Atlanta: Day 3

This being our last day here, we took on the day and the city with an energy and fervor that would have shamed Sherman. The day started at Oakland Cemetery, Atlanta's famed resting place of many famous sons and daughters and thousands of not-so-famous. Now serving a dual role of burial grounds and city park, it is a rich dichotomy of the living and dead. There are beautiful horticulture displays, gardens, and large, ancient trees that were there long before any of the residents were born and will be there long after those residents' descendants  join them. There are people jogging and walking dogs and strolling the grounds. The city is just a few blocks away so you hear the cars and the trains and the din of people.

We opted for a walking tour which was supposed to be about an hour but was more like an hour and a half. Our tour guide, Marvin, was as much an enigma as the place itself. His crisp Magellan fishing shirt and friendly, robust knowledge of the cemetery, its occupants, and the city in which they all reside lay in contrast to his self-described Atlanta roots and his Southern drawl. When he pronounced "history" with two syllables, I felt like we were in good hands. 

Next on the agenda was the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library. Jimmy may have been a proponent for peace and civil rights, but I'd have liked him to push for better signage at his library. We finally made our way in and began the tour. As with many of these type establishments, the tour began with a short film.  But this one wasn't narrated by just anyone.  No, it was narrated by someone who thinks he was president, Martin Sheen. 

Look, most of you know where I fall on the political spectrum. There's left wing and yellow dog and middle-of-the-road (aka, "undecided") on one side and on the other, there's right wing, tea party, far right and then far Valerie. Until the last little bit (the last 10-18 years, give or take), Carter typically made the list of "not the greatest Presidents." But no one can argue that he seems like a genuinely nice person.  A good guy. If anything, I would say that he was too nice to be a politician, let alone leader of the free world. 

Exhausted and needing to eat (President Carter, if you read this by some small chance, I'd like to suggest some directional signs on the campus of your library to indictate where one should park and extend the on-site cafe's hours so it can be open on the weekend), we headed home for a late lunch and a long, spring's nap (second only to its cousin in the winter). 

Dinner tonight was at The Southern Gentleman. I wanted to like it. I really did. It was in a high-end retail district, flanked by Hermes, Jimmy Choo, Louboutin and Tom Ford, I thought we might dine with the rich and famous. Instead, we dined with the overserved and disengaged. Some of our fellow guests talked too much and laughed too loudly. And the staff, from hostess to server, were just a bit standoffish  and distant. The food was fine but this diner thinks it could have been finer. 

The bookend of our day was a short drive out of the city to a community theatre for a live stage production of Godspell. As we planned this trip and researched events and happenings that would happen during our stay, I came across this option. Intrigued, I tried my darndest to find out what exactly Godspell was. Fearing it had the sacrilegious blasphemy associated with "Jesus Christ Superstar," I went into it with more than one serving of trepidation, yet something pushed me forward. It was delightful. If you get the chance to see it, go. It's a depiction of several parables (mostly from the book of Matthew), set in current day and to modern music with lyrics from well-known hymns, it was beautifully done and truly a religious experience. Here's to the weekend of trying new things and getting outside of my incredibly small comfort zone. 

We head home tomorrow. It's been great fun, but I miss my dog, my people, and my bed. Oh, I suppose I'm supposed to say "in no particular order." There.  I said it. ;)

Atlanta: Day 2

Other than college, I've not lived in an apartment and this Air BnB has opened my eyes to just how good I have things, all snuggled in my suburbanian hideaway. For instance, as I lay in bed around midnight last night, missing my dog and tossing aimlessly, I began to hear horns honking from the parking garage. It was the millennials' way of saying, "honey, I'm home" as they returned from their Thursday night revelry. Remember when Thursday night was just "pregame" for the weekend? Then I heard someone walking their dog outside, which included some yip-yapping followed by someone whisper-screaming, "shush!" Finally, you have the doors slamming and the walls rattling and what I can only assume is an apartment of Sumo wrestlers upstairs breaking in new shoes. This cacophony of sounds makes me long for the familiar sounds of home: distant lawn mowers, the AC running, the sound of Amazon backing out of my driveway...oh, wait. My husband may read this.

