Nashville
I'm watching an amazing episode of CMT's Crossroads. Bonnie Raitt and Lyle Lovett. Amazing.
Yesterday I was at the gas station, sitting in the driver's side of my pick up with the door open, silently hoping the automatic shut off on the gas nozzle would really automatically shut off, and Bonnie Raitt was blaring from my speakers. I noticed, after a minute or two, I was getting some looks. Folks around here are used to hearing country, classic rock, or even rap... But not blues...
When I was growing up here, I did things just for the shock value - For the sole purpose of shocking all the carbon-copy people... Now, I just am who I am, and that in itself shocks people...
Watching CMT made me think of Nashville.
I went to Nashville once, summer of 1999. My sister was married to her first husband then, he was stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky.
My mother, Lauren, and 2 1/2 year old Isaiah and I piled into my mom’s station wagon and headed to Kentucky. We did all right as far as Kansas City… Hit right about rush hour, doing good, 6 lanes of traffic, in the center lane, when the car decided to call it quits – Poof. Luckily, I was going downhill at the time… And I had amazingly considerate people in the lanes to the right of me, and I made it, coasting, to the little triangle of pavement where an onramp merged into traffic. In a few minutes, a motorist assistance guy pulled up. He was an older black guy, totally laid back, pretty cool. Chatted casually about lots of things as he hauled us all to a nearby motel, and went to have someone pick up our car.
The motel he dropped us at was like nothing I had ever seen. There was an indoor pool… So green you couldn’t see the bottom. When we got to our room, the beds were not made well… And something was splattered all over the wall in the bathroom. I went to plug in the alarm clock that was there but not plugged in, and found tater tots under the nightstand. Needless to say, we slept in our clothes, on top of the blankets.
All night long, kids were running up and down the halls. A strange, powdery smell started seeping into our room, and I opened the door a crack – the kids had been playing with the fire extinguishers. A fine dust was settling on everything. About the time we did start to drift off, amidst the loud crowd noises coming from the bar next-door, sirens and red lights pulled up outside our window… I pulled aside the curtain, and what do you know... The bar next door was on fire.
The next morning, we called a cab, gave the driver the address of where our car was being fixed. As we all piled groggily out of the cab, a young, handsome mechanic came out of the open garage doors wearing the obligatory greasy coveralls, wiping his hands on a red rag, his cocky smile white enough to be on the next Crest commercial. He obviously knew who we were right away. He had fixed the car, thanks to his magical knowledge of the combustion engine… That was his account, anyway. I avoided his flirting, and got everyone in the car as mom paid for the repairs, and we headed out, again, for Kentucky.
Finally got to where we were going, a day and a half late. Had a good evening, as well as could be expected anyway. The next day we were going to Nashville.
Just into Nashville, 4 lanes of traffic and – yep, you guessed it – same thing happens to the car. So much for that Kansas City magic mechanic. There was a small garage just down the street, and an old man got our car working, got it to start, anyway… Didn’t charge us anything, which was good since he obviously didn’t do anything. We went on, eager to see the sights… First on the list was the Country Music Hall of Fame. Got there, and it was closed for repairs. By that time, it didn’t surprise me at all. We went on down the street, and wouldn’t you know it… The car died again. I coasted it into a parking lot at the top of a hill. Just down the hill a block there was a sandwich shop, bright pink and turquoise building, couldn’t miss it. We decided to go there to eat lunch and figure out what to do.
To make a very long story a bit shorter, we ended up staying in that sandwich shop for 5 hours, waiting on my brother-in-law to get off work, drive down to nashville, and fix the car. He drove it home as we followed in their Jeep, and I never did get to see a damn thing in Nashville.
I had always hoped to go back someday, but now that Rick and I are back together, that won’t ever happen. Maybe I wasn’t meant to see it, after everything I went through the last time… LOL
It didn’t get much better on the way home, by the way. The car ran fine, but it took me 18 hours straight to drive home in pouring, non-stop rain the entire way with my paranoid mother in the front seat, and two bored kids in the back seat. I was never so glad to get home.
(Currently playing: "How Blue Can You Get?", BB King, Live in Cook County Jail, 1971... That guitar solo makes me weak in the knees...)
