Sir Walter's magnetism

We pulled into Raleigh last night. "B-o-o-ring," Alice said.

We lived in Raleigh for six years right after we got married. Alice dragged me down there from Portsmouth, NH. I hated it at first. Then I liked it. Now Alice can't consider moving back.

We both kind of felt cool and superior pulling into town since we now live in Atlanta, you know, the big city.

But the truth is I miss this place.

True, there's not much going on here. And the state motto, "To be rather than to seem," is ironic, since so much here is for show. It's almost like the place is willing itself into the big time. I guess the Carolina Hurricanes winning the Stanley Cup a few years ago changed that. The team, apparently, wasn't just for show after all.

The best part about Raleigh is that, despite all the Yankee newcomers flitting to RTP every morning, it's a government town, and most the workers are locals, or imports from Tobacco Road. Salt of the earth, in other words, prone to roasting whole pigs at the drop of a hat.

When Jake was born, we were living in a renovated farm worker's cottage just outside of town, where the cellphone towers blinked like lighthouses on the horizon and deer by the dozen wandered outside the door every night.

I miss that. I miss the Raleigh Moose, my old hockey club, those crazy drunks. I miss taking Alice's dad out for coffee at Cup A Joe's. Now we're back. But it's true, you can't really go back.