Being Home

So. Here I am. In Atlanta. Home. Funny thing, though. As much as I loved living in New York City, as much as I completely adore that old town, I really haven't thought much about it since I left 25 days ago. Of course, I've been busy - fighting with movers, digging into boxes, figuring out what goes where, getting into the working-from-home groove (harder than I thought it would be, by the way), and spending as much time as possible with the two adorable babes who call me GrandMary.

Yep, I've fallen back into driving everywhere, even to the bank, nail salon, and grocery store, all just across Peachtree Road from me. A shorter distance than from my apartment on 115th to the 116th subway station. Seriously. (Note to self: sheesh, at least walk to the bank and the salon!)

I'm loving all the trees. And the absence of constant noise, noise, noise, which I thought I'd miss, but, no. No I don't. I love hanging out at Atlanta Botanical Gardens and the Center for Puppetry Arts. I've yet to use my High Museum membership card. Too busy. (Another note to self: get thee to the High!) I'm loving real fried chicken and Zesto's soft serve ice cream (like buttah!).

Most of all, I love the familiar faces, the hugs, and the "Welcome, back!"s I get from family and friends. I love going to my own church. I love having loved ones schedule lunches and dinners and drinks, just to catch up. I love being back among my own.

One admission: I listen to the Broadway channel on Sirius in the car. You can take the girl outta Broadway, but you can't take the Broadway outta the girl.

Yet I find it amazing how quickly I folded back into Atlanta, to the normal, to the familiar. New York was a marvelous adventure. But being home is the stuff of life.