Spent the day in Atlanta yesterday. Would you believe there is absolutely not a good place to sit and watch airplanes come and go near the field? I know I'm not the only person who loves to watch the big airplanes! Visitors can't sit near the glass in the terminals anymore ... you have to have a boarding pass ... you have to have real business to get close to the view I like. They do fly right over the ribbons of roadways that wrap around the runways ... I feel like I could touch them if I had my jeep top down. I might accidentally get a shot that rocks if I point and shoot, more likely just an accident somewhere in those seconds of inattention to the five lane mayhem. Yesterday, it was drizzling. That is the worse kind of precip for asphalt because it just sits there with the already oily pavement creating a real hazardous condition, but drivers don't really slow down, because visibility is still pretty good. I left my camera in my bag and the top up ... I was wondering why jeep doesn't offer a five point harness rather then that dainty little seat belt. I was imagining my car flipping several times, becoming a convertible in the process ... doubting the cross strap would offer much protection in the big city rush.
We are starting to think about where we would like to live when my husband's work releases him to that choice. I am just slightly ambivalent about making a major move. I know what to expect here ... we know this community, we have lived here for twenty years. It is home to our children. The social fabric is a lot different then how I experienced Texas ... where my husband and I are both from. As I said in a previous post, the people here base their friendships more on social/business networking ... and because it is largely an academic community, it's fairly transitory. Living here, for me sort of compares to what I think it would be like to live on a movie set: It looks really good, and the people know exactly how to act, but all the shelters are really just store fronts ... props ... and the people live their real lives huddled together, out in the open, trying to remember their lines. The black community provides the real soul of the South. Neighborhoods are still segregated, and I intentionally walk my dog out of "our" neighborhood so that we may walk through the "black" neighborhood along the way. That is the best part of the walk ... old people sit out on front porches and will nod and wave if I say good morning first ... now they know us ... now this white haired man will call out ... "Sho is a big dog you got there ..." (He says that every time ... and I answer, "Yes sir ... he's a big one, but a sweetie!") ... or a couple of grandmothers ... probably great grandmothers ... who sit and watch a couple of toddlers splashing in a small wading pool in a beautifully tended front yard ... everyday something new is blooming, and I can't wait to see the summer months unfurl in that bed near the hot street ... last year it was a riot of colorful zinnias ... sometimes we are invited to stop while the babies shyly touch my Sammyboy ... the children stoke his long fur with one little finger, the way I touch a feather. My neighborhood is beautiful ... an older neighborhood with mature azaleas, magnolia trees that scent the air with lemony freshness, and a canopy of pines blocking the sun, proving a highly prized bit of shade and perches for song birds. Nobody sits on their front porches in my neighborhood ... we have a "neighborhood watch" sign discreetly posted at each of the three entrances, but apparently, all the "watching" takes place from behind half drawn drapes. The voice of the old South has become a murmur in the twenty years we have lived here ... at least that is true from my limited perspective. Children now sit side by side in classrooms and bust out on to the playgrounds for recess together ... the elementary school that each of my children attended is not more then a quarter mile walk on a path through the woods (and over that creek that I enjoy so much) ... I can hear the school bell followed by gleeful shouts off and on all day long. The parents of  all of those children would not have been educated together  ... that the kids are on the same sports teams is still a bit of a big deal. My son, who is probably goofing off right this minute at what is definitely his last day of twelfth grade, has been playing ball with pretty much the same kids since kindergarten. I remember when my next door neighbor came over and whispered to me that "that type child" wasn't to be welcomed in to our neighborhood. Wow ... kids out in the front yard playing ... she had a fence built ... and I assured her that only my child would venture over after stray balls. So ... a lot has changed here in the short time we've been here, but there is something about not being from here that has kept this from really being home. I used to do a lot of volunteer work ... community and school activities ... but in the past few years I have scaled way back as I thought how I would like to transition to the next time and place of my life. The ability to work as a CFI seemed to be a very viable route to a community that I know will feel like home no matter where it is located geographically. We'll see how that plan pans out ... today I am not worried about it. Today, I'm not worried about a thing.   Today I am wondering how well my rosevine will hold up to the Texas sun.