A Week Out Of Place

A Week Out Of Place

By

Leonard Zwelling

Recently, I wrote about being in the right place and how one can often be surprised by the impact one can have by taking advantage of the place and time where one finds oneself. But, as I wrote, that is not always the case. I am currently in Mt. Pleasant visiting my son and his family. I am definitely out of place here.

I live in Houston, one of the most diverse cities on the planet. In any given room I enter in Houston, I am likely to have joined people of all races and nationalities from all over the world. In certain restaurants, ten different languages could be easily distinguished to the discerning ear.

In Mt. Pleasant, every room I enter, whether restaurant or store, is filled with white people. Most appear to be from a low socio-economic strata, but with roots of immigration to America dating back well over 100 years—maybe 400. Most have bad haircuts if they cut their hair at all. Almost everyone is overweight, men and women. Everything and everyone looks like it has seen better days. Mt. Pleasant seems to be the town that fell off the back of a truck in about 1955. More importantly, it is hard to know whether it has entered the 21^st century at all. There are no movie theaters here. We had to drive a half hour to Greensburg to take our grandsons to see the new Superman film. And, oh yes, this is deep red Trump country, very close to where he was almost assassinated.

There’s a Starbucks up from our hotel, but almost no one is ever there. The hotel in which we are staying (we had a choice of one) is dirty and dusty with a free breakfast that is over-priced. Three days into our stay we had to move from the one suite in the Holiday Inn that we had booked because we were invaded by fruit flies from the next room putatively from a woman in the that room who brought them in with some peaches. At least, that was the story

I have yet to have a good cup of coffee in Mt. Pleasant other than the one my son made for me. Every cup is thin gruel requiring way too much sweetener to be drinkable. The New Story Coffee Shop was an exception. I have never visited a coffee shop so isolated. We drove miles to get there. It was worth the drive, but I cannot envision how it will stay in business.

We played golf three times. Each course was well-designed, but only one, in a planned community in near-by Greensburg, was well-maintained and truly beautiful. Interestingly, the golfers and the cars in the parking lot at this last club were decidedly upscale and the course was brilliant in design as well, a links style Scottish course with no heather.

I guess one can have a life here. What worries me is what happens when the unpredictable challenges of life crop up for my son and his family and there is a need for an emergency medic, a fire fighter, or a physician. These all exist here, but the fire house is down the street from my son’s house and is all voluntary. When my son’s family needs medical care, it is likely to be at least a half hour away.

I am a father and a grandfather. I worry about what kind of life my son and his sons will have in a place like this. Clearly, it will be much different than my life was in New York or my son’s life was in Houston and Brooklyn. I don’t know which is better, but I just spent a week here—out of place. I can’t wait to get back to Houston.

No matter where we find ourselves in this world, I can’t wait to get back to Houston. Whenever I am anywhere else, I am out of place. Here, in Mt. Pleasant, I am way out of place and a week out of place is more than enough. It is disorienting, but educational. All blue state voters ought to come to places like this and see why Trump won. What I fear is Trump’s promises to these good Americans will never be fulfilled and by the time they realize that they have been had, Trump will be gone.

Yes, I have been in unexpected places and made the most of my initial disorientation. I am not so much disoriented in Mt. Pleasant as caught in a time warp. This seems to be a long-ago America for a person from the big city. I am sure there are upsides to living here. I have not discerned them yet for those with the wherewithal to live elsewhere. The choice to live here is hard to understand, but it is not for me to understand. It is for me to accept and I do, but it’s hard.