A New York Yankee in Georgia

Cultural whiplash! Don't let the pictures of New York City and Atlanta fool you. They may both be bustling cities and represent the best each area has to offer, but living in the south for a New York Yankee is very different. We are a family of four extremely diverse people who, looking for a less expensive lifestyle, chose to move a little north of Atlanta. Among us, we encompass the Caucasian, Hispanic, and African American races, but one thing we have in common is a distinctly northern ideology. Don't get me wrong. We like it here. But there are differences.

The definition of "public" school has a new meaning here. Our resident teen has always been a member of her school choir. In New York, the participants wore black on the bottom and white on top. Okay, it wasn't very uniform, but the choir robes of yesteryear went out when schools could no longer sing religiously oriented compositions. In her current school, all members are required to buy a preselected black evening dress or if male, a tuxedo. I kid you not. If you are poor, you don't sing. They also request a $250 donation to the school per child. Now, you might say, the taxes are so much cheaper in Georgia, so what the heck? Our taxes are cheaper, but we still pay $4000 a year, which ain't chicken feed. One good thing about school here is that you don't have to worry about being the new kid. Everyone is new—we have yet to meet a single person born and raised in Georgia. "Friday Night Lights" are the name of the game where football is king, and they still have a formal homecoming dance with a king and queen.

They have a press box!

This section is reserved for people who eat normal food and find haute cuisine amusing but unappetizing. We now live in the land of barbeque and sausage. However, that said, it is hard to reconcile good old sloppy New York ribs with the dry rub award-winning ribs we are surrounded by. It seems every restaurant has won a prize for their skimpy, dried out, overcooked pork ribs. Gone is the fat and the flavor. My teeth ache from chewing southern style pork. I want to sink them into a juicy, wet, slab of baby backs.

There is no Italian sausage to be found that doesn't taste like Kielbasa. Well, then again, there is no Kielbasa available other than Hormel. The biggest food challenge for the gourmand is the lack of a meatloaf mix, a product available anywhere you shop in the north. How does one make a meatloaf without veal and pork in the mix? What about bouncy, scrumptious meatballs? Hamburger meat alone will never make a meatball that will fly off your plate and roll out the door, as the song says. They become not unlike lead sinkers. So, you have to buy the three portions of meat separately and hope the meat guy will grind them up for you.

My last words on food are simple: Waffle House. I had never eaten at one until we moved to Georgia. Not only do the employees greet you with cheerfulness whichever one you chose, but the breakfasts are also great. Never in my life have I had an omelette so light and fluffy. Each one I have been to runs like a well-oiled machine. The workers never stop for a second and the food is reliable from one to the next. Laugh, if you want to. I like predictability.

Do you want grits or hashbrowns?

Traveling further down the road to perdition we come to Georgia's equivalent of the DMV. New York has one stop shopping when it comes to your vehicles. Not so, Georgia. We went to what we thought was the place to do everything, but that was just for driver's license issues. We converted to Georgian, and then proceeded to the correct place to re-register our cars. We turned in the paperwork and the nice lady said, "That'll be $4,345."

"Come again?" my son croaked.

She then explained to us that for each of the three cars we were registering, we had to pay a 7 percent sales tax on their current listed value. "What?" We were not in Kansas anymore. We registered the two least expensive while the new car sits in our garage. After all, we had just bought and were furnishing a new house. We just didn't have the cash. I have since found out that there are other states that impose this tax, but we were gobsmacked.

Georgia is a red state, and although we present a multiracial face to the world, my family is steadfastly blue. Make that navy blue. It will be my greatest pleasure to add to the excitement of election day by placing four drops of blue to this state's color. This place is also smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt and does not bode well for my atheism. We have been pestered at our door by well-meaning church ladies anxious for us to join their flock. My daughter-in-law was too nice to them and they kept coming back. Unfortunately for these gray-haired souls, I answered the door the last time they came. I informed them of my lack of beliefs in no uncertain terms. They won't be back. Believe what suits you. Just don't proselytize at my front door.

Signs like this are commonplace.

Now, I did say we like it here, and this is why. The people are amazing. It is "yes ma'am, no sir" everywhere you go. If your first name is known to them, such as when a teenager comes to visit or in a doctor's office, you are addressed as Miss followed by your first name. I happen to be in a wheelchair. People have gotten up from their meals in a restaurant to open doors for me. We actually have a woods in back of our house where nature passes by non-stop. So far we have seen foxes, blue tailed skinks, really gorgeous butterflies, opossums, wonderful new birds, and toads that croak after dark. The scenery is spectacular everywhere we go. Deep green pine trees abound, not just our homeland's maples and beech. I was able to turn my 1500 sq. ft. Cape Cod home into a 4000 sq. ft. McMansion where I can get in and out of the house under my own power. I could never have afforded this on Long Island. The differences we find are inconsequential in comparison. We have a good time around the dinner table discussing all of them. Home is what you make it, and living an affordable life has made happy Georgians of us all.

My Home in Georgia