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Atlanta is the headquarters of Coca Cola, so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go to Coca Cola World. Coca Cola is a vice that I periodically swear off and just as periodically, I start drinking again. One day, when my Pastor was taking a drink of soda, he declared it not evil. Then he hesitated and said, “Well, maybe.” That pretty much sums up my stance on coke. During Abby’s Science Fair, two different students did science projects to convince people that coke was completely unhealthy. One student tried to determine which brand, coke or pepsi, would dissolve a large piece of meat quicker. They came out even. Another student used coke to clean rust off cars. In Australia, the majority of people drink lemonade (a sprite or seven up type drink, not the American version of lemonade). However, they do sell coke in stores and restaurants. To Dales dismay, they do not sell root beer in Australia. At one point we actually imported some root beer and our Aussie friends all declared it disgusting. I grew up in a root beer drinking family. The big treat was to go to the A&W and get a literal frosty mug of root beer. For awhile we went to The Pop Shop and would have bottles filled with orange, grape, and cola soda. I grew up saying pop or soda. Dale, however, grew up calling everything a coke. “Do you want a coke?”, they ask. If you say yes, they will ask you which kind…”Coke, Sprite, Root beer, Dr Pepper?” It’s very confusing. However, the majority of time it is a coke, the favored drink of all Manrys. In Louisiana, the temperature is so hot and humid, the sticky air causes you to melt into your seat once you sit down and you don’t have enough energy to get up and get yourself something to drink. So, throughout the entire visit, everyone is trying to convince their significant other to get up and get them a drink. “Honey, will you fix me a coke?”, they ask. If someone is forced to get up to go to the bathroom or check on the kids, they know that they will be filling coke orders. Dale’s family buys coke in the 2 liter bottles. So, in order to fix a coke, you fill a giant plastic cup with ice and pour the coke on top. The only Manry who drinks coke from a can is Dale’s Daddy and he hides the cans of coke in a cooler in his truck so that everyone won’t drink all his coke. If you ever receive the privilege of being offered one of his cans of coke, you are in high favor indeed. (Just pickin, Sir.) Manry’s begin drinking coke at a very young age. When Dale and I were first married, I watched one of his nephews drinking coke from his baby bottle. (Don’t worry, Tami, I’m sure they’ll never guess that it was your son.) Anyway, Coca Cola World was a must visit location because I heard you could drink coke to your hearts content. Coca Cola world consists of a lot of standing in line or as Aussies say, waiting in the q. We stood in line to purchase tickets, we stood in line to go through security, we stood in line to enter, we stood in line for the movie theater, we stood in line to see the displays, we stood in line to see the bottle works. By the time everyone gets to the tasting station, people are tired of standing in line and it is a bit of a free for all. The first movie they made you watch was dreadful, but the 3D movie of a professor trying to figure out the secret recipe was quite good. The movie took you around the world, snow boarding, had plenty of explosions, and fruit flying at you. You got squirted with water and you seat moved and shook. The bottle works that had an assembly line of robots, gears, and machines that bottle coke was interesting. I imagine Gabe will invent something like that some day. But, the highlight was the tasting station. They had soda machines with all the coke products from around the world. There was one from India that was made from vegetables. Josiah took one drink and poured it out. There was one from Italy that tasted like liquid sugar. The two we liked were Smart Apple and Kiwi Mango. Our shoes stuck to the floor of the room because of all the soda that had been spilled. There was one guy with a mop and bucket trying to clean up some of it, but it was a hopeless cause. They must run a giant floor washing machine over that floor every night. Josiah and I drank coke products until we were sick. On the way out, you can grab a bottle of coke to go. Coca Cola World is imprinted on the bottle. I put the bottles in the fridge for us to bring to the airport and drink at lunch before we flew back. We had only brought carry on luggage and the bottles were greater than 3 oz, so I knew we had to drink them. When we got to the airport, I attempted to twist off the tops and realized we needed a bottle opener. I went to the gift shop for help and the attendant kindly pulled a decorative Atlanta bottle opener off the rack and opened them for me. The other girl who worked there saw her and said, “I had to do that the other day. Everyone wants to keep their coke bottles, but they can’t take them through security with liquid in them.” As I drank my coke out of a glass bottle I remembered something Dale’s Daddy had told me… “There’s nothing better than drinking coke out of a glass bottle.” I’m not certain if I’m the first Manry to make the pilgrimage to Atlanta, but I’m sure I won’t be the last.

