Clyde and I decide we need some time away from Jackson, so John, Jeri, and Phil’s invitation to join them for a weekend at the new condo in Clayton, GA, comes just at the right time.
After stopping off to see Mom on the way, we arrive in the bustle of Atlanta, then head north, following Jeri’s Jeep. Traffic is thick as molasses, and a last-minute detour onto less congested roads takes longer, but keeps us moving at Interstate speeds. By five-thirty, we’ve arrived and moved in.
If I tell you we’re visiting friends in the North Georgia mountains, you’ll picture a rustic cabin with a moss-covered roof and rockin’ chairs. By contrast, John and Jeri’s place is a mountain palace: new construction, gleaming guest bathrooms, spacious bedrooms, rock fireplaces, a thirty-foot balcony that overlooks fog-shrouded peaks, and all the little touches you’d expect at a J&J property, including custom chandeliers dripping with rainbow-hued crystal grapes.
The town is a delight, even when swamped with Labor Day tourists. Earlier today, we stopped by a gourmet food shop in a tiny cabin; when I asked about lunch spots, the proprietor scratched a list of great candidates on the paper bag she placed my chocolates in.
As I write this, I’m in Grapes and Beans, where they serve up frothy mochas, wines, and fast, free WiFi. Once I settled into my seat by the wine rack, folks started chatting me up. The Pentecostal couple with a Dell laptop couldn’t sign on to the network; I helped. (They were from North Carolina, and wanted to make hotel reservations before getting any further south.)
Next, a plump woman bounced up, complimented me on my choice of a 12-in Apple PowerBook, then asked if she could check her email. “I’m expecting important news,” she explained; she’s sold her house in Atlanta and is moving to Clayton. “They’re offering me a new mortgage for 7.6 percent. Is that good?” I can’t say, but we still manage to spend ten minutes chatting about the ups and downs of life in Atlanta versus life in the hills.
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