Is It Because We Live In Nashville?

Uncle R and I call it “caterwauling”. And we run into it almost anywhere we choose to eat. We are seated in a restaurant of our choice… sitting down and looking over the menu with engaged interest… and then it happens.

Someone walks in through the restaurant’s front door with a guitar and an amp and shuffles over to a corner chair to begin setting up to play and sing. Most likely it’s a collection of songs of their own songs.

Is it because we live in Nashville?

Probably.

But we sit back in our seats and look at each other with sighs and a gentle shaking of heads… as if to dispel the rest of the thoughts that we had hoped to express to each other over our meal. There will probably be no more talking. Why? Because we won’t be able to hear each other.

We love our musician friends. I mean – after all – Uncle R is an amazing musician in his own right. But if we went to hear every friend, colleague, fellow church member and person that reaches out to us on Facebook… we wouldn’t have time for anything else.

Is it because we live in Nashville?

Probably.

But – even though I live too far away from my dear, beloved Pamela’s Girls – I still love to live in the town where I chose to come to college so many years ago. When I describe it to other people who live elsewhere or to those who are considering moving to town, I often say; “It’s a large-sized city with a small town feel.” There are most of the cultural opportunities that a person might require and yet you are still likely to run into someone you know at the grocery store or your favorite breakfast spot. People will take great pains to give directions to strangers and very nearly get to the point that they offer to drive them there themselves. You may find yourself standing in the formidable Pancake Pantry line that routinely wraps around the corner of the building and down the block on a Saturday or Sunday morning, talking to the couple in front of you and before you know it you decide to sit together and chat more over breakfast. Somehow I just don’t think that there are many places that have that kind of atmosphere.

Lunch tables almost anywhere in town will blend cowboy-booted, jeaned music industry hopefuls with law-firm-appropriate suit-wearers. Spiky hair and tattoos will sit along side blonde and tanned soccer types. For a Southern town we are probably surprisingly diverse for the buckle of the Bible belt. I love to walk through stores and hear other languages and see the variety of skin shades and hair textures that make life interesting.

As I have said before, Uncle R and I have come to the realization that we thrive on ethnic foods and undiscovered (for us) spices and seasonings and Nashville has given rise to a happy variety that keeps our explorations interesting. We love getting hugged by our laughing Bosnian chef when we happen by her café and trying out our high school Spanish at the most authentic Mexican restaurants that we can locate. There aren’t enough French offerings here in town to suit me or to give me the chance to have some of the wonderful things that I partook of while in Paris, but there are excellent sushi restaurants, Indian buffets and Middle-Eastern eateries with mouth watering hummus, sharp and salty feta and surprising desserts such as their own restaurant-made version of rose & saffron ice cream with crumbles of pistachio nuts. And there is now a full compliment of creatively tasty coffee shops with locally-roasted beans and tables to camp out with your laptop.

Last night after our church’s Good Friday service and tonight at the end of our busy afternoon, Uncle R and I decided to eat out and we made it a pact that we couldn’t choose anywhere either of us had ever been. That took some thinking. So – last night we sat out at a wooden outdoor table in front of a tiny bricko block building with traffic roaring past us, eating “hot chicken” so spicy that it made my lips hurt for an hour.

Tonight we opted for a local restaurant that we had heard offered French cooking. And – they did. I had some wonderful French onion soup and Uncle R had some lightly sautéed trout, garlic grits and asparagus. We tried each other’s food, nibbled on freshly baked rolls with honey butter and were happy as clams…

Until the guy walked in with his amp.

(sigh)

Love to the sweet Pamela’s Girls and Happy Easter! I am thankful for the supreme sacrifice that Jesus made to clear our debt of sin, welcome us with open arms and let us come gratefully close to Him with our hearts able to cry “Abba Father” to the One who made us. I am so glad to know that the Pamela’s Girls may not be able to be together all the time now, but will one day be together forever!

Kisses and hugs from –

Auntie J