Last weekend two branches of the family tree descended on The Sis’s house when The Mom and Dad and my sister’s in-laws (a.k.a. my Yankee ‘rents) came to visit the Blessed Child and witness her introduction to Santa Claus.  Or Phipps Plaza’s version of him, anyway.  The Niece donned her red Christmas jumper and her white tights that were a little tight around the waist, a little loose around the feet…well here, I’ll just show you:

The Husband and I met the cavalcade in the center of the mall for the preordained fifteen-minute session and watched as The Niece initially freaked, then grew comfortable with the jolly old man who had just come back from his break (The Husband and I were so hoping we would have seen him on our way in, sitting at a bar with a glass of bourbon and muttering about “those damn kids”).

The family I had in New York didn’t have my blood, but they might as well have for all the closeness and life we shared.  They consisted of the Yankee ‘rents, who were always ready to collect me at the Hamilton N.J. train station and whisk me back to their land of home cooking and champagne.  Then there were my girlfriends, with whom I shared trips to Italy and the Jersey Shore when we weren’t leaving our mark all over Manhattan.  And finally came the BF-turned-Husband, who ended up being my true home in the city.  Add to these individuals all the communities of which I was a part, most notably that of an eclectic group of believers who met at Hunter College every Sunday, and you had a girl who felt surrounded by family and rooted in a sense of belonging–one thousand miles from “home.”

Our life in Atlanta is well-defined by family, with the sibling branches of both of ours residing here and The Mom and Dad not too far (but far enough…love y’all!) away.  On the days I worked at NYU in the city, I would walk five blocks home for lunch in an empty apartment (unless strange, unexplained workmen and clouds of dust happened to be there).  These days I’m not walking anywhere for lunch, but a ten-minute drive gets me from my office to Casa Sis, where for the first six weeks of The Niece’s life I was able to monitor her growth daily. Now I have to settle for an attention-starved dachshund (well here, I’ll just show you)

and a sleep-deprived new mommy who is working from home while her daughter thrives at daycare.  Making my way in the world took everything I had; now I want to go where everybody knows my name.

But there’s not a lot of room for revision with your family: they’ve seen you at your highs and, most memorably (and oft-retold) your lowest lows.  So as backup, I’ve been reconnecting with Friends from Years Gone By and learning how we’ve all changed after some time apart.  Whether it’s lunch in midtown or wine in Brookhaven (after getting lost on Peachtree and crying into my steering wheel–thanks for waiting, KP and go to hell, GPS lady) I’ve been blessed to reconnect with people who knew me When…and When is most definitely and thankfully many miles removed from Now.  And Now that I’m not a walker in NYC but a driver in Atlanta, I have a rearview mirror that shows me how far I’ve come…and a community of all types of family who remind me that everything old is new again–with a little redemption thrown in.

Now if only the Yankee ‘rents would move here too…we could always use more champagne.