Today, we started by meeting a high school friend who calls ATL home for breakfast. She suggested a placed called the Flying Biscuit and I thought something with such a whimsical name had to be good. Then I checked out their menu online and was sold when I came across an item near and dear to this Southern girl's heart (and waist and hips):  creamy, dreamy grits. That wasn't just me waxing poetic. That's the actual menu item-- creamy dreamy grits. And to quote the old lady from Titanic, "it was. It truly was." We had great fun catching up and visiting. There's something special about a friend who has known you most of your life. And there's something extra special when months and sometimes years go by in between visits and you're still able to sit down and jump right back in. 

Our next stop was a tour of the CNN Studios. This behind-the-scenes tour took us backstage and gave us an up close view of the control center, the newsroom, the various anchor desks and explained the process of how a tip or idea makes its way onto the air. As a bonus, we rode the world's tallest free-standing escalator up eight stories to begin the tour and our descent down through various stops and studios. 

Lunch at Corner Bakery was followed by afternoon siesta time.

Dinner tonight was at Twelve Eighty. This establishment is on the site of and across a courtyard from Atlanta's Symphony and the High Museum. This was perfect since we had tickets for a show after dinner. From the outside and even from just inside the door, it looked pretty unassuming. If you've ever in desperation utilized the on-site cafe at an art museum, picture that. But our meal was delicious and cooked perfectly and it was a surprisingly fine-dining experience so I was pleasantly surprised. 

Following dinner, we made our way across the plaza to see Rob Lowe. Yes, Rob Lowe as in the Outsiders and West Wing and the weird cable or Verizon commercials and Parks and Recreation and Brothers and Sisters. He stood on stage for 55 minutes, telling stories that can only be described as enthralling. I can't do them justice but I can point you here where you can buy his book and probably read an excerpt. This was followed by 20 minutes of Q&A, which was equally entertaining and interesting. 

This morning on the way to breakfast, we saw a homeless woman near a bus stop, bending over and picking up cigarette butts, collecting them in a cupped hand. While waiting at a red light, I watched her and thought, "I guess she's going to try to smoke whatever is left on each of these." But then something surprising and totally unexpected happened: when her hand was full, she walked over to an adjacent trash can and threw them away, shaking her head in disgust at people's laziness and disregard.

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:18

Atlanta: Day 1

Well, my bestie, Alison, and I are off on another adventure.  If you missed the last one, you can visit here to see how we took on the nation's capital. 2018 finds us in Atlanta and we're excited to share the trip with you.

Being one of the most change-averse people I know, I made a vow to be open-minded (take deep breath) and try new things (easy, girl) outside of my comfort zone (ok, here's a lunch sack...). The first exercise was in our lodging. Rather than find a comfy/cozy Westin, we opted to both experience Air BnB for the first time. After hours of searches and asking various hosts a litany of questions ("the front door doesn't appear to have a lock. Does it lock?"), we selected an apartment in Buckhead, Atlanta's way of saying, "I got ya, girl."

When we arrived in ATL, our first stop was lunch at The Varsity. It's unassuming in a "we've been open for 90 years and for 24 hours/day" kind of way. The prices were reasonable and the food was good and utterly unhealthy.

As we headed south today, it was with some lingering trepidation that I took off, still wary that this whole Air BnB thing is just a front for human organ trafficking.  The "check in" process did nothing to alleviate my fears as we met our host in a parking lot, he handed me the key and gate clicker to our place, and then instructed me to follow him as we drove to the apartment. Reluctantly, I followed the order, wondering to myself what was it I read recently about how to call 9-1-1 from your cell on the sly.  Was it press and hold the start button? No, I think it was press the start button like five times. Oh, who am I kidding? I've never done anything sly in my life and in the unlikely event that I would actually need to try to execute this maneuver, I'd more than likely snap a pic of my feet, then the last words I'd hear would be Siri saying, "I'm sorry. I didn't understand your request."

We parked.  He led us inside the building and to our door and motioned for me to use the key. As I was thinking, "well, here it goes. This is it.  I hope my family knows I loved them," he watched me open the door and said, "well, ok, then. Have a nice visit." Non-event.

After counting our organs and being grateful that we still had all that we came with, we made a Target run. Forgetting we weren't in Nashville anymore, Toto, we marveled at the two-story Target and enjoyed the process of navigating the two floors with our carts.

For dinner tonight, we tried Bistro Niko, a wonderful place that Zagat calls "a casual but upscale 'hot place' that makes you feel like you're sitting in a cafe in Paris." Indeed.

