In the shop where I bought my cowgirl hat, a man wearing a leather fringed coat and carrying a Chihuahua announced they were taking the shopowner on a date. She was also wearing a cowgirl hat. I loved every minute of it.
I love another Nashville resident, Johnny Cash. (Can you spot him?) The first time I heard Live at San Quentin, I stopped what I was doing - fifty-nine minutes later, when the record finished, I put it right back on. That voice. Those words. My God, it was like I had never heard a song before.
So among my greatest life blessings I count our stop at the Grand Ole Opry. We sat in pews, just like in church, and in the holy hush the sad songs washed over us.
There were five acts that night - this 94 year old man sang about the day his wife turned old and ugly.
I never knew how much I liked country music.
And man! Did we eat. Next morning's breakfast was probably the closest I'll ever get to heaven -
The world famous Loveless Cafe, in all her glory - creaky wooden floors, gentlemen bidding "good morning!" from the smokehouse, and a waitstaff straight outta Steel Magnolias.
Voici: warm, buttery biscuits. Lord have mercy.
East Coast ain't got nuthin on this.