Atlanta is a jumble in my mind, except for some very clear images. Sitting in Barbara and Whitt’s living room amid all the art and color, playing sweet music and singing with people just met and known forever, until the wee hours. I’ll be back in that room someday. And the archives at Emory, where Tory, Jonathan and I spent large parts of three days combing through records, finding new information as well as threads linking the new to the already collected and the things we knew we’d need but couldn’t get to on this first trip. We were there long enough to find our way around, sample the south’s best barbecue and discover a dear little falafel shop just outside the university gates. Delicious. Productive. Too soon over. But then it was time to ferry Tory and Jonathan to the airport, sleep one last long and heavy sleep, and head northeast, through the Carolinas to Margaret’s house in Greensboro.