I've just returned from a wonderful week in Nashville with a girlfriend group called the Tipsy Butterflies. This is a motley crew of women pulled together by my cousin. Although most of us used to live in the Los Angeles area, at this point we are scattered all across the U.S. To stay connected we play Mexican Train online every Saturday, and once a year Cuzzy plans a trip for us all, during which we spend some in touristing, but mostly laughing and talking and eating and playing games and laughing some more.
One year one of us, who always brings presents, brought everyone a large rhinestone brooch. When we pinned them on our blouses, they were so heavy they tipped over at crazy angles, and thus the collective name of the Tipsy Butterflies (more often referred to as the Tipsy Butts) was born.
Sweet Hubby was born and raised (mostly) in Nashville, and his mother lived there most of her life, so I'd accompanied him on a few trips there to meet her and some of his good friends. However, we had never taken in any of the sights and sounds - definitely sounds! - for which this city is famous, so the Tipsy Butts events were all new to me. One evening we strolled down Broadway, the heart of the city, passing honky tonk after bar after club after restaurant, and in every one of those places, someone was singin' about good ol' boys or lost love or the glories of the country. We had dinner (not very good - the cornbread was dry and the collards tasted off) at Garth Brooks' restaurant Friends in Low Places. And there, too, a trio was singing the whole time, good but too noisy for conversation to be possible.
After that we went to Ryman Auditorium, the second most famous performing venue in Nashville. There we saw the opening act: a female singer whose name I never did catch, who was quite good but wearing a distractingly YELLOW flowy dress. Then came the main attraction, the Steep Canyon Rangers. They are spectacular, good enough that I stopped thinking about how uncomfortable the seats are (wooden pews) and just had a rousing, foot-stomping good time. These guys are absolutely terrific; every one of them has a bright light to shine.
Our other venture-out-of-the-air-conditioned-house event was a visit to The Hermitage, Andrew Jackson's preserved estate. I learned a lot more about Jackson than I had previously known (for example, he was 6'4" and weighed 140 pounds; he must have been a stick figure), got to see how people lived in his time (no bathrooms or running water), and took the opportunity to walk through some of the vast grounds. I appreciated that the available information didn't shy away from acknowledging his Indian removals and slave ownership. It was too hot and muggy to stay out long, so after that some of us went to a mall so that two of us could do some walking without subjecting ourselves to heatstroke. I've lived in hot places before, but I've grown unused to the heat after 20+ years in the Pacific Northwest, and although I've been toying with the idea of possibly moving back to Southern California to be closer to family, this trip strengthened my resolve to stay right where I am, thank you very much.
Our other big event out was a family-style meal at Paula Deen's restaurant: fried chicken, meatloaf, ribs, pork chops, creamed corn, creamed potatoes, and, in a nod to wholesomeness, green beans and salad. Excellent.
The rest of the time was spent as described in the first paragraph. I always laugh my ass off when we're all together, with conversation, wry observations, jokes, and stories flying fast and furious among us. All in all, it was a most satisfying vacation, spent in an interesting place with women I cherish. And now I am so so glad to be home with SH and the kitties.
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