am.  But then again, I’m not.  At least, I don’t feel very urban when I’m in the city — even as I am riding the bus or eating takeout Indian food.  Maybe because I feel like I’ll always have a part of me in rural Iowa.

And I don’t particularly feel all that urban when I’m in Iowa either.  I mean, geez, I can watch Top Chef just as well here as in DC, right?  And Amazon.com and Netflix deliver to Bulltown just as well as Chicago, right?  And the Internet means I’m only a click away from pop culture obsession no matter where I am (I can’t believe Rihanna is going to go back to Chris Brown!)

There are just a couple of things to remind me that it isn’t the same.  And they aren’t just about no Indian takeout or a deplorable lack of Greek yogurt in the grocery stores either. Some of it has to do with how people talk about religion.   Some of it has to do with why I feel like I need to curb my tongue talking about politics until I figure out where people are coming from.  But mostly it’s because coming home is all about remembering.  Everywhere I go and everyone I meet  is drenched in memories.  And while it isn’t always a bad thing, it isn’t always a good thing either.

If I ever came back for good, I would have to find new things, new places, new people so that memories wouldn’t bind me.  Is that possible?

And it doesn’t help that my high school is going to State in basketball because that makes me all nostalgic and remember when they went to state when I was there and the massive, epic crush I had on one of the players.

And that makes me feel old. Although maybe it’s just the fact that I haven’t seen the sun once since I’ve been here.

Sigh.

Related posts:

1. And it breaks my heart when it breaks my heart
2. They will break your heart, these politicians
3. A poem on returning home again