Slow Down and Smell the Bacon or "I'm With the Band, Man"

So I probably should have put this post before the last one, but this is my little description of the unique experience of arriving back in Alabama from New Jersey for the holidays. It happens everytime. From the moment the plane wheels leave the Newark Airport, the relaxing starts. Doesn't really matter where I'm going--simply leaving NJ seems to work--but this effect is strongest when I'm on a plane back to Alabama.

It's been tough this past year since I've only seen my family for two weeks during the summer and at Christmas, so I was really looking forward to being at home. Usually, this sort of homesickness manifests itself as vague depression where I find myself cuddled up to the kitchen cabinets and crying on the floor for no apparent reason, but fortunately, I was too busy with work and school to get sad this time. (I know. Even I think it's a pathetic image.) After group grading portfolios all day on Friday, I boarded a plane for Bama on Saturday morning. I transferred in my favorite US airport, Charlotte, and then went on to Birmingham.

The transition is gradual. The Charlotte airport provides me with the Southernness that I've missed so much while still offering me wine bars and The Body Shop. Occasionally, I'm so happy to be back anywhere Southern that I start talking to random people, giving them way too many details about my life (I inherited this from my mother). "Hey, it is so nice to be back in the South. I miss the accents! I've been at school in New Jersey...I know, I'm not sure how I ended up there either...but I'm finally going home to Alabama. My mama'll be proud to see me." And so on. It's funny to see people's eyes change from politely listening to not caring anymore to being afraid that you're crazy and will never stop talking to them.

Somehow, I was able to restrain myself this time and not bother people too much. And then I went to Birmingham. Oh, Birmingham. Thanks. You called me ma'am so many times you'da thought I was an old lady. You opened doors for me and helped me with luggage. You're a real sweetie.

And another thing was different from Newark and Charlotte: the smell. As I walked toward the terminal from the plane, I felt the welcome heat and humidity (no matter that it was mid-December, it's still in the upper 70's!) and curiously, the smell of bacon. There was not even a restaurant nearby, but the salty, smoky goodness had evidentially permeated everything in the state. Even the very edges of airport terminals. Then there was the noticeable change of pace. Things move slower in Alabama. I like being able to walk slower with out being pushed out of the way, cussed at, or insulted because I didn't have my "city pace" on. Some things about my home state that are directly related to this slower way of life are annoying or backward, but for a few hours in a muggy airport, I appreciated it.

Dale picked me up from the airport because I was going to see Smuteye play their FIRST SHOW that night. I'm sorry, did I say going I meant being their biggest fan/groupie/roadie. They were really good and very fun, and hopefully, one of the band members will post the pictures I took during the show while holding my vodka in the other hand. Oh, yeah baby, I'm with the band. Which I actually got to say to the door manager. My father would be so proud.