My and Josiah’s transportation adventure to Atlanta provided us with much suspense. On Friday, the day we flew there were thunderstorms, tornado watches and equipment malfunctions in Atlanta. We checked in quite early for our flight and I noticed that all the flights ahead of us were delayed 2 hours. I asked the representative why our flight was not delayed and she replied, “Oh, they must have caught up.” “Sure they did”, I thought. “More likely it just hasn’t been posted yet”. As suspected, by the time we sat down at the gate, the flight was delayed. An hour after the flight’s scheduled departure, they started to load the plane. Josiah and I had seats toward the front, so we were waiting for our turn. With the plane 3/4 full, they stopped loading because Atlanta had completely shut down for a hail storm. 30 minutes later, we loaded the plane full of pessimistic travelers who were convinced we were not leaving Virginia that night. Once everyone was loaded, we waited another 30 minutes for permission from Atlanta to leave Virginia. The flight had a bit of turbulence, so the cabin crew decided not to offer the meager service that was due: a bag of peanuts, cookies, or crackers and a drink. At some point they must have felt a bit of remorse and walked through the plane handing out bags of peanuts and a cup of water. I thought fondly of flight service in Australia which is so far above any flight service in America. When we landed, Atlanta airport was a madhouse, full of travelers who had missed connections because of the delays and cancellations. Josiah and I made our way over to the MARTA (Atlanta train system). On the way, I bought 2 individual pizzas for dinner thinking we would eat on the train. Well, you are not allowed to eat on the train. The airport is in south Atlanta and our hotel was all the way north. The train ride took 40 minutes. My favorite comment from the train driver was when he said, “We are axing you to be careful when you exit the train because the platforms are slippery.” I know if people are axing me something, I am in the south. After we got off the train, we had to get a cab to the hotel. I do know that English is not the primary language of cab drivers. However, for some strange reason, I expect them to speak at least a little English and to know where they are going. We got into the cab and I told the driver the name and suburb of the hotel. I asked him if he knew where that was. He mumbled something that sounded in the affirmative. He called back to his dispatcher and only Spanish could be heard in the cab. After he had driven around for awhile he asked me if he should turn right or left. Having no idea where I was or where I was going, I was at a loss. I remembered that I had the hotel information with driving directions and pulled it out and tried to hand it to him. The directions were written in English, of course, and he couldn’t read them. I started reading off road numbers and names in the hopes of arriving at a common location. When I said, “La Vista Road,” He got all excited. “La Vista Road! La Vista Road!”, he repeated. Then he asked me, “Right or Left?” At one point in this mini recreation of planes, trains, and automobiles, Josiah looked at me and said, “All this for a spelling bee?” “Yes, son, all this for a spelling Bee.” We finally got to the hotel at 10 pm, ate our cold pizza and went to bed. The next day after the bee, we wanted to take the train into downtown Atlanta. So, this involved another cab driver. The hotel called the cab and the driver spoke English fairly well although his native tongue was from Africa. We did manage to find a train station although it wasn’t the one I had asked to go to. I helped him out by pointing out places to drop us off while he was making u turns apparently at a loss as to which way to go. On the train ride home, Josiah and I tried to guess what language our cab driver would speak this time. Josiah went for French and I guessed he would be from India. We entered the cab to Spanish singing island music. He didn’t speak English either, but he did know where he was going. Friends who also attended the bee spared us from another cab ride by giving us a ride to the airport. Thus ended my pursuit of an English speaking cab driver who knew where he was going. If ever I find one, I’ll ax him if he’s the only one.