Alison and I have been friends since we were in kindergarten. As far as I know, we've never liked the same boy and never voted the same way. But it's these differences that make our friendship all the more unique and rewarding.

Editor's note:  Alison would like you to know that we have voted the same in at least two presidential elections.

Not Seeing is Believing

29 Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."

John 20:29

Of the four Gospels' accounts of the Easter story as we know it (accounts detailing Jesus' final hours on earth from His arrest and crucifixion to His burial, resurrection, and ascension), each offer their own unique take and perspective. 

There's Matthew 26:28. Matthew is very detail-oriented, which I commend. I don't want to just hear that Jesus broke bread with the disciples. I want to know what kind of bread, what color the napkins were, and if someone knocked over their goblet while telling a story. Matthew offers some rich detail in his account. His observance and recording is appreciated. In this Gospel, we're blessed with this final promise:

"And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age."

Matthew 28:20

For those of you who don't care about the china pattern or what sandals the disciples were wearing, there's Mark's account. Straightforward and concise, Mark 15-16 offers more of a bulleted list and timeline of the events.  We're told as a footnote that earlier texts and versions of Mark's account are even shorter. It is suggested that the original version only included the first half of chapter 16, making it roughly 25% less than what we have today. 

Luke, a physician by trade, offers another detailed account. If Matthew was observant of people and places, Luke 22-24 provides more detail on the process, the how and why. One of the themes that I've always found interesting is the mild chaos that surrounded Jesus' final hours on earth. I'd like to think if I was about to undergo great suffering and humiliation and untold pain and fear, that at the very least, I would be surrounded by those closest to me, and that they would keep it together. I know this is a lot to ask and so did Jesus, I suspect. When the guards come for him in the garden, one of his disciples decides to go all tough guy and swings a sword, cutting off one of the guards' ears. We're told in all of the accounts that Jesus says, "aww, now look what you've done!," (I'm paraphrasing) but Dr. Luke goes on to tell us what happened next:

49 When Jesus’ followers saw what was going to happen, they said, “Lord, should we strike with our swords?” 50 And one of them struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his right ear.51 But Jesus answered, “No more of this!” And he touched the man’s ear and healed him."

Luke 22:49-51

I can only imagine how this would have been noteworthy to a physician.


In the final Gospel, John 17-20, we have my (as well as many others') favorite account. John is a wordsmith so, as someone who enjoys playing with written text myself, I appreciate his woven tapestry. He was the only one present with Jesus in the garden, overhearing and poignantly capturing His prayer for all ages. It's a fairly detailed accounting in its own right, however, like any author worth his salt, John teases us with a hint that there's even more to be said:

30 Jesus performed many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. 31 But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name."
John 20:30-31

Now the mention that Jesus performed many other signs that were not recorded by John here is intriguing enough, but the other sandal drops at the end of the next chapter.  Buckle up:

25 Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written."

John 21:25

[mic drop]

So, as you celebrate this Holy weekend, I hope you are blessed by God's unending and unwavering love and that you find hope and peace in the promises made and fulfilled by Jesus' love and sacrifice for us. Here's to new beginnings, rebirth, 2.0, and new chapters.  Just remember when you write yours, I want details. All of them. 

Living with Excess

We just returned from a trip to Florida's Gulf Coast for our spring break. Our go-to spot is in Rosemary Beach, nestled among about 20 different little mini-cities on beautiful 30A. Back in the late 80s when I went on my first spring break that I remember, this area was no more than a fishing village that happened to have yet-undiscovered clear water and sugar white sand. Destin was where people started going and, over the last 30 years, the scene has spread westward away from what is now the hustling tourist trap that Destin proper has become. If you just travel 20 minutes or so to the right, you'll encounter places with names such as "Watercolor," "Alys," "Inlet Beach," and "Rosemary." Here, you'll find a lot of new money, multi-million dollar homes and multi-billion dollar developments, shops with over-priced fare and restaurants boasting a who's who of up and coming chefs.

The real allure for me, though, is the sincerity of the place. A lot of the locals are just that -- locals. Born and bred, if not right there, then close by. They have a vested interest in the area's success. And a tangible pride for how well it's doing. There's a chill vibe that is simply contagious. No one is in a hurry. There are more bikes than cars on the road at any given time. The people are friendly. It seems like a close-knit community, despite the fact that from March-September, a good majority of folks are just there for a week before returning to their real lives.

