is no springtime at all.

 

 

It’s been an odd day. I’ve been up since before 5am, yet the day’s hours have passed by quickly. Granted, I was drugged with sedatives this morning for a gastrointestinal examination by endoscopy, the effects of which continue to influence my behaviour.

 

I slept for a couple of hours this afternoon and have been generally lethargic otherwise. But my spirit is uplifted, having received a clean bill of health from my doctor. There are no signs of bleeding in my stomach, and its lining has healed already from my earlier bout with Dieulafoy’s Lesion.

 

A full recovery is certain now, only weeks away.

 

I like coffee. And I like coffee shops.

 

I’m not sure what it is about them exactly, but I enjoy spending time in coffee shops. Well, there are many things, actually. Chiefly though, I suppose I like the pace of things in a coffee shop. It’s slow.

 

People generally are patient in line--and oftentimes they’re willing to wait in rather long queues. After obtaining their hot drink, those who do, dress their coffees with care. I can’t say that I’ve ever seen someone hastily and carelessly slop spices and cream in their coffee. On the contrary, mixing ingredients into a coffee is a delicate task; people are meticulous about yielding the optimal colour and flavour, however they define them.

 

Some will leave the shop immediately with their drinks; others will remain. The latter folk take seats, caress their cups, and linger. Some will eventually rejoin the queue for another cup. Others do not, yet they linger all the same.

 

They read, engage in quiet study, people watch, or participate in lively conversation.

 

I often think that conversation in a coffee shop is much richer than it otherwise would have been. People are more accommodating when listening, more thoughtful when speaking, and more generous with their time. This is the place for topics to get explored in deep, meaningful ways.

 

This is the venue where relationships forge.

 

I’m often within the bounds of coffee shops, whether by design or servicing a whim. I probably drink too much coffee as a consequence, but it’s a small price to pay (literally) for a diversion from the everyday.

 

I rose early from bed this morning and placed myself in an interim work setting: in front of my laptop, surrounded by stacks of paper, and at a coffee shop.

 

I have a work project that is due tomorrow. Naturally, it’s become top of mind at this late hour.

 

Still, my work session at the coffee shop was productive, and at first glance, I’m happy with the quality of my work--but ultimately that is for others to decide.

 

Somehow, the atmosphere this morning, with all of its distractions, was favourable to completing a significant volume of my project. I’m grateful that the employees didn’t perceive a need to ask me to leave, having only spent about $6 on coffees and a muffin, yet lingering in my seat for just shy of 5 hours.

 

I have more to do before the day’s done, but I’m starting to feel the first symptoms of fatigue.

 

In what has become customary in my travels, I alloted some time on my and Beatrice’s Atlanta itinerary to visit one of the local Apple Stores, specifically the location at the Lenox Square Mall. In advance of our visit, I booked an appointment with the Genius Bar to seek a resolution for some performance issues I’ve been experiencing with my PowerBook relative to iWeb, the software I rely on to create this website.

 

We arrived sufficiently early to tour the store and handle some of the products. Most of my attention was directed at the iPhone, a product that remains unavailable (at least officially) in Canada. As I expected, the iPhone felt satisfying in my hands. Pinching and flicking gestures are fun, particularly for Internet and photo browsing. I want one of these, but I’m doubtful Canada will get the nod for an international release of the iPhone anytime soon, in part because the only mobile carrier capable of carrying the iPhone doesn’t offer a data plan that would sufficiently compliment and optimize the iPhone’s potential.

 

 

I eventually relinquished my hold on the iPhone and wandered the store before checking in with the Genius Bar. There I enjoyed the company of two Geniuses, who explored my software problem, all the while (and most importantly) engaging with me on the fulfillment of the Mac experience, sharing their training experiences in Cupertino, and exchanging tips on optimizing system performance.

 

I had a blast--and the assistance was free. What’s not to like about the Genius Bar?

 

I should add that their advice helped to mitigate my software issue. I still have to employ a few suggestions, so I might still fully resolve the problem in time.

 

Mikey, one of the Mac Geniuses, told me early on that the reach of his location’s service extends beyond Georgia’s borders to include either neighbouring states in whole or many of their counties. While not a direct neighbour to Georgia, I like to think now that he’s added Calgary, Alberta, to his list.

 

It’s nearly 8:30pm, and I’m craving an espresso, the consequence I’m sure of indulging excessively in such delights while in Atlanta.

 

Alas, I must wait until tomorrow morn, or else relinquish a craving that is increasingly preemanent: an early night’s slumber.

