This is for anyone who lives in Atlanta, who has ever lived in Atlanta, has ever visited Atlanta, ever plans to visit Atlanta, or plans to move to Atlanta, knows anyone who already lives in Atlanta, or knows anyone who has ever heard of Atlanta, Georgia:

Atlanta is composed mostly of one way streets. The only way to get out of downtown Atlanta is to turn around and start over when you reach Greenville, South Carolina.

All directions start with, "Go down Peachtree" and include the phrase, "When you see the Waffle House." Except that in Cobb County, and all directions begin with, "Go to the Big Chicken."

Peachtree Street has no beginning and no end and is not to be confused with:
Peachtree Circle,
Peachtree Place,
Peachtree Lane,
Peachtree Road,
Peachtree Parkway,
Peachtree Run,
Peachtree Terrace,
Peachtree Avenue,
Peachtree Commons,
Peachtree Battle,
Peachtree Corners,
New Peachtree,
Old Peachtree,
West Peachtree,
Peachtree-Dunwoody,
Peachtree-Chamblee,
or Peachtree Industrial Boulevard.

Atlantans only know their way to work and their way home. If you ask anyone for directions they will always send you down Peachtree.

Atlanta is the home of Coca-Cola. That's all we drink here, so don't ask for any other soft drink unless it's made by Coca-Cola.

Gate One at Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport is 32 miles away from the Main Concourse, so wear sneakers and pack a lunch.

The 8:00 AM rush hour is from 6:30 to 10:30 AM.

The 5:00 PM rush hour is from 3:00 to 7:30 PM.

Friday's rush hour starts Thursday afternoon, and lasts through 2:00 AM Saturday.

Only a native can pronounce Ponce De Leon Avenue so do not attempt the Spanish pronunciation. People will simply tilt their heads to the right and stare at you. The Atlanta pronunciation is "pahnss duh LEE-on".

The falling of one rain drop causes all drivers to immediately forget all traffic rules.

If a single snowflake falls, the city is paralyzed for three days and it's on all the channels as a news flash every 15 minutes for a week. All grocery stores will be sold out of milk, bread, bottled water, toilet paper, and beer.

I-285, the loop that encircles Atlanta and has a posted speed limit of 55 mph (but you have to maintain 80 mph just to keep from getting run over), and is known to truckers as "The Watermelon 500."

The last thing you want to do is give another driver the finger, unless your car is armored, your trigger finger is itchy and your AK-47 has a full clip.

Possums sleep in the middle of the road with their feet in the air.

There are 5,000 types of snakes and 4,998 live in Georgia.

There are 10,000 types of spiders. All 10,000 live in Georgia, plus a couple no one has seen before.

If it grows, it sticks; if it crawls, it bites.

It is not a shopping cart, it is a buggy.

"Fixingto" is one word (I'm fixingto go to the store)

Sweet Tea is appropriate for all meals and you start drinking it when you're 2.

'Jeet?' is actually a phrase meaning "Did you eat?"

Courtesy of my friend Carol, from...yes, Atlanta, where my husband and I are also are from.

Texas death row inmates last meal requests are interesting if in a viscerally morbid sort of way. From The Memory Hole - [link]

* Cool Whip and cherries

* None

* Thirty jumbo shrimp, cocktail sauce, baked potato, French fries, ketchup, butter, one t-bone steak, one chocolate malt, one gallon of vanilla ice cream, and three cans of Big Red

* 1 bag of assorted Jolly Ranchers

* Same meal that is served to all other offenders in the main dining room

* One whole fried chicken (extra crispy), salad with Thousand Island dressing, French toast, two diet Cokes, one apple pie, and French fries

* None

* Eight soft fried eggs (wants yellow runny), big bowl of grits, five biscuits with bowl of butter, five pieces of fried hard and crisp bacon, two sausage patties, pitcher of chocolate milk, two pints vanilla Blue Bell ice cream, and two bananas

* One pot of coffee

Fun Site full of tests. I took the IQ test, I believe it's listed under Premium. There's 40 questions and you can get your score, but if you want the details, I believe there's a fee involved. For free it told me my score and this:

We also compared your answers with others who have taken the test. According to the sorts of questions you got correct, we can tell your Intellectual Type is a Word Warrior.

This means you have exceptional verbal skills. You can easily make sense of complex issues and take an unusually creative approach to solving problems. Your strengths also make you a visionary. Even without trying you're able to come up with lots of new and creative ideas. And that's just a small part of what we know about you from your test results.

Word Warrior. I like the sound of that.

I've got a sweet momma bird at my house. As I step out onto my deck and look up about 5 feet, I see she's built a nest in the bend of the corner gutter on the house. If I stood directly below it I could reach up and touch it if I wanted. Of course, I won't. I believe her to be a regular sparrow. Mostly grey, some white, some brown. Her body is about 6 or 7 inches long. And she seldom leaves her nest these past few days. I can step outside, look up at her and she at me and she never wavers. I try to send her some "It's alright, I'm a Mother, too" vibes to ease her feathered mind.

A momma bird sitting on her nest; waiting the arrival of her brand new bald, chirping babies. Now, if that's not your sure-fire sign of Spring, nothing is.

**UPDATED: She is actually a Robin. I'd only seen her tail peaking out of the nest and her backside. And sometimes her head looking out at me over the nest scoldingly. But she's an orange-bodied, full on beautiful Robin. Like my sister.