Although it's steeped in and replete with wealth, a modest Average Joe, middle-incomer can feel at home. Well, that is until you're reminded of your place on the "haves or have not" scale. This happened to me on our second beach day. We had rented beach chairs for our stay that came with two wooden chairs, a small table, and an umbrella, all lovingly set up prior to our arrival each day by a young, tanned, and seemingly higher-than-the-proverbial-kite dude. These set-ups are spaced maybe three feet apart so you have the opportunity to get to know your neighbors, either outright by speaking and being friendly or, as I prefer, indirectly by slyly spying and observing.

On this day, I noticed my neighbors on either side were displaying extravagant, outward signs of their prosperity. To my left, a young couple, early 30s, enjoyed a day at the beach with their two kids, approximate ages three years and five months old, and their nanny, a young girl in the 18-22 years old category. To my right, an older couple, late 40s-early 50s, with the woman carrying an $1,800 Louis Vuitton purse. On the beach.

I took some time from enjoying watching my child play at the beach to study these two case studies on either side. I made up detailed and interesting back stories for both. I imagined the Nanny family was happy to be on vacation after a long winter of being pregnant and then stuck indoors with a toddler and a newborn. I conjured images of Purse sending their youngest off to college in the fall and settling into their new "empty nest" chapter.

But then my thoughts turned dark. I wondered what Nanny's man did for a living, assuming the wife didn't work if she couldn't be bothered with watching her children while on vacation. I wondered how many other $1k+ purses Purse Lady must have and how this one became the "I don't care - I'm just going to the beach" one.

As I sat there acting as judge and jury on these two parties, it occurred to me I was living a life of excess, too, and I didn't like it. Here I was, seemingly getting away from it all, and I was plagued by envy, an abundance of negative thoughts and opinions, and judgement that surpassed Wopner, Judy and God Almighty. "Who am I," I wondered? "Where do I get off?" And "what business is it of mine what anyone else does?"

No one.
You don't.
None.

And then the real judgement began. "Why aren't you in better shape?" "Why aren't you more tan?" "Why did you choose family over career?" "Why is your hair not pulled back in a sleek pony with an Hermes scarf?"

There it was. An almost unbearable amount of self-doubt. It's a wonder I made it down all those stairs with a load like this. But here's the great thing about a day at the beach: your problems, in whatever form they may come, are absolutely dwarfed by the sea. The ocean is known for its many healing properties, the least of which isn't its ability to remind you how small you, and every woe, is. There's a vast body of water out there that connects to every other body of water on this blue marble on which we live and it was all created by an even bigger God. That's reassuring. There's peace in that. A tangible, soothing peace.

And just like that, I felt my cares lifted, my soul unburdened. And I thought, "Nanny, Purse...we're going to have a good day because, ultimately, we're sisters all formed from the same Father. And we're good enough."

Grateful for Jellyfish

I listened to a podcast earlier this week that got me thinking about Thanksgiving. And jellyfish. And God’s amazing, immeasurable love for us. Stick with me and I’ll tie it up with a neat little bow for you, OK?

The podcast was underway as I found it but the topic was about speed, velocity and acceleration to be specific, and what scientists have recently discovered as an off-the-chart statistic. Acceleration is measured in “g’s,” as in “g-force” or “gravity.” When you think of “g’s” you might think of astronauts or sports cars but things a little bit closer to us, or below us, can also be measured. The speaker gave some examples. For instance, if you were to hold a pencil up and drop it over a desk, it will fall at approximately 1g.  A sports car will max out around 3g. (My Honda is closer to the pencil, for those of you keeping track.) But the sting receptors of a jellyfish (the mechanism that triggers a “dart-like” object to shoot out of the tentacle when provoked and sting the victim) move at one million g’s.

Off the charts. Literally.

So all this “hard to comprehend, off the charts” talk had my mind spinning and wandering this week of giving thanks. 

Boston, October 2017

Yes, I’m so very grateful for my family - my darling girl who makes my world go ‘round, my precious husband who provides for us in countless ways and is truly my best friend, the three grandparents my daughter has who love her with abundance and support and who are relatively healthy and blessed, my husband’s sister and her family and the cousins she provides my only child so she’s not so, well, only. 

