Transplantation

I have to admit that when we first moved to Georgia, I loved everything about it.  It was a refuge for us, and being here meant we could sleep safely in our beds. Over time, though, I had some difficulty embracing the differences in the culture.  I think it was because we moved here under duress and there was a time where I REALLY wanted to go home to Indiana, but a very nasty ex kept that from happening. As a result, I began to see this as a prison, rather than a refuge, somewhere I was stuck instead of my destination.

My thought process went like this: I could move home and be near my whole huge family and all the friends I grew up with - move the kids back to their school system and all of their friends - but sleep with one eye open waiting for the day that he discovers us and carries out his ugly intentions. OR stay in Georgia where it is safe, and you can sleep at night, but you will be without your family.  Honestly, neither of these is particularly appealing, but pragmatic thought obviously won out and we are here- apparently for the duration.

I still have a little difficulty adjusting to the differences in decorum.  Shocking, I know. I can spot a transplant a mile away, unfortunately. They tend to have that loud Northern demeanor which I have found makes some people who are from here a little uncomfortable.  We don't mean anything by it, it is just a cultural difference. Folks here have been raised to be more subdued, more refined I guess.  There is the air of genteel properness that is lovely on one hand, but just begs to have the corset loosened for a few minutes so you can breathe. Men open doors, pull out chairs and say thank you, ma'am.  It is remarkably charming. There is an overall emphasis on order, and properness, and well manicured lawns. I have gotten used to wearing a suit to make trailer visits to insulin pump patients, I bought high heeled shoes and I cut my hair and colored my gray to look more professional ( which I still think is silly, I have a pretty impressive resume, who cares what I look like).  It fascinates me, really, because I felt like there were so many years that I was in the same lifestyle of forced restraint and half-truths.  I wonder if people really feel the tepid emotions they convey, or if they are seething underneath the surface.  Not that I am advocating wearing your heart on your sleeve as I unconsciously do, that has some REAL downside when you are trying to play it cool.  Oddly, neither of these approaches is always right, and I do not mean at all to condemn the way Southerners do things - most of my friends are Southerners and I adore them.

 I come from a very large, very boisterous Irish Catholic family - with enough Scottish and Italian thrown in to keep things interesting. There are 14 aunts and uncles if you count all of my folks brothers and sisters - and now the cousins and their children are too numerous to count.  If you know anything about Irish Catholics, you know we LOVE to be around other people: telling stories, developing relationships, having a drink and hearing all about someone else's life. We adopt people and take them into the clan- inviting them to baptisms and wakes and random celebrations. We take on new members pretty quickly- so if you aren't a total train-wreck, we take you in----and even if you are, sometimes, we take you in, depends on the day.  We take being there for others very, very seriously.   If I am being objective and honest I would say that we have some boundary issues by local standards.  We love people, I mean really love them - until we get a reason not to.  I think this is the reason our house is always filled to the brim with kids and people.  It is why even during the times that Josh's friends were into some music-related behaviors that I absolutely did not approve of, they still wanted to be here, it is a safe haven and I am really proud of that.

I have FINALLY developed a love for Georgia: the mountains, the peach orchards, the immense growing season, the beach at Tybee Island, the lakes, Tallulah Gorge, Blood Mountain Trading post, Grinds and Glazes, Mercier's Orchard,and most of all the charming people who have the slow syrupy drawl that is like some exotic music to the ears.  When I run into someone who talks like that, well they could read the dictionary and I just melt. I have learned that while I have trouble being restrained to a certain degree, there are merits to that behavior.  Maybe Southerners don't get their hearts stomped on.... or maybe the do and just don't publicly wallow in it. 

So I chalk my awkwardness up to the cultural differences, though in time I hope that you won't be able to tell I'm a transplant.