It’s nice to visit my hometown even if it’s only for about two or three hours. That’s what I did today. I had to drive from Houston to Corpus Christi and back. I had to deliver some work related stuff which was all I had time for (had to get back to pick up Gabby). If not for that I would have probably stayed the night so I could cruise my old haunts, see a couple of friends and maybe fish off the docks I used to work on (when we were docked).
It’s not that I can’t handle it but that’s a lot of butt time for one day. Not to mention leg and foot because someone didn’t bother ordering cruise control on this truck. Maybe it’s just because I’ve made this drive what seems like hundreds of times that I find it so boring. Or maybe it could be the fact that there is nothing to look at between Houston and Corpus other than brush, cows, horses and ranch or farm houses. I’ve said this before and I wasn’t kidding: The roadkill and highway searches by the state troopers are the only thing that breaks the monotony. I see a lot of highway searches where the occupants are sitting in the grass while the troopers are removing the entire contents of the vehicle including the backseats and who knows what else.
I don’t mean to sound like I dislike Houston because I really don’t. I like this city. I consider it my second hometown but I was born and raised at Padre Island and on Corpus Christi bay. It’s something I can’t get out of my blood which in my case is probably pure saltwater. You can take the boy off the beach . . .
Dissonance 
I hop;e you never get that salt water out of your veins. It’s part of what makes you, you.
I still have small town sensibilities. Not many, but I have a few left. And I’m not all that different from you. We used to have a summer home in Rockport and I spent a great deal of time there as a child–Copano Bay, to be exact. I too remember the smells, the taste of brine on my face after playing out on the pier for hours. I remember the whistling sound that the incessant Gulf breeze made as it blew through the screens of our porch.
All of these things and what you mentioned in your post are part of our make-up. We’re who we are because of what we lived.
Be proud that you’re part saline. But be even happier that you can come back “home”. Whether that’s a long weekend in Corpus Christi…or the apartment in which you now live here in Houston.
Home is home. And there’s no place like it…anywhere.
LK
I went to Corpus Christi one time. Loved it. I can imagine living there would be amazing as well.