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persephone33 Jan. 19th, 2010 10:20 am)
persephone33 Jan. 19th, 2010 10:20 am)As I now live in my sedate, homely little burgh of one hundred-eighty thousand people, I sometimes forget that I grew up in Irving, Texas; that's a suburb of Dallas, for those of you not well-versed in the geography of the Lone Star State. The city, if you include Ft. Worth and count the surrounding cities, comes to a staggering one point something kagillion people; no lie. Anyhow, I grew up there, traveled all over the metroplex, learned to drive on the highways and byways in the nebulous group of towns where one bleeds right into another and the only way you know you're somewhere else is the tiny green sign you blow by at eighty miles per hour.
I say eighty miles per hour, not because it's the posted speed limit, but because if you choose not to go that fast and say... obey the law, you and your car run the risk of being flattened into a greasy spot on Interstate 635.
I wasn't even driving when we were visiting this past weekend, but Nolan did a great job of maneuvering us through the mess. And he didn't even seek retribution of the other drivers - regular readers of this journal know that my husband has to sometimes be convinced that he is, in fact, NOT the right hand of God, distributing justice to those who've wronged him or others on the road - especially with the people that change lanes giving a hairsbreadth of space between cars. It's an adrenaline pumping, heart-racing thrill ride that you simply forget about when you live in Amarillo. That is, until you come to a screeching halt and you're just STUCK in a line of traffic that you think stretches perhaps as far as Indianapolis, making me absolutely PINE for the annoying series of stoplights on Bell street surrounding I-40, and the fifteen minutes that gets you absolutely anywhere you want to go in town.
I miss the shopping in Dallas, the nightlife, my family and friends, but driving fifty minutes to work for a fifteen mile trip is not something that I ever want to go back to. Amarillo's breezes may not be the best perfumed if they come from the general direction of Hereford, but there's wide open spaces y'all, more sky than you can shake a stick at, and some of the most awesome sunsets that you'll ever see. Come visit and see for yourself, only behave yourself on the roads. I can't watch Nolan ALL the time.
I say eighty miles per hour, not because it's the posted speed limit, but because if you choose not to go that fast and say... obey the law, you and your car run the risk of being flattened into a greasy spot on Interstate 635.
I wasn't even driving when we were visiting this past weekend, but Nolan did a great job of maneuvering us through the mess. And he didn't even seek retribution of the other drivers - regular readers of this journal know that my husband has to sometimes be convinced that he is, in fact, NOT the right hand of God, distributing justice to those who've wronged him or others on the road - especially with the people that change lanes giving a hairsbreadth of space between cars. It's an adrenaline pumping, heart-racing thrill ride that you simply forget about when you live in Amarillo. That is, until you come to a screeching halt and you're just STUCK in a line of traffic that you think stretches perhaps as far as Indianapolis, making me absolutely PINE for the annoying series of stoplights on Bell street surrounding I-40, and the fifteen minutes that gets you absolutely anywhere you want to go in town.
I miss the shopping in Dallas, the nightlife, my family and friends, but driving fifty minutes to work for a fifteen mile trip is not something that I ever want to go back to. Amarillo's breezes may not be the best perfumed if they come from the general direction of Hereford, but there's wide open spaces y'all, more sky than you can shake a stick at, and some of the most awesome sunsets that you'll ever see. Come visit and see for yourself, only behave yourself on the roads. I can't watch Nolan ALL the time.
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