I’m a parent. In fact, my husband and I are the parents of four children, ranging in age from 26 – 32. I think that means that all of our children are millennials, though opinions and definitions of what, exactly, a “millennial” is differ greatly. I don’t suppose it matters all that much, anyway. While several generations have been given names (starting with the Greatest Generation), those designations aren’t what I hope to address today.
Seventy-three degrees and sunny. Sunroof open, short sleeves on. Grills fired up, tulips and daffodils making a welcome appearance. Welcome to February in Georgia. Ah, you say such unseasonably warm weather doesn’t quite agree with you? Stick around for a few minutes.
How many of you out there have ever received those skimpy clothing catalogs in your mailboxes during this, the coldest month of the year? You know the ones I mean; emaciated but somehow lovely models grace the pages, lounging and posing in swimsuits that look like Band-aids, filmy, flowy, see-through dresses, and skin-tight shorty-shorts.
We have four cats, all were rescues, and none are touchy-feely. I really wanted a cat that was like my little Ramona. She loved to be held and combed or to just sit with you. She wrapped herself around my neck and rode on my shoulders wherever I was walking.These four in residence now were never truly socialized as babies, so they have made up their own rules.
As Gwinnett county’s population approaches one million, it’s difficult to picture the landscape as it existed in the early 19th century, when there were no paved roads, no subdivisions and, believe it or not, no traffic. At that time, the county was occupied primarily by the Creek and Cherokee tribes, which are referred to by many archaeologists as, “The First Southerners.”
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