PieDaddy and Calleigh, 2013

Poppa, Gamma & Cousins, December 2016

Pat and Valerie, 2002

I’m thankful I had my Mom for 30 years of my life and that she’s still with me today, just differently, and that she is able to influence my girl through photos, memories, recipes, dimples, and in innate likes and dislikes. 

I’m thankful for our jobs that provide meaningful work and financial stability. I’m thankful for the roof over our head, the cars we drive, the clothes we wear. I’m thankful for the food we have and that I, nor anyone in my family, has ever wondered from where our next meal was coming. I’m thankful to be an American and a Southerner. I’m thankful for the freedom of speech and religion and the right to bear arms. I’m grateful for our forefathers and foremothers who came before us, paving the way for the life we know today. I’m thankful for the military, past and present, who have protected our way of life and sacrificed immeasurably for our comfort. I’m thankful for pets and that I can share my home and my life with them (“dog” backwards is “God,” after all).  I’m thankful that The Crown is coming back on December 8. I’m thankful for friends — those doing well and those struggling. Those who come seeking a shoulder and those who always have a shoulder ready. Those who say, “girl, don’t even get me started.” Those who make me laugh. Those who appreciate the joy in finding a pen that writes well, a glass of wine, or some “Mommy time.”

But there is something for which I’m grateful and that without it, none of this other stuff would exist and that’s God’s love. 

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.”

1 John 3:1

We know His love for us is great, maybe even immeasurable, but it’s so big we truly don’t have the capacity to understand it. Think about that for a minute.

Thanksgiving, jellyfish, God’s love. There you go. I’m thankful for each of you and wish you the warmest of Thanksgivings as you eat and spend time doing what you love.

#ThankfullyNotMe

The #metoo movement has swept across social media over the last couple of weeks, bringing awareness to the widespread epidemic of sexual harassment and assault. Here’s my beef:  those two occurrences are light years apart. Galaxies. It's not comparing apples to apples. It's comparing apples to tennis shoes. Imagine one friend saying, “I’m an apple.” And the other responding, “oh, I once was wearing tennis shoes and passed by someone with an apple.”

They’re simply not the same thing and it frankly makes me incredibly uncomfortable to lump the two together. In this iGeneration, rife with countless social media platforms and outlets, we users get caught up in movements. It’s 21st century crowd mentality and, I’ll admit, sometimes it’s fun to jump on the latest bandwagon. It’s why I posted a video of someone dumping a bucket of ice water over my head a few years ago. It’s why I posted “dirty beige” in response to the call for us ladies to all post as our Facebook status the color of the bra we were currently wearing to bring awareness to Breast Cancer. 

Have I been the victim of sexual inequality and harassment? Yeah, absolutely. I dare say I don’t know any females who haven’t. But have I been the victim of sexual assault? Thankfully, no.

Harassment comes in more colors than dryer lint. For instance, the male math teacher who told me “girls struggle more with math than boys do.” I believed him. There were the sixth grade boys who thought it was fun to pop girls’ bras and the coaches and teachers who looked the other way or shrugged it off as “boys being boys.” At the age of 23, newly married and in my first real-world job, I asked for a raise at my review. My male supervisor acknowledged that I had met all my goals, gone above and beyond, and was a terrific asset to the team. But I was denied a raise because “your husband probably makes pretty good money so y’all are fine.” That was 1998. After working tirelessly on a presentation and leading the team who developed it, I was told at the last minute that a male teammate would be leading and giving the presentation as the client “has a bit of a boys’ club vibe and we think it will sell better coming from Ted.” And, last but certainly not least, is a pervy little squirrel I worked with who offered free workplace shoulder massages and tried to kiss the top of my head. Strangely, after bringing this to the attention of our boss, one of the owners of the company, he realized our profits weren’t meeting the annual goals and there were layoffs, including my position. Stranger still, pervy squirrel was unaffected. 

Yes, pay equality and the wage gap are a real issue. Creeps like Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein exist and so, too, do the nameless, faceless cohorts who abide, turn a blind eye, and enable. Am I a feminist? No, I’m not. In fact, I’m much harder on women than all of the men in my life. What I am is a female with strong opinions that I mostly keep to myself until I’ve had enough and, this time, I felt like I had to set the record - and the facts - straight, because Alyssa Milano didn’t*.

* The #metoo movement began when fairly inconsequential, typical liberal actress Alyssa Milano used her Twitter account to encourage women who’d been sexually harassed or assaulted to Tweet the words “#metoo.”