
Reading Suwanee Patch, I'm reminded of when we first moved to Atlanta. The hubs, as many of you know, is a Brit. Back then, his accent was stronger than it is now. The company he worked for was moving his division from Southern California (see I was born a Southerner) to Atlanta.
As the division vice president, he had to announce the move at a convention. To have a little fun I wrote him a speech and filled it with Southern sayings ... things like "awl" for oil, and "bald" for boiled, and that we were moving to "Addlanna" as opposed to "Nawlins."
With his British accent and the Southern sayings, it was a scream, and it helped soften the blow of moving.
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But for me, the trouble started when we got here.
When we lived in Los Angeles, I had a wonderful sense of direction. Who wouldn't? The Sierra Nevada Mountains were to the east and the ocean to the west. Who needed a compass? All the streets were laid out in a grid. If you missed your destination, you simply went around the block.
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We hadn't been here long, before the hubs went out of town on business. Our youngest son was in school, and I ... well, frankly, I was bored. And when I get bored, I go shopping.
A friend told me of a delightful shop, filled with bargains. And a bargain is something I can't resist. She gave me directions and I set out.
The first thing I learned ... the hard way ... is that there are at least 53 Peachtree Streets in the 'burbs of Atlanta. She didn't indicate which one.
The second thing I learned is that the streets here change names willy nilly, for no apparent reason. I suppose somebody who owned a ferry gave his neighbor a free ride, so in a grand gesture, they named the street for him, but only within their city limits.
By now, I was totally confused. I had no idea where I was. By sheer luck and the grace of God, I happened to find the address I had been searching for.
Unfortunately, I missed the driveway into the parking lot. But no matter, I did what I would normally do and drove around the block.
And ended up in Tennessee.