No Country For Los Bastardos

“Do not burn yourselves out.” Edward Abbey advises. 

“Be as I am - a reluctant enthusiast....a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies… 

You will outlive the bastards.” 

As keeping Gordon Lamb safe and sound is - in every single-solitary one of my days - among my tip-top priorities… I’m always excited to find something that allows me to coax him away from the screen, the numb-ahs. A couple Saturdays ago, Jamie Anderson, our friend over at Hey Neighbor Mow & Clean came in with an assist. And… PSST! Follow them on Facebook dear one because who knows when he’ll do another giveaway that offers YOU a chance to get out and “keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to your body.”

(Was going to use the “sweet and lucid air” bit but - you know - hundred thousand percent #TooSoon.)

Anyhoo! Before the Pollengeddon of 2025, I won tickets on Hey Neighbor’s Facebook page to… drumroll… Goat Yoga!!! Which we couldn’t stop singing to the tune of the Hot Pockets jingle, but I digress. Point is, it was an absolute gas! Pregnant goats, baby goats, goats that ate Gordon’s hair. There was even a little goat that could Crip Walk. It was part of a larger story as an intro to a body slam. But somehow still V. demure. I barely even hit a child’s pose. Too busy fully immersing myself in outliving “the Bs.”

And it’s a good thing I’m on top of the keeping Gordon around as long as possible sitch because he has been full of surprises lately! A benefit at Johnny’s Ramp was SO CHIC! that I could hardly stand it. Peep my instagram stories for a peek. And then he insisted that I take the Mabry girls to dinner at The Peacock for: mocktails and short-rib hummus and spiced fries and kebabs - oh my! I’d tell you the flavors of the exquisite ice cream we ordered to close out the fancy feast but I’m guessing I had already blacked out on fresh, warm pita because I am simply coming up with zilch. But on Sunday, he outdid himself. And took me to church. 

We’ve been hoping Tobe Nwigwe would land in Atlanta for a few years. And he did. Or so I thought. You see I was under the impression that we had to miss Tobe because he played Atlanta while we were in Austin. But Mister Lamb, sly (stone cold) fox that he is, knew that particular performance was rescheduled and sneakily made sure that we had tickets. 

So there we were. At the Tabernacle. Listening to a man who can walk it, talk it, live it, and give it. And suddenly there it was, right in the palm of my hand - missing for what felt like so long . . . hope. And a prayer.

Click here: G's column will tell you A.L.L.  about it!

Meet the Parents

This time last week, I was getting ready to meet my friend Fatma at Rabbit Box. That seems like several lifetimes ago. When my prayer list was much lighter. I'm not up to writing, with any specificity, about this week. The highs and lows have left me pretty exhausted. So I'll just say that I'm grateful we have a house to live in. Cars to drive. Running water. Electricity. Even air. Even air to breathe, I am grateful for. And Fatma. Always Fatma.

The theme of last week's Rabbit Box was "The Birth of a Parent." And Fatma was a member of the ensemble. One of the most authentic ensembles I've ever seen. And, for me, THE most poignant. So please, treat yourself to these stories. They made me realize that I've had many births as a parent. Exquisite and excruciating in fairly equal-ish measure. Still chewing on IF I should ever even write about them, I was mesmerized by each of these human beings' ability to speak their stories aloud, on a stage, in front all those people.

Thank. Me. Later. 

Thank you Fatma for always remembering to capture the moment!

These are the ones I was able to find. I added them in order. If there are more, I'll update.

Fatma Gurel

Mir Kamin

Kate Wicker

Jody Thompson

Jeff Cymerman

Heather Reed

Dave Bloyer

A Pot of Chicken Chili on the Stove & A Song in my Heart

My Grandfather, “Boppa,” sold gas grills for Atlanta Gas Light. My Grandmother, “Honey,” worked for Georgia Farm Bureau. I can’t recall Honey’s title. But a reliable informant assured me that the best parties at the annual Insurance Women’s Conference were “always” in her room. He enjoyed watching westerns on TBS, taking care of the pool, and cooking cheeseburgers. She was - twice - President of the UMW, made a mean cheese dip, and loved a great margarita! They never looked happier than when they were gliding around the formal living room, holding each other very close - her in pantyhose covered “bare” feet. And most weekends when I was a little girl, you’d find me (at some point) posted up between them watching Dallas, Dynasty, Falcon Crest, Fantasy Island, Magnum P.I., and The Love Boat. My parents' comings and goings were glamorous: gowns, social gatherings, and the pursuit of the “good” life. But when I imagined being an adult, it always looked much closer to those weekends on Dogwood Circle. 

This weekend I found a balance that I’d yet to imagine.

Friday night I put my “face on” and let my hair down. Eager to join friends for an opportunity to surprise a kindred with the tenacity of a mountain goat, the adventurous spirit of a new puppy, and (occasionally) the mouth of a pirate’s parrot. Leaving the house isn’t my FAVORITE thing at the moment. And I almost talked myself out of it. But I would have missed out on what it feels like to have friends, old (-ish ... I’ve only been here for six years, after all) and brand new, wrapping me up like a burrito baby in multi-textured layers of contagious laughter, heartfelt compliments, and caring camaraderie. I’d also have missed Tacos los Toxicos. A crime for which the self-inflicted punishment is unconscionable. They really were THAT good! And the quesadilla was better than “the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window!” 

On the way to the car, we stopped to grab a *sip* of the sign change at the Georgia Theatre and I wondered if I was strong enough to stop being sad about Summer (too much heartbreak to get into). I was. Even if only for a moment. I was sure that it would all be over when I woke up. A lovely dream. But when I opened my eyes, nothing had changed.

On a mission to find ALL the presents for my favorite thirty three year old, Mariah Parker, I enjoyed a purple paint supplies party at Home Depot. I think? I made two new friends at Community. And I know for certain that a single post to Instagram from my friend Fatma led me to Little Kings (I’d just missed her), and face to face with Rashe (who’m I’d just tried to reach), and then to Taziki’s for what I guess we’ll always call *Birthday Soup* from now on. Scooped up a Five Below disco ball for a bow and was on the road just in time to be 20 minutes late to meet my family at The Story Shop (yes, we are ALL obsessed!) But no sweat because we all walked through the doors at the very same time. Pinch myself? Nah. This brand of magic flows from a much deeper well. 

Follow @TwoStixTheStore now. Thank me later!

Aesop came back to our house so that the big kids could play. They need it. Because the sheer volume of support that both of them give to humankind, day in and day right-back-out isn’t even something that can be measured. But I can absolutely tell you this…

While working chest deep in a man-made wave pool, the ripples that radiate from each person they bring relief to pay no heed to our feeble attempts at tracking time. Or distance. And neither of them try to measure it empirically. They’re too busy tending to the next person that got a raw deal.

When I tucked Aes into his fire truck bed, his voice cracked a little at the end of that goodnight. It only lasted half a heartbeat but I worried about it for the better part of 15/20 minutes so I finally decided to check on him and offer that he could lie down beside me until he fell asleep if he wanted to. But what I found was a little boy who, still awake when I enquired, told me that he was ok and didn’t need any more milk. And then it hit me. That little tremble in his voice… that’s what it sounds like when you don’t want the day to end. And so I kinda I think I might have gotten it right - living like Honey & Boppa. I think that this is what I always imagined.

On the second of July, a friend that is very dear to me said: “You’re about to change your life.” Thank you Kristy. The thorns almost got me. Cut me to pieces in the process. But we’re swimming in rosewater these days and you are the very first person I want to thank.