The "city," and all that entails

Crossing the threshold from suburbia into the city always makes me feel a little skittish. I get overwhelmed every time by its larger-than-life personality. It's like walking from a dark room right into the unabashed sunlight--it takes a painful minute for my eyes to readjust. Metaphorical pupils still dilating, we drove into Atlanta-proper yesterday to visit my sister-in-law, who just had her first baby. (She had him a month early, and he's being monitored for fast breathing.) Upon our arrival, I was surprised to find that the hospital looked more like a shopping mall than a baby-having place. Boutiques, cafes, etc. It almost made me want to have another baby just to spend three days there. Almost.

I was carrying a bouquet of alstroemerias that my husband had bought for her, and I had gotten the trip off to a very wrong start by reminding him that he hadn't even gotten ME flowers when I had our child. I have a slightly jeolous streak and a vast memory for slights, which is a grueling combination for any companion. Something I have to work on. Anyway. Really, it was simply my way of saying...I'm not comfortable with going to the hospital. (I've had enough of hospitals this year with my mom's death and my son's two surgeries.) But he can't see that because he's a man, not a mind reader. I'm also out of my element with all those babies and women talking about babies. I'm not exactly the most maternal being, though I'm doing my best to learn to be, and putting me in with all those women makes me nervous. Like they're going to see what a fraud-mother I am or look down on me for wanting more than babies to feel that my life is complete.

Anytime any of the nurses walked by me in the waiting room and commented on how pretty the flowers were, I generously gave them a stem from the bunch. Curiously, they all asked the same question: "Are they real?" (Which was the same odd question that girls asked me about my hair in high school, and the question baffled me then, too. I had never heard of "hair extensions" back then, so I didn't really understand the queries regarding the authenticity of my waist-length locks. Weird. ) By the time I finally was able to give them to their intended recipient, they had dwindled remarkably. Not really a big deal, though--she had two shelves of flowers, and mine fit nicely on her bedside table. And the nurses were very happy.

After we left, we went to one of our favorite Atlanta places--Eatzi's! Deserves an exclamation point. They are more like a market, but they also make fresh sandwiches, pasta, fish, and other scrumpdillyishus things. I always get a French lemonade in a little hourglass bottle, which makes me feel so European, at least for a little while. I also always opt for the Caprese sandwich, with fresh mozzarella and olive oil. I wondered to myself if it said something about my character that I always get the same thing. Quit analyzing the situation, and just enjoy, I thought.

It was rush hour when we finished eating, which meant one thing, and one thing only. Well, two things. (One) Gridlock and (Two) my heart's desire. Ikea. It's a Swedish company that's caused quite a sensation in the Atlanta area since it opened a few months ago. It's two floors of modish furniture, lighting, housewares, etc., and all outstandingly cheap. I think people just go there to hang out because it's such a cool environment. The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafts through the air right by the front door and carries you on a cloud into the store. I bought blue everything (ornaments, wrapping paper, candles) for my Blue Christmas. (More pictures to come on this.)

Then the 45-minute ride home, now that the traffic had died down a tad. Have I mentioned that I have a strange fear of merging onto a ten-lane interstate? I have to either close my eyes or delve deeper into my book (currently the biography of Anne Morrow Lindbergh). I'm not doing the driving, of course. I also have a fear of police officers because I got a ticket once. That I fought and beat in court when I was eight-months pregnant. But the hair on the back of my neck still prickles when I see a police cruiser.

This blog really is going nowhere, isn't it? I'll probably come up with a point later.

And my grandparents are coming from Iowa to deliver Christmas presents on Sunday or Monday. Must clean. And convert my office to a guest room. Quickly now. Ease yourself off the computer, I have to tell myself. Must. be . productive. Okay, I'm done.