Kane had a sweet picture of his cat, Wilson today. We should have a post a pic of your pet day on the web one day. Or someone should do that in their meme one week. I think I have an old picture of Buddy, my 3 yo golden-red rescue chow and golden retreiver mix, around here someplace that I scanned before my scanner died. Love him so much. He sleeps with me in the bed every night.

PandaCam - Check it out!

FInished up taxes; now working on Robin's blog. Will try and visit some later.

Below is a favorite Easter memory repeat I wrote about Robin and I. Coincidentally, she wrote an Easter memory on her website yesterday. Most spare internet time will be spent working on Robin's new template. Happy Easter to those friends who celebrate Easter. And a Happy Sunday to those who don't!

Easter Reflections
My first Easter memories involve my sister (2 years younger) and I when we were quite small. There was the anticipation of buying a fancy, new Easter dress, with crisp white cotton gloves. And, equally important, fancy, new shoes to match.

I still remember a favorite pair of pink patent leather shoes with bows that I'd rub together, even during solemnly quiet church service , just to hear them squeak. If we'd fuss and whine a little extra, we might get a new handbag or hat with matching grossgrain ribbon that hung down our back. And I might get to paint my stubby, chewed-to-the-nub fingernails for the occasion as well.

Sunday School during the Easter season was spent making crosses from pop-sicle sticks and yarn. And writing Bible verse John 3:16 in glue on construction paper, then sprinkling glitter on it, to proudly display in the Church's main hall. After church, the obligatory eggs-traordinary Easter egg hunt. Right after a huge ham spread at Grandmother's house. Pictures snapped all around. A perfect Easter indeed. With all the trimmings a little girl could possibly want.

But I never did get a blue (or pink, or orange, or green) chick for Easter.

A local grocery store sold colored baby chicks in a pen with heat lamps during the Easter season. They had been dyed different colors and we'd all have our favorite one picked out. All the kids begged their parents for a blue (or pink, or orange, or green) chick at Easter. But I never really knew anyone who actually got one. PETA and other animal rights activists might take a dim view of dyed baby chicks nowadays.

I recently ran across one of those old Easter photos while cleaning out my grandmother's old photos. Probably one of the last ones that featured us in all our Easter finery. Robin and I were posed for posterity in my grandmother's yard and we were about 14 and 16 years old at the time. Smirks firmly planted across our smart-aleck faces tell you this is the last time you'll get dresses on these two tomboys who'd rather be in blue jeans fielding grounders.

Arnold Palmer played his last Masters game yesterday. It was his 50th one. Throngs of his fans always follow him on the course and are known affectionately as Arnie's Army. No matter where you are on the course the applause follows him as each ball is played out. I followed him at the GGO in Greensboro, NC, as a 14 year old tomboy with my father. It was one way to feel closer to my Father because he loved to play golf and using my Mother's clubs, he taught me how to play at an early age. Our back yard connected to the 14th hole at the local Golf Course.

My Father's passed on now; it's been 14 years he's been gone. But once after making 'a hole in one', his clubhouse got him an Arnold Palmer signed ball mounted on an engraved wooden plaque and an ashtray. They're still on the table by his old leather chair. He was probably more proud of his golf achievements than anything he accomplished in the business world.

When I see my Father in my minds eye now, I see him sitting in his leather chair, feet up on the ottoman. Other images I have of him are him in a tux, getting ready to go to some function, sipping on a gin and tonic, perfectly coiffed and creased. Or driving a golf cart, in la Coste shirt and saddle oxford golf cleats; leaping out beside his ball on the fairway, a mere second before the cart came to a complete stop. (The way every cart driver does.) Or shaving in the mornings in a still-steamy bathroom, then splashing on after shave, while standing at the sink in his boxers and tee shirt. Then he'd take out a freshly laundered and starched shirt. Ripping off the plastic, I'd sometimes put my arms in the long, flat sleeves and pry them open from the starch for him.

Many times it still aches to think of him for long. Today I find it comforting to "see" him.

Cover Me; I'm Going In
All this morning I've been thinking how ruggedly handsome and sexy my husband is to me. I had to go out early and when I returned my eyes looked him over in a way I've not done for some time. Yep. Still sexy after all these years. In a gruff Sam Elliott sort of way. The same look I saw the first time we met. When your eyes scan a room and hit upon something nice and you want to linger there, but don't want to appear too obvious. I knew who he was. He was known around the area and was whispered about in local music rooms followed by "he's the guy who plays guitar left-handed, upside down". (Still strung for a right hander, but flipped over and played-- Hendrix-style)

During breakfast I look over his way and wink. I get a blank stare in return. Finally I say,

"I've been thinking about you this morning."
"It's been a long ride, hasn't it, saddle pal?" says he.
I try again. "No, I've really been thinking about you this morning and how sexy you still are to me."
Totally evading my comment: ".......Is she up yet?" he sheepishly asks about our daughter.

I'll let him ponder my sexy proclamation awhile. I think I'll try again after he's had his second cup of coffee.

I'm in sort of a melancholy funk. My spirit's depleted. I really worry too much about war. And the state of the world. I dont' think that's natural. It's one of those feelings you find hard to describe and put into words. The last time I felt this way was the night they first bombed Iraq. I was stupified. Speechless. Left to sort out my emotions and try to make sense of it all. I processed it. Digested what I'd seen and heard. I don't like what's happening In Iraq with so many Iraqis fighting back now and us crossing the line when we bombed a mosque today. All the rationalizing in the world can't spin you out of that one.

It's left me maudlin and blue, spent.

I try to keep actual politics off of this site. It's supposed to be more, raw, first draft, off-the-cuff, real emotions. Nothing more.