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Collector’s item

My friend grant Henry is having a baby. Or more specifically, his daughter Mary Grace is the one performing the actual feat of giving birth, and she and her new husband will be the actual parents. But I try not to remind Grant of that. He is too busy buying designer high chairs off the Internet to notice the baby doesn’t belong to him.

Yoga with the chattiest person I know

Most of us have someone in our lives with a particularly pronounced chatter problem, to whom we may have prescribed yoga. That's certainly true of my mother, the hardest working and least mellow person I know. She needs yoga. It's obvious. And so do I.

Once Upon a Mattress

There is a mattress in my dining room again, which I consider a bad sign because it’s a heavy thing, and not only do heavy things weigh you down, but you’re supposed to reach a point in life—aren’t you?—when you’re past mattresses being dumped on you where they don’t belong.

30-33. Experience four essential festivals

You can tour historic homes in Atlanta’s first “suburb,” take in bands, and see local art, but the real highlight 
is Saturday’s parade, complete with 
an attorney drill team, the Seed & Feed Marching Abominable, and the Trash Queen.

6. Learn how to really put on a puppet show

The bonding that goes on during the Create-A-
Puppet workshops held after certain Center for Puppetry Arts performances is more about parent-and-child than glue–and–cutout shapes.

1. Play (or play hooky) in Woodruff Park

In the shadow of beaux arts skyscrapers, Woodruff Park is the city’s historic heart. If you haven’t strolled through it for years, you’ll be surprised by its vitality.

Furry Weekend Atlanta turns 10

Please don’t tease the animals.“It’s considered a breach of etiquette to sneak up and pull someone’s tail,” says the man known as “Tiger Paw,” founder and director of Furry Weekend Atlanta, which celebrates its tenth anniversary March 14 to 17 at the Westin Peachtree Plaza.

The Sun Also Sets

My daughter doesn’t yet appreciate sunsets. Last year at this time, we were on a ship in the middle of the Pacific. Each night the equatorial sunsets looked as if the sky had erupted like a giant volcano and spewed Technicolor magma all over the horizon.

Growing Home

The first thing i did was plant marigolds in 
the red earth. I didn’t know what I was doing or why I was doing it. I didn’t especially like marigolds. Nor would they last long in the shade garden I had acquired upon moving to Atlanta.

Twelve Places

We called her grandmother. Never Grandma or Granny. To my father, she was simply Mother. Mom, if he was mad. My uncle sometimes called her The Nazi, but never to her face.

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