When spring arrives the innate urge to plant something in the ground can be overwhelming for a gardener. The back left corner of my yard seems a perfect spot for my vegetable garden. Last fall, with Dale gone and my focus of painting and organizing the house, I knew it was not wise to prepare a bed for spring planting. If I wait for Dale to return, he can help me and if I do it correctly, my garden will be more fruitful next spring. But this spring is here and I am truly my Mother’s daughter in planting without preparation. My Mother had a terrific garden in Minnesota, but it was a hodgepodge that lacked a cohesive plan. She would buy a plant or be given a plant and say, “I have to plant it somewhere” and so she would. Because of her house renovation this winter, her new garage is now where her garden was and her plants have been dug out and scattered amongst friends and neighbors. She gets to start her garden anew and has asked a friend to help her with the plan. I know if my husband returns for his two week break to find me with a rototiller, he will be a bit irritated. I have told him that he does not have a to do list and that he may sleep for the entire two weeks. So, I must accept the fact that a rototiller is detrimental to our marriage. I have decided to instead focus on the existing flower beds. I have planted various things at most of the houses I have lived in and have hated only one garden. Our house in Australia was a professionally landscaped garden that was drought tolerant. It was full of spiky things and spiders and overrun with weeds that I would battle all summer long. I loved only the camellias that bloomed when it was cool. After I moved into this house, I asked the previous owner to walk the garden with me and tell me what was planted where. My Mother followed along with a piece of paper making a rough sketch. The previous owner has planted many trees, shrubs, plants and bulbs. I have planted many of these same plants in various places we have lived, but never saw them mature. I really feel it is a gift that I am able to enjoy the 28 years of care that he put into this garden. I know I need to make an accurate sketch, track the amount of sun, choose a color palate, amend the soil, coordinate bloom times, research the best place to purchase plants, etc. Yesterday, I went into the home improvement store to buy a pair of loppers to battle the wisteria. “I’ll just look around a minute,” I thought. “Oh, pincushion flower…I love pincushion flower.” Oh well, “I have to plant it somewhere”.

While in Dahuk with Glenn, Gee took us to Ineshke to see the waterfalls. According to Gee, Saddam had these falls created for his own private resort. Once again, Saddam had all of the original inhabitants of the area removed before building his resort. The area today is rundown and neglected.

While I was in Dahuk, I had the pleasure of meeting Gee’s family. Gee’s real name is Ghufran. He is originally from Dahuk. In 1986, he ended up in Nashville, Tennessee. While in Nashville, he met Ravin, who also happened to be from Dahuk. They were later married and now have 4 children: Mateen (son - 13); Avahi (daughter - 11); Ragur (son - 8); and Vajin (son - 5). The kids are Americans through and through.

Gee calls me Boss. I told Gabe this, and now Gabe likes to call me Boss every now and then. When Gee was working in Mosul, I had promised him that I would move him to the Dahuk office at some point. When that finally happened, he moved his family from Tennessee to Dahuk. I kept promising to get back up to Dahuk to visit his family, so Gee kept telling his kids that Boss was going to visit. When I finally made good on my promise, I had a blast with the Barzanis. As I was leaving, Ragur, the 8-year old, said “Bye, Boss”. I think Ragur and Gabe could be good friends!

We are in turn the rugs over mode as my parents are scheduled to arrive tomorrow. I started the kids cleaning their rooms over the Presidents Day 3 day weekend. Josiah cleaned his room quickly and efficiently. Abby, who loves a mess, cleaned her room quickly because I allowed her to sleep over at her friends house. Awhile ago, I had helped Abby clean her room and put everything away in its proper sorted order. When we were done I said, “See, doesn’t your room look much better?” To which she replied, “No. It doesn’t feel very homey to me.” Zeke cleaned his room with a little help from Mom. Gabe, well, it’s actually painful for me to watch Gabe clean his room. How Gabe plays and how Gabe cleans has such a randomness to it that it can not be comprehended by his right handed Mother. I have cleaned along beside him and instructed him in how to break down a large task (clean your room) into smaller tasks (put away stuffed animals, put away costumes, put away legos, etc). Instead, Gabe picks up one lego, looks at it for awhile, attaches it to another lego piece, puts it away, picks up one stuffed animal, looks at it awhile, finds a costume dresses it up, and puts it away, picks up one dirty sock, runs to the laundry chute, puts it in. The other possible cleaning method of picking up every piece of dirty laundry, so that you only have to make one trip to the laundry chute completely escapes him. He was not allowed to watch tv, play the computer, ds or wii until his room was cleaned. It took him all 3 days. When he was done, nothing was actually put away neatly in the myriad of assorted bins that I have given him. It was a hodge podge of unique creations piled on his shelves. Part way through this cleaning attempt, I called my left handed friend for a consultation. “Can you perform a single task to completion before starting something else?” “Rarely,” was the answer. She told me that when the deadline arrived, he would be done. On Monday night he was done. All I then needed to do was accept a left handed standard.