Born and bred...

I discovered this lovely series on Netflix called "Fixer Upper."  Clearly, with the work I have done on my two homes, it is a Myrtle type show.  But I have enjoyed how positive and friendly the couple working together are, as well as all of their contractors.  It is a show full of love and laughter and helping folk have their dream homes.

The funny thing about the show is that it is set in Waco, Texas.  I lived there for five years, four in college and one after I returned home from the mission field.  I used to bike out in West, Texas and thus am intimately familiar with the locale of the show.

Only I'm not.

There is not a single iota of locale that I remember.  Nothing that I have seen in the first season is familiar.  That staggers me.

I thought that I might remember something. I thought I might remember because the first season is 13 episodes of delight.  I adore old homes and was born and bred by parents who see diamonds in the rough where others see disaster.  I revel in renovations, savoring the transformations and the choices made to get to the end.  And, being an interior designer's daughter, I find it fascinating to see a designer who is the polar opposite of my mother but has the same vision for translating client desires that my mother does.  Altogether it has been as lovely as watching The Great British Baking Show.

In such loveliness and interest and safety, I truly thought that I might recapture something of my life there.  But I have not.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.

That saddens me.

Of all the places that I have lived my entire life, that was arguably the place where I most felt like I belonged, where I actually was a part of the human race.  It is the place where I had the privilege of serving as a hospice volunteer tending the dying and comforting their families.  It is the place where I started, in the most minuscule of ways, to chose a life that was not bound fully and completely by shut up/be still/wait until it is over.  I think, were I rating such, it would be the happiest place of my life (at least the first four years).

And still no memories.

The second season will be available April 1st.  I plan on watching it, still hopeful for something to spark a memory, something to trigger a glimpse of my life.  But I am at least thankful to say that although I am deeply disturbed over the blankness in my mind over my life in that city, I am also not so distraught that I cannot function, as I might have been before I started counseling.

I am not sure how to say it, because the blankness is not something that we've really addressed (talked about, yes ... resolved, no).  I do not have the best words for how disturbing the blankness is.  And, given my words in that very small office each week, I think this is surprising to write:  I am disturbed but I am not so hard on myself about it.  I have gentler, more forgiving (or would it be accepting) thoughts.

I mean, if I can have a such a lovely journey as I have had during the first season, savoring every moment of the show, and not remembered a thing, despite trying my darnedest to pluck a single moment of my past out of my beleaguered brain, then there is no blame to be had.  It just isn't going to be at this time ... and maybe never.  SIGH.

Honestly, finding the show felt like a gift.
A kindness.
A mercy.

You cannot understand life in Texas unless you live there.  You absolutely cannot understand life in Dallas unless it is/was your home.  And I would argue the same for life in Waco.  It is too hot there, for me.  Frankly, even to visit, I think.  I would be wretchedly miserable atop my already wretchedly difficult life.  But, oh my!  How do I ever miss Texas!!