Yesterday I was at the gas station, sitting in the driver's side of my pick up with the door open, silently hoping the automatic shut off on the gas nozzle would really automatically shut off, and Bonnie Raitt was blaring from my speakers. I noticed, after a minute or two, I was getting some looks. Folks around here are used to hearing country, classic rock, or even rap... But not blues...
When I was growing up here, I did things just for the shock value - For the sole purpose of shocking all the carbon-copy people... Now, I just am who I am, and that in itself shocks people...
Watching CMT made me think of Nashville.
I went to Nashville once, summer of 1999. My sister was married to her first husband then, he was stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky.
My mother, Lauren, and 2 1/2 year old Isaiah and I piled into my mom’s station wagon and headed to Kentucky. We did all right as far as Kansas City… Hit right about rush hour, doing good, 6 lanes of traffic, in the center lane, when the car decided to call it quits – Poof. Luckily, I was going downhill at the time… And I had amazingly considerate people in the lanes to the right of me, and I made it, coasting, to the little triangle of pavement where an onramp merged into traffic. In a few minutes, a motorist assistance guy pulled up. He was an older black guy, totally laid back, pretty cool. Chatted casually about lots of things as he hauled us all to a nearby motel, and went to have someone pick up our car.
The motel he dropped us at was like nothing I had ever seen. There was an indoor pool… So green you couldn’t see the bottom. When we got to our room, the beds were not made well… And something was splattered all over the wall in the bathroom. I went to plug in the alarm clock that was there but not plugged in, and found tater tots under the nightstand. Needless to say, we slept in our clothes, on top of the blankets.
All night long, kids were running up and down the halls. A strange, powdery smell started seeping into our room, and I opened the door a crack – the kids had been playing with the fire extinguishers. A fine dust was settling on everything. About the time we did start to drift off, amidst the loud crowd noises coming from the bar next-door, sirens and red lights pulled up outside our window… I pulled aside the curtain, and what do you know... The bar next door was on fire.
The next morning, we called a cab, gave the driver the address of where our car was being fixed. As we all piled groggily out of the cab, a young, handsome mechanic came out of the open garage doors wearing the obligatory greasy coveralls, wiping his hands on a red rag, his cocky smile white enough to be on the next Crest commercial. He obviously knew who we were right away. He had fixed the car, thanks to his magical knowledge of the combustion engine… That was his account, anyway. I avoided his flirting, and got everyone in the car as mom paid for the repairs, and we headed out, again, for Kentucky.
Finally got to where we were going, a day and a half late. Had a good evening, as well as could be expected anyway. The next day we were going to Nashville.
Just into Nashville, 4 lanes of traffic and – yep, you guessed it – same thing happens to the car. So much for that Kansas City magic mechanic. There was a small garage just down the street, and an old man got our car working, got it to start, anyway… Didn’t charge us anything, which was good since he obviously didn’t do anything. We went on, eager to see the sights… First on the list was the Country Music Hall of Fame. Got there, and it was closed for repairs. By that time, it didn’t surprise me at all. We went on down the street, and wouldn’t you know it… The car died again. I coasted it into a parking lot at the top of a hill. Just down the hill a block there was a sandwich shop, bright pink and turquoise building, couldn’t miss it. We decided to go there to eat lunch and figure out what to do.
To make a very long story a bit shorter, we ended up staying in that sandwich shop for 5 hours, waiting on my brother-in-law to get off work, drive down to nashville, and fix the car. He drove it home as we followed in their Jeep, and I never did get to see a damn thing in Nashville.
I had always hoped to go back someday, but now that Rick and I are back together, that won’t ever happen. Maybe I wasn’t meant to see it, after everything I went through the last time… LOL
It didn’t get much better on the way home, by the way. The car ran fine, but it took me 18 hours straight to drive home in pouring, non-stop rain the entire way with my paranoid mother in the front seat, and two bored kids in the back seat. I was never so glad to get home.
(Currently playing: "How Blue Can You Get?", BB King, Live in Cook County Jail, 1971... That guitar solo makes me weak in the knees...)
posted by Amethyst Rising at 6:42 PM
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