Nashville

We touch down at BNA after 9pm.  There’s a band playing at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge right outside of the gate.  Welcome to Music City. 

The first morning we end up in Athens, the Athens of the south that is, and tour the Parthenon.  It is a life size replica of the one in Greece and is monstrous with a zillion foot gold Athena guarding a serpent deep inside the temple.  The columns outside dwarf anyone who stands next to them. 

We try Three Brothers Coffee a few minutes away from Athena.  The coffee is strong and the tip cup reminds us that “doves will cry” if we don’t tip, so we do. 

 That afternoon we head to Mount Juliet to visit Tom, the main reason for our trip.  The winding roads lead to the edge of the Cumberland River.  Squirrels scurry out among the trees and one jostles and makes a break for the other side of the road.  Tennessee squirrels are no different from any other state; they play chicken and always manage to make it to the other side, dodging oncoming cars.  One brown one eyes us warily, assesses the odds, and then darts in front of us.  I feel the thump before I hear it.  The odds were not in his favor. 

Santa’s workshop is typically southern.  There are several cars in various stages of use/repair parked out front.  The breezeway between the ranch style house and the garage is populated with wind chimes. Through it I can see the river, an expansive lawn and a dock in need of repair.  There is a gated garden with perfect sunlight to the right gone to weed.  We walk in and Tom rises from his wheelchair to bear hug us.  The best he can do is stand.  The stroke has affected his left side, and oddly, his right eye.  The hunting, fishing and cooking days are paused but he still manages to put together a smoked butt and his famous coleslaw.  His girlfriend has become his sous chef and devoted live in companion.  We feast and chat just like old times.  Tom is still a wonderful storyteller and even has stroke stories that are incredibly funny.  He turns the sadness of his new disability into humor but there is an underlying hum of fear and resignation.  Buying into stereotypes, I would have guessed Nascar but Tom is actually a devoted Hockey fan.  We notice next to the couch an enormous, framed hockey jersey with the name Santa on the back and signed by all the players of the Tennessee team; a gift from a friend that Tom hasn’t been able to hang on the wall.  It’s been sitting patiently for many months on the floor.  I decide then and there that Rich is going to volunteer to hang it. 

We have tickets to the Grand Ole Opry!  Tom tries to get out of it and even offers to send his girlfriend on a weird, awkward sister wives date but I talk Tom into going with us.  The wheelchair limits his mobility but the Opry people assure me that they are very accommodating.  It’s Rich’s job to push Tom’s wheelchair.  We meet them in the parking lot. The parking lot attendant enthusiastically golf carts us to the entrance and the ushers open a large door to accommodate Tom’s chair.  We are escorted to an elevator and then to a wheelchair lift.  Everything is going smoothly until the lift breaks.  From the top of the stairs I see the lift go up halfway, shudder, then go down again.  This happens twice. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to have Rich and Tom ride the lift.  The Opry people assure us that maintenance is on their way.  It’s close to curtain time so the manager comes over and offers us better seats in another section with a working lift.  Rich makes me ride the second lift with Tom. I suggest to Tom that he keep breaking things till we get to the front row.  Tom takes it all in stride, but I know this inconvenience reinforces his reticence.  The show, however, is AMAZING!! There’s a radio host as an MC because each show is broadcast on the radio.  The lineup is singer, comedian, singer, guitarist, and Terry Bradshaw and his daughter making her Opry debut.  Wait, isn’t Terry a football player? He can sing?? He sings better than his daughter.  I google him—he’s released several albums.  Each performer performs three songs (one song is mandated to be done without the support of the Opry orchestra to weed out the lesser talented I guess); every performer is talented.   We part ways after wheeling Tom over the covered bridge to his car.  I’m nervous as I see him slowly get into the driver’s seat but he makes it home safely. 

The next day we head to Memphis.  That is a story for another day.