The Perfect Sunday

I woke up yesterday to a surprise of rain. I love rainy Sundays … being awakened by the splattering on the roof ... watching drop slither down the window … the rain painting the yard a deeper green ... letting its laziness soak the bones. No more energy expended than to pad down the hall, make a strong cup of coffee, curl my pajama’ed bottom under a blanket, and listen to the drops before CBS Sunday Morning began. The rain-induced sloth relaxed me for the first time in weeks.

In the afternoon, after a nap with the cats, we were treated to one of the best parts of a Georgia winter: a surprise of sunny and seventy. The cats and I dashed out to spend our first afternoon on our new deck.

The view above. Yes, the sky was that blue.

Otto explores the deck …


… while Maggie chills and checks out the scenery.

A book, a glass of lemonade, birds flitting about … and we three were happy as clams.

Does anyone know why clams are so damn happy anyway?

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My un-Labored Weekend

I spent last weekend in the loveliest spot of the state: Lake Burton, in the North Georgia mountains. I meant to write about the weekend earlier, but I took way too many photos and just finished sorting them.

My brother-in-law’s father owns a house on the lake. He rarely goes up, so my sister, brother-in-law, and I took over the house for the holiday weekend. After months of stress and heavy workloads and worries and traveling, it was wonderful to just be for a few days — no makeup, R.E.M. and Zevon T-shirts and cutoffs, hair curling wildly. We took boat rides, read, hung out, enjoyed the view.

And the house has a porch. A big porch. With railing. Overlooking the lake and mountains. My kind of hangout spot.

So, let’s start with the most important part of the weekend: the cocktailing.

My sister and I decided to cocktail for twelve hours straight on Sunday, and we pulled it off. We also imbibed much of Saturday and Monday, too. The nice thing about marathon cocktailing is, if you're a pro, you can maintain a level of buzz that's not too far over the edge. With no hangovers or embarrassing drunk dialing.

You know the pose; now meet my weekend pals.

Sister's award-winning frozen margarita

A margarita on the rocks (we tired of blending)

Chik-Fil-A lemonade with Absolut Citron

A glass of red from Garretson Winery*

A chilled glass of Naia

*Paso Robles' Garretson Winery is owned by a Georgia boy, Mat Garretson. (His older brother was one of my college radio station buddies.) The winery is known for its viognier, and I recommend it. The red we're drinking is a Georgia Bulldogs label that my brother-in-law picked up; not bad at all. Mat must know what he's doing with those grapes.

More Lake Burton stories to come this weekend.

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Fire and Rain Ramblings

We’re having a grand thunderstorm right now in Atlanta, one that’s washing away the 90-degree days. Soothes my soul to cut off the A/C, open the windows, enjoy a breeze and outdoor sounds as they flutter through my living room.

The cats and I are on the porch during the day for the first time in a month, listening to the rain, and Wilco and Lucinda and Neko, and Stipe and Badly Drawn Boy and Jeff Buckley. It’s soothing to watch the green get greener, to smell the cleansing rain, to feel the occasional spray on my rail-propped feet.


I love thunderstorms. The crack and power of thunder and lightning. The sound of rain impatiently bursting through the clouds as fast and hard as it can. I find peace in all that madness. I sometimes wonder if I’m meant to live in the Pacific Northwest. But do they get wonderfully violent thunderstorms? I need some passion with my drizzle.


I’m having a bit of an internal crisis these days. Longheld beliefs being shaken, what was is no more. I feel as if I’m about to wash away the old me and evolve into another of my selves. Eager and anxious, at once. And I’m an impatient soul, so this leaves me restless, thundering inside, wanting to walk away from everything. I know I must be patient and let the evolution take its course. But I’m ready to embrace this new self. It’s thrilling to start over at this age. And it’s time. As Wilco now sings to me, Nothing'severgonnastandinmyway(again).

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Another Night on the Porch

Perfect porch night. It started raining around 7 p.m. Bit of a thunderstorm with heavy rain at first, but now it’s just a steady rain. The rain broke the heat wave we’ve roasted through the last week. It’s cool again, thank God.


You can hear the rain dripping on the leaves and pouring out of the spout. Crickets are singing and lightning bugs are zipping. Since everyone else has their windows closed tight, I don’t hear any blaring TVs or radios. I get to enjoy the sounds of a summer night. Nothing more relaxing than listening to rain and crickets while watching for lightning bugs. I'm even sipping lemonade and eating watermelon. I am Southern, hear me drawl.


I’ve pretty much moved out here this summer. There’s a lamp on the table, so that I can read in the evenings. The cats have moved out here, too. We’re getting some flying bugs inside the townhouse, but that just gives the cats more toys to bat around.


There’s a leaf I always stare at when I’m zoning on the porch. It has a hot-pink squiggle across the top left. It usually takes me a second or two to find it. Once found, I can stare at it for quite a while, as I empty my brain or work on a story idea or chat on the phone.