 

Our taxi sped through near deserted streets and avenues, a solemn scene to bid farewell to an otherwise lively and vibrant city in the new south. Street lamps and sporadically lit office tower windows provided Beatrice and me one last opportunity to absorb Atlanta's twinkle before leaving behind the city that charmed us for the duration of our brief yet engaging visit.

 

Atlanta's people welcomed us comprehensively. They initiated exchanges of greetings in public places and perceived (as if it were intuitive to them) that we were strangers in a strange land, despite our efforts to project ourselves to the contrary. Atlantans offered their assistance to us, most often in relation to our need for directions and orientation. The people instilled in us an understanding that southern hospitality isn't just a saying but a way of life.

 

 

The impetus for this trip was for me to participate in a conference, which occupied me for the full day on Thursday as well as Friday morning. Beatrice and I opted to stay at a different hotel than the conference site, so I started each of those days by commuting to work on the MARTA, a high-speed light rail system that provides easy access from downtown to the city's boundaries at the four primary compass points. Beatrice was left to her own devices on those dates, but she too relied on the MARTA to take her to and from some of Atlanta's primary tourist attractions, such as the CNN headquarters, World of Coca-Cola, and Georgia Aquarium.

 

On Thursday evening, I met Beatrice for dinner and to see the broadway musical Avenue Q, which was playing across the street from our hotel at a premier venue, The Fox Theatre. The theatre was built in the early twentieth century and closed down twice since that time due to financial difficulties, one of which was the Great Depression. After each closing, community leaders mustered the resources to restore the theatre and re-open it, the latter business model has kept the theatre open on an uninterrupted basis, which has contributed to expanding Atlanta's theatre-goer crowd and establishing the Fox as a principle destination for the touring and premier musical and theatrical productions.

 

Beatrice and I adored the theatre. Its seats clad in a worn yet regal red fabric and framed with dark brown wood evoked within us a sense of the theatre's grand history. The building features both subtle and protruding features that show middle east influences. Its interior and exterior remind theatre-goers why it took much of the 20th-Century to make the venue a financial success: no expense was spared in fashioning the theatre with the finest fixtures, furnishings, and materials available. It's lavishly decorated throughout. Perhaps its most striking feature is the ceiling in the performance theatre. The ceiling is painted to look like an open-air hall. Above, a dimly lit blue sky lightly clouded is juxtaposed against towering brick walls and domes that are made to look like structures from the theatre itself and neighbouring buildings. The open-air theme is very convincing, more so than I've ever seen among similar works.

 

Avenue Q was very enjoyable and imaginatively funny. Beatrice and I joined the audience on several occasions by reacting to the comedic social commentary that is a motif throughout the production. As well, some of the lines delivered in the play provoked the audience to supply approving cheers and extended applause. The production is controversial. It provides commentary on racial tensions, gay issues, and sexual situations through a cast of humans and, predominantly, muppet-like creatures that interact. Some scenes most certainly require an open-mind and latitude from audience members.

 

Friday was our last full day in the Atlanta. We opted to visit the High Museum of Art on that afternoon, having received word from a woman seated beside us on the flight to Atlanta that the museum is featuring an exhibit of materials on tour from the Louvre. The facility was beautiful and a pleasure to spend time in. Both Beatrice and I were pleased to wrap-up our week at the museum, some of the exhibits of which contained pieces that dated to nearly time's beginning.

 

The museum has such a peaceful atmosphere, with its adoption of white on nearly all surfaces and abundance of natural and artificial light. I was glad to see a great many thickly padded benches on which to sit, reflect on nearby pieces, and admire the general splendor.

 

In the absence of my conference, I'm not sure I would have chosen Atlanta as a vacation destination. I'm glad then that this opportunity came along to compel me and Beatrice to see Atlanta for ourselves. Our research and itinerary planning gave us a sense that Atlanta is a jewel city in the new south and has promise to become a world-class city. Our experience in the city confirmed the former and made us believers in the latter.

 

Today, Beatrice and I visited the Martin Luther King, Jr. Center, an American national park no different in status than the Grand Canyon or the Lincoln Memorial, despite it being a restored residential neighbourhood that also includes the recent addition of a museum complex and memorial grounds.

 

We started our visit in the primary visitor centre where we toured an exhibit detailing King’s social justice work, the struggle to obtain economic freedom and true democracy for African-Americans. The exhibit demonstrated the African-American reality of King’s time, “[blacks] crying out for brotherhood, were answered with fire hoses, snarling dogs, and even death” and the movement to advance civil rights through a non-violence creed, “overcom[ing] oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression.”

