Swirling outside the vortex of memory

You know how you go along, minding your own business, nothing in particular on your mind, when suddenly something inconsequential triggers a memory chain?
It usually happens in areas where you have memories. Say you're riding around the perimeter of Atlanta, and go by the exit for Greenbriar Mall. The thought of Greenbriar Mall makes you think of riding your bike there when you were a kid, going to the Woolworth's to look at comics - Tarzan was my favorite, which got me starting reading Edgar Rice Burroughs. My Dad collected all the works of Louis L'Amour, and I collected the Travis McGee novels of John D. McDonald. McGee supposedly lived on a house boat (the "Busted Flush") in a boat slip in Fort Lauderdale's Bahia Mar Marina, a real place I drove by once with my brother when my brother lived in South Florida. We were headed out deep sea fishing - the last time I ever went deep sea fishing because I got so sick I remember hanging over the side of the boat, losing my lunch. And I was not the only one ...
You see how it goes.
Somewhere I remember someone referring to this as a "memory vortex'' or "the vortex effect."
Because I have been fortunate enough to travel a good bit for most of my life around the United States, these "vortex'' moments happen all over the place. I see something about Pittsburgh, which reminds me of the time I flew into Pittsburgh on my way to State College and all 50 of the "Miss America'' contestants where there, gathered at one gate. Turns out for some reason they all flew into Pittsburgh before going on to Atlantic City, where they would show up en masse for the Miss America pageant. I don't know why the pageant organizers had them meet in Pittsburgh, and if it was always Pittsburgh or if sometimes they met in Cleveland and sometimes Richmond or wherever.
That was the trip where I flew into State College for a Penn State football game, and the night before a couple of us wandered around what, at least at the time, seemed like one of the coolest college towns ever. We went into some legendary bar called the Rathskeller where the guys I was with drank Rolling Rock and apparently it was OK to take out pocket knives and carve names or messages into the tables. Later we wandered into this upstairs club that was absolutely packed, and when they started playing Elvis' "Jailhouse Rock" everyone started dancing and singing along; it was one of those inexplicable experiences that took a song I'd never cared for and turned it into this memory that always makes me smile.
Or how any time I'm in an unfamiliar town, turn a corner and see a McDonald's, I always think of my sister seeing a McDonald's on a trip to California and saying, "Oh, good! A home-cooked meal!''
It was a trip my family took out west for my oldest brother's wedding. We drove from Atlanta to Los Angeles to San Francisco and back through Denver and Kansas City, pulling the camping trailer my Dad built and going camp-ground-to camp ground. We stopped in Arizona to see the Grand Canyon, taking a small plane ride into the canyon that was so rough Mom was throwing up in the front seat. ... I ride in the back of the stationwagon, lying down, either looking at the mountains or reading Westerns that I'd get from drug stores along the way. ... My first piece of real beef jerky, which until that time I'd only read about in books. My brother and I bought it at some road-side stand high in the mountains of Nevada, back before you could buy beef jerky at every convenience store and truck stop in America.
You get the idea.
But here is the point - and I think I have one: the other day as I was trying to figure out why, even though I've lived here since November, the Gulf Coast of Mississippi just doesn't feel like home. And it occured to me: no memory vortex.
There is nothing here that creates those associations in my mind. It's the strangest thing. I love the scenic drive along the Mississippi Sound every day; the waves and beach and sunsets. I love the remaining old homes, the handful of restaurants that I'm now familiar with. I really like the people I work with and the work I'm doing.
But I still feel out of place. Even though the memory vortex often kicks in while in places I've never been, it just doesn't seem to happen here.
It's very strange. But even the memories that I've created around this place - ridiculously long walks with The Trophy Wife over bridges where we stumble onto a parade or see one woman's shoe that has us nervously looking over the side for a body, certain that where there is one shoe there should be another - I have to almost force myself to come up with those memories. They don't just happen. The 'vortex' doesn't just take over and start my mind spiraling to other places, other people, other times.
I'm not sure what this means. Or if it means anything. I just know I can't seem to create any real associations with this place, despite having some some wonderful things, been some wonderful places, and met some wonderful people...
Maybe it just takes time.