Here’s a photo of my porch, from the office. As I type this, I'm sitting in the chair you see, but I have it turned to face the trees.


My monitor is sitting on my great-grandfather’s desk, which is in desperate need of refinishing. I’m looking for a computer desk so that I can move that equipment to the other side of the room. Once that’s done, this will be my writing area. It’s the perfect spot since I’ll have the breeze from the porch, but I won’t be distracted by the trees and the chipmunks and the lizards.

Expect great words from that corner of my world.

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A View from the Porch

It finally started raining around 10:30 last night. The grumble of the thunderstorm drew me out to the porch, and that’s pretty much where I’ve spent the last 24 hours. My rocking chair, my laptop, my cats, a good book, and a great thunderstorm. [Crikey; am I turning into Celestine Sibley?]

My chubby little toes and I enjoy the rainstorm from the porch

I have a great little porch. It’s set into the building, so my neighbors can’t see me when I’m out here. I look out onto trees, so there’s nothing but green in front of me. Nobody else has been on their porches or patios this weekend, so I've had the back to myself. I turned off the music early this afternoon so that I could enjoy the rattle of rain and the silence of Sunday. It’s barely drizzling now. The birds are back to singing, and I’ve spent the last 20 minutes watching a lizard slither around the ground. Everything’s so green, so quiet. Hard to believe I’m just a mile or so from Peachtree.

[Good Lord, I am turning into Celestine Sibley, aren’t I?]

Maggie’s view from the porch

I came out this morning with my friend Walter’s latest novel. I love spending a Sunday reading a book from cover to cover. Today's book — Feet of Clay, published under his pen name Ruth Birmingham — is a good, quick-read murder mystery set in Georgia. Walter writes a strong female character, but he may get a lecture on perpetuating the overtly racist Southern gentleman stereotype. Still recommend it, though, if you’re a mystery fan.

Shameless plug: If you’re in Atlanta, pick up Feet of Clay or any number of titles at Chapter 11 Books, a good local chain that’s coming back from, well, chapter 11. (Perry, I would have linked the book to y’all, but you don’t have separate URLs for individual titles.) If you’re not in Atlanta, you can order online and support an independently owned bookstore.

Otto’s view from the porch

I had a meltdown and long cry with my best friend today. There’s a lot going on that has left me scared and lonely and heartbroken, and I just couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer. I tend to let people think that life is great and sunny and fun and full of music … when instead I want to cry and scream and have someone listen to me. I’m truly blessed to have that beautiful friend, who tells me she’s happy that I’m crying and feeling sorry for myself. My façade doesn’t fool her, but she knows me well enough to be patient for the occasional meltdown. I can’t say I feel any less sad or scared, but I know I’m deeply loved. As she says, change is scary — but good will come from it. At least I have a good porch.

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Rainy Night in Georgia

Friday night. Out on the deck, toasting the rain with a crisp white wine, staring into the trees, using as little brain power as possible. Been out here since I got home from work (my deck’s covered; I haven’t been sitting in the rain, silly). The evening began with a loud, booming thunderstorm (we do thunder well down here in Georgia). That soon gave way to light, steady rain — enough to cool the night and freshen the air. The sound and smell of rain, the damp breeze — relaxing, calming, cleansing — my Zen moment. Even took a short walk in the mist (OK, so maybe I am dumb enough to go out in the rain, but it was wonderful).

Maybe I’d like living in Seattle.



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One of these days

I met Karen tonight for dinner at “our place” — Casa Grande, on Peachtree near Collier. We had our usual, sharing the fajitas for one and downing a few margarita swirls (there’s sangria in those swirls, friends). It just doesn’t get any better than dinner with a beloved friend after a rough, soul-draining week. We laughed. We confided. We talked about changes happening and coming. Two hours later, I walked out relaxed and happy and unburdened — the best I’ve felt in a couple of weeks. I needed to let everything go and be myself again.

Things have been rough lately, but I now see a light at the end of the stress tunnel. Maybe it’s time to make some major changes in my life, to take some big risks. I’m thinking through the hows, and hope to be leading a different life by my next birthday. I’m excited about what may happen.

I’m now sitting out on my deck, listening to and singing along with Emmylou Harris’ “Elite Hotel.” I may have new-wave heart, but I believe that the angels in heaven will sound like Emmylou, Vince Gill, and Gram Parsons. It just doesn’t get any better than this moment, sitting outside, singing “One of These Days,” feeling the damp spring air, smelling the rain. I think I'll sleep well tonight.

One of these days it will soon be all over, cut and dry
And I won't have this urge to go all bottled up inside
One of these days I'll look back and I'll say I left in time
‘Cause somewhere for me I know there's peace of mind
There's gonna be peace of mind for me, one of these days

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