 

One of my first impressions in the King Center was perceiving the congestion of people everywhere in the complex, from the front lobby to each exhibit area; it was a struggle to read the quotations and historical content through all of the people who congregated tightly throughout. I thought of my own situation, born a decade after King’s assassination, yet I felt a conviction to visit the King Center to pay my respects to the man, his lessons for achieving social change, and his dream for judgment not of skin colour but of character content. The crowds and the motives behind my own visit reminded me that the legacy of Dr. King’s work continues to be relevant to people.

 

 

Dr. King’s certainty in himself and his convictions evokes within me a search for purpose in my own life. He was but 26 when he assumed the role of primary spokesperson and leader of the Montgomery public bus boycott, just 34 when he wrote Letter From a Birmingham Jail and delivered I Have a Dream at the March on Washington, and 35 when he won the Nobel Peace Prize, the youngest recipient in history.

 

I’m 29. Throughout my visit to the King Center and since, I find myself wondering what contributions I’ve made to my community and what I can do tomorrow to walk in the footsteps of Dr. King.

 

Beatrice and I spent much of today touring the Atlanta History Center, which houses several exhibits, including Turning Point: The American Civil War and Courage: The Vision to End Segregation, the Guts to Fight for It. In addition, the center's sprawling grounds include a 19th Century middle class farm house as well as Swan House, an early 20th Century mansion that provides a glimpse into the lifestyle of Atlanta's then elite social class.

 

The estate tours were very enjoyable, and, as in the case of Swan House, I was particularly pleased to see so much original furnishings and fixtures, not just of the period but of the house.

 

 

Walking through the front door reveals a spacious and stately grand hall. Magnificent rooms in their own right reside on either side of the hall, but the most arresting sight is the tall curved staircase that winds gently (much like the neck of a swan) from the rear of the hall to the second level.

 

Back at the museum, it was enjoyable to take in such rich collections of defining events in American history: the Civil War and the movement to end segregation. In both instances, Atlanta was an epicentre, a city of strategic importance to the Confederacy until its fall to the union on September 2, 1864, and a city deeply entrenched in the laws of segregation before they began to unravel in 1954 with the Brown Vs. Board of Education case.

 

Beatrice and I spent hours touring the many exhibits, absorbing what we could of the local history and celebrating the rise of Atlanta in the New South, its rebirth after the Civil War and accelerated growth in the modern era.

 

Tomorrow, we’re off to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Center.

 

Beatrice and I arrived in Atlanta, Georgia, earlier this evening following a long day of enduring crowded airports, too little time to replenish and relax between connecting flights, long hours cramped aboard economy class, and a seat assignment mess.

 

For a portion of today, doubt was cast upon whether Beatrice and I would share neighbouring seats on the second leg of our trip, from Chicago to Atlanta. I can’t say I was impressed with our first experience with United Airlines, particularly because the first customer service agent to whom we spoke seemed intent on calling me a fool for assuming that booking two fares with a single transaction would result in a pair of neighbouring seats somewhere in the cabin.

 

The customer service representative blamed me for the mishap since I failed to assign myself and Beatrice seats when booking the flight.

 

I regret being spoken to as though this is common knowledge. I wanted to exclaim, “Sorry, I missed the disclaimer that would have otherwise warned me about the software’s penchant for assigning seats indiscriminately,” but instead I chose tact and diplomacy since I hadn’t yet obtained what I desired: a seat beside my wife.

 

We took our appeal to the agent at the gate, who told us the familiar story that the cabin was full. Then she added that we had little negotiating power to exchange seats, since the system had mischievously assigned us each middle seats.

 

We surrendered our boarding passes so she could try to resolve our displeasure, but she impressed upon us that there was little she could do.

 

Beatrice and I tried to make the best of a deteriorating situation, all the while preparing ourselves for the seeming eventuality that we would be separated from each other while we jetted across the heavens for thousands of kilometres.

 

Just prior to boarding, we were summoned to the gate desk. We approached the agent, and she handed us our boarding passes, which had been reassigned to allow us to take seats next to each other. The customer service representative was dispassionate in the exchange, but Beatrice and I were generous in expressing our appreciation.

 

Then we quickly joined the line of boarding passengers before someone (or the system) could again parcel out that which we reasonably expected from the start: neighbouring seats.