missing home

I have come to realize it's what it comes down to, I miss the things that made me comfortable. The things that defined me. I miss route 66 and the rides to rodeos on it. I miss the boys in Cowboy hats and boots. I miss dusty summer evenings when the sun is setting with glorious colors created by the hot dusty atmosphere. I miss Guacamole the way the Tex-Mex restaurant I worked at made it. I miss white queso almost as equally as dancing in the kitchen. I miss dancing in the kitchen as much as playing ball all the way from Feb-Oct, I miss Tulsa/Bixby as much as I miss my family. I miss the pond in front of my house and the sounds of bull frogs, crickets and locus on a sweltery summer night. Gosh. I am romanticizing the actual action of missing something. Either way it is a cycle, and I suppose if I must miss a lot of things to keep me romantic on a certain level, then I must always miss something, it keeps the soul stirred. Not shaken.