It’s Called Heartland Because It’s Where the Heart Is

Sign outside the door of an Omaha restaurant:

HOURS: Monday through Thursday: 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.

Friday-Saturday: 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.

Sunday: 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.

It didn’t say what its hours were for holidays, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they were roughly from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. In a world where we’re being prepared for telecommunications breakthroughs and futuristic concepts like “virtual reality,” I found that sign oddly reassuring.

Knowing that I hailed from Nebraska, someone once told me the joke about the airline pilot who came on the radio and said to the passengers, “We’re now flying over Nebraska. Please set your watches back 100 years.”

Ted Sorensen, a Nebraska native and adviser to President John F. Kennedy, didn’t help matters when he once said, “Nebraska is a good place to be from .”

Maybe Mr. Sorensen didn’t mean it like it sounded, but that was how it was relayed to the home folks, with his derisive emphasis on from. Unlike Mr. Sorensen, I never had a complex about being from Nebraska. Indeed, as I’ve aged and developed an ongoing inability to deal effectively with the present, the state provides me a comfortable retreat into the past.

So, just back from the Heartland, some thoughts come to mind.

When I lived in Omaha, I took summer vacations in California. Now that I live in California, I take summer vacations in Omaha.

When I lived in Omaha, I couldn’t wait to get to California and go to the beach and watch the sun set. Now that I live in California and could walk to the beach from my house, I hardly ever go.

When I lived in Omaha, I couldn’t wait to come back from vacation with a dark tan. Now that I live in perpetual sunshine, I’m afraid of skin cancer.

When I lived in Omaha, I hated the winters. Now that I live in California, I miss wrapping a wool scarf around my neck and bundling up in my knee-length overcoat with the fur collar.

When I lived in Omaha, the Midwest seemed so bland and California seemed so interesting with Jerry Brown as governor. Now that I live in California, we have Pete Wilson as governor, and Nebraska has cover-boy Bob Kerrey as U.S. senator.

When I lived in Omaha, I hated the rain because it always seemed to be spoiling some plans. Now that I live in California, I’d pay good money just to hear a clap of thunder every once in a while.

When I lived in Nebraska, my high school buddies and I loved the Beach Boys and envied the sun-splashed life they sang about in songs like “Fun, Fun, Fun.” Now that I live in California, teens listen to the Geto Boys and the life they sing about in songs like “City Under Siege.”

When I lived in Omaha, I planned trips to Orange County around the Angels schedule and would go to half a dozen games in a week. Now that I live in California and Anaheim Stadium is 20 minutes from the office, I don’t go to half a dozen games a year.

When I lived in Omaha, we’d wait all winter for the golf courses to open and play the first chance we got, even if the temperature was in the 40s. After I moved to California where I could play any day of the year, I didn’t play three rounds of golf in the first 4 1/2 years I was here.

When I lived in Omaha, night life choices seemed limited to a handful of clubs. Now that I live in California and have dozens of choices in Orange County, not to mention Los Angeles, I spend most nights at home.

When I lived in Omaha, I saw the surrounding farmland and wide open spaces as dull and uninspiring. Now that I live in California and am enveloped by urban sprawl, the most enjoyable part of the trip back to Nebraska is driving through the countryside.

When I lived in Omaha, everyone’s obsession with Nebraska football resulted in frequent derision from outsiders. Now that I live in California, where loyalties are divided a hundred ways, people talk of societal alienation and lament the absence of a common thread that ties anyone together.

All of which goes to show you that while it may be true that you can’t go home again, maybe the superseding truth is that you shouldn’t have left in the first place.

And finally. . . .

When I lived in Omaha, I was always complaining mindlessly about one stupid thing or another. Now that I live in California . . . well, at least some things haven’t changed.