The Vamp of Savannah

Constant Reader--

I must apologize for my absence of late. I took the weekend to jet-set off to sunny (humid) Savannah to visit the fam and enjoy a change of scenery. I arrived on Friday and was introduced to the wonderful world of disc golf by the rather formidable Stephen (he won his age-division in the First "Annual" Savannah Disc Golf Competition). There was much frustration, after which I was left with the dismal score of 20 over par. Stephen says that it's okay because it was my first time out and I played with a "big lid" (golfer slang for "normal frisbee"). Still. One likes to believe that one is above average. We returned to McLaws St. and to a steaming pot of homemade Brunswick stew. Delicious with Frank's Hot Sauce and Braves baseball, both of which were in abundant supply at the dinner table. On Saturday Stephen and I went rainy-day book shopping. I convinced him to buy The Golden Compass and Lonesome Dove, both must-reads for anyone who fancies him- or herself a book-lover. After that it was lunch at The Exchange with my oldest friend Katie Roachfort (not oldest as in, she's wrinkled and incontinent, but old as in, she knew me when I was drawing hearts around boys' names on my composition books at Blessed Sacrament and when I was big-fish-small-ponding it at St. Vincent's). Nothin' like old friends, I always say. Then home for pot roast (yes I ate twice, as would you if you had ever had my mother's pot roast) and renting movies with Stephen. Stephen, Mama, and I all watched "Mean Girls" and then off to bed. You know, Lindsay Lohan looked so much better plump and with red hair. Just my two Lincolns on that topic. The next day Stephen and I slept in and then off for five hours of ultimate in Forsythe Park in the unbelievable humidity. My personal hell will definitely be that kind of humidity where you feel as if you are breathing underwater. The Salley children dominated, humidity or no. Must be the genes. After that it was off to the worst Mexican restaurant ever. Sorry that I don't remember the name (tho they are probably pretty happy about it). Worst shrimp cocktail ever. Worst margarita ever. Worst price for both. And my ass got wet in the bargain. But there was some brief entertainment after Sam lost a roche (paper, rock, scissors to the uninformed) to shoot a little bit of the cocktail remnants. In his words (after a particularly heinous showing), "I wasn't prepared for the chunks." Priceless. The next day I got up early so that my optometrist, Dr. Bradley, could tell me that I have a cyst in my right eye. Gross. Then shopping at Target with Mama followed by lunch with Renna at Brighter Day. Best white chocolate cheesecake that close to the Savannah River. I recommend the chicken salad sandwich. Then home to accidentally fall asleep, pack, and get on the road.

It was a wonderful trip, though it gets sadder and sadder to make the trip. Every time I go back something is new, either in the McLaws St. house or in the greater Savannah metropolitan area. I just get reminded that I don't live there anymore. It's weird. Athens isn't my home, though I've lived here for seven years. Savannah is feeling less and less like home the longer the time between real visits. Is it true, then, what they say? Can you ever go home again?

Thank you for hearing me out for neglecting you all weekend, Reader. I hope that hiatuses like this one will be few and far between.

Much Love,
Amy