Kin

It occurred to me while I sat at the Atlanta airport yesterday over a plate of eggs and grits that I liked being here in the South. I am squarely at home in a tank top, a pair of shorts and bare feet. I like the casual ease of the culture and the no bullshit nature of the people I met. I liked that I didn't need to wear make up or dress up much when making a stop at the grocery store. I liked that people said, "Yes, ma'am" and "No, sir" and were universally polite, pleasant and warm. I liked that I could strike up an easy conversation with anyone, anywhere, anytime without pretense. I even liked the folksy southern expressions that rolled off everyone's tongue but mine. And I liked that after my short visit here (and a fair lack of sleep) that I still looked refreshed and relaxed. I still can't figure that one out.

When I arrived in Atlanta on Thursday night in my usual uniform of a black suit, over sized sunglasses and high heeled sandals, I certainly didn't feel that way. You are a product of your day to day culture and at that moment I was feeling as New York-y as a person can be. However, once secured in the backseat of MaryCatherineFullofGrace's Audi next to her four year old son and a voluminous wedding dress while balancing a Shrek Happy Meal--it's amazing how quickly you start to adapt.

I do believe I could write a novel about the events that led up to Sunday's wedding. In fact, I may just do so one of these days. In the interest of brevity just now, here are some key highlights:

A four year old imp of a child coming at me for a hug early on Friday morning, jolting me from sleep. The debacle of the impromptu remodeling project that Mr. MCFoG decided he simply had to undertake before the wedding (and by sheer will of force completed just prior to the wedding). The tablecloth project supervised by the sister-in-law with OCD. Who bought the ice? Anyone? The dessert pagoda, constructed by the four brothers of Mr. MCFoG hours before the reception. Men in kilts without underwear. Wrapping the tent poles which I fear I did badly. Really terrific brisket. Rampant wildfires in Southern Georgia which prompted the elfin four year old to exclaim to MCFoG, "Mama, half of Georgia is burning!" The reigning patriarch and matriarch Mac & Boots and their trailer that they drove all the way from California. Increasingly skillful and creative use of the glue gun. No excuse needed for a trip to Home Depot or Walmart because they're open 24 hours. Laurel quoting all my favorite lines from "Steel Magnolias." Getting to play Photographer Assistant Nazi. Somehow getting it all done in spite of the seemingly impossible deadline. My best friend looking more beautiful than I've ever seen as she walked down the aisle and the expression of her husband absolutely dazzled by the sight of her.

It was a wild experience. Quite uncharacteristically, I forgot to bring my camera. I am waiting for MCFoG's family to send me some of the copious shots they took to post images worthy of the event.

At the end of these whirlwind days and in the glow of a beer at the reception, I felt like kin. MCFoG's in-laws and family made me feel I'd passed the initiation rite and that I was eligible for entry to a hallowed community. We joked and hugged and swapped good hearted insults. During this visit everyone called me by my childhood nickname; a name that MCFoG had bestowed on me years ago (which, if you must know, is Mikki). I don't think anyone actually came to know my real name and well, that sort of suited me. The person I was there, knee deep in the muck with MCFoG's son looking for an errant salamander, was another person than the face I put on every day here at home. It's a person I know well, squarely a product of its environment and perfectly at home with it.