Abandoning paradise

I abandoned “paradise” in Thailand to come home to the high plains. Why? I am sometimes asked.

Well, it’s like my grandfather used to say: if I have to explain it to you, I can’t.

Now, this lady may be a Californian transplant who believes in an illusion of happiness, but she kind of can.

5 thoughts on “Abandoning paradise

  1. Donigan Merritt

    I have a theory. It’s called “the new.” Many people are fascinated by the new, by things and places that are not dreadfully familiar to them. It’s cool to ride a combine … once. It’s a chore if you do it everyday. It’s cool to live or act like a big city lawyer, until it becomes dreadfully mundane.

    I lived nearly ten years in Iowa, which is sort of an upscale Nebraska. It did not seem to be “the simple life” to me. It was just that part of my life as a whole. Simple is not what something is, simple is a perception fed by abundant psychology.

    Regardless, I believe firmly in the different strokes philosophy.

    And having also lived a few years in Hawaii, it’s sure not Nebraska.

    But if it makes one feel better to believe things like this California transplant does, I don’t mind.

  2. Boomer Sooner

    I love this sentence:

    I lived nearly ten years in Iowa, which is sort of an upscale Nebraska.

  3. Court Merrigan Post author

    I thought that was a brilliant sentence, too. Tell you what, we don’t need all them stuck-up hifalutin Iowans in this here county anyhow.

    Nevada, California – hardly matters. It’s all on the wrong side of the Rockies.

    In any case, as Donigan says, the Calivadan lady is getting her thrills riding combines which is thrilling if it’s your first time. Ask the scionness’s mom. She sure got a kick out of it last fall.

    No place or way of life makes you happy in and of itself, though that’s the sort of pap newspapers are happy to peddle, especially out here in the sticks where people often feel put-upon by big city folks. The Calivadan may come to that conclusion in a few more combine rides. Me, it took a good decade and several hundred strolls through the rice paddies before it got through my thick skull. So I added my story to the oldest story of all, going home.

  4. Donigan Merritt

    Going home for me would mean returning to a backwater swamp in the bottom left corner of the 2nd most backward state in the Union (and thanks Mississippi for keeping Arkansas 2nd), one of those little no account towns most folks pass by fast, like dead skunks in ditches; a place I left with quick glee when I was old enough to use the Army as my ticket out – 17. That was 1962, and I have passed through that town three times in the 48 years since, even spent the night once. No thanks on this going home thing.

Comments are closed.