November 17, 2020

Yesteryear
One year ago today: November 17, 2019, checking out ally taps.
Five years ago today: November 17, 2015, a crime-infested ghetto.
Nine years ago today: November 17, 2011, not my job.
Random years ago today: November 17, 1984, I spent 25 rupees.

           This was my last day in Tennessee this round. Things have resumed pace and word is there was a terrific windstorm back at the cabin. I’m not worried, my place has withstood the Florida hurricane seasons twice as long as the places that have collapsed. We might see some random photos here as I collect up the situation I left in such a hurry last month. For instance, how about this birdhouse? I call it the Kremlin. Dy’think I’m getting sentimental, I’m sad to leave Tennessee this time, ass-freezing weather or not.

           The Reb is back with us, we remain the only known couple that walks our doggies together. She says there are others, I’ve never see them. And with us, it is no piddly stroll around the back yard until they, you know, piddly. Our usual walk is over mile and that’s at doggie pace, not ours. If I never said, Sparkie, the big dog, must be kept on a leash. He’s got a hint of doberman and spooks easy. Sammy, on the other hand, won’t stray more than ten feet away—but he does have a supersonic bark. Seriously, his bark is as bad as his bite.

           We chose to make the day as memorable as possible. Sparkie is ailing so we don’t know when we’ll all meet up again. That, plus remember the Reb & I went our separate ways a long time ago, so visits this extended can mean a trip down memory lane. The Reb does not drink coffee, but loves the aroma of fresh-brewed. And despite my, what, 20+ years of retirement, I’m still an early riser. (That’s retired from working for a living, Ken.) Make that even earlier when it is cold outside. The last week has not been good to me on that count. This morning I got my favorite breakfast, the one that somebody else makes.

           They say time passes faster when you age, but my take on that is: It depends. I say it is relative to how lazy and boring people are. On that scale I could claim time freezes for us, and this picture says a lot. Karo light corn syrup, vanilla flavor. My Tennessee coffee mug. And French toast as only the Reb can make. Blueberries and a dusting of powdered sugar. In the natural morning light from the east window. There are reasons I adapt so quickly, guys.

           The next 90 days pose a big unknown for us and Sparkie isn’t faring well. The diagnosis is a bladder condition and that makes travel for her virtually impossible. Other folks can walk your pets but that necessarily falls short of force-feeding tablets, giving injections, and negotiating with veterinarians. Sparkie has also become a restless sleeper and needs to be let out twice as often.

Picture of the day.
Yes, but where’s the rest?
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           The Reb knows I like shopping, so it was off the “The Factory” in Franklin. Dress warm. The mall is a real old stove factory, we were expecting to see them on display. This photo shows “The Walking Man”, a statue from metal parts when the factory (1929-1949) closed. It consisted of 11 large buildings now repurposed (2012) as a art-based mall, but we were disappointed. The plaque says the statue represents the last worker leaving to be retrained for other work. Like what, a rent-a-cop? More like he got his walking papers. The factory also made metal window frames.

           Between the dates listed here, it was home of Magic Chef, the appliance supplier for Home Depot, and a mattress factory. This visit also shocked the Reb, who recalls how it was a teeming attraction of unique shops. The political shutdown and hoax gutted the place. The few businesses left open were predominantly art galleries, which reinforced my contention that most artists never starved. To stay open this long under such conditions means daddy’s money.

           It was all new to me, so we walked the length of the larger buildings. The complex features a large farmer’s market, a lot of pubs & clubs, live theater, and specialty bakeries. There was one coffee shop still open. We were practically the only people around. The many antique stoves have been removed but for a couple of displays for sale. The closed up shops told their own story. It was like a ghost town. There had been carpet outlets, beauty salons, pottery chops, cookware, vinyl record and music stores (featuring cigar box guitars), European imports of clothing, food, wine, and décor, and the ubiquitous jewelry stores.
           Instead, there are maybe ten outfits left. Here is the view down the main entrance gallery. At the far end it becomes an auditorium. The door was ajar so I peeked in to see a few people moving a few chairs at the far end of the enormous but empty room. I whispered to the Reb that we had stumbled across a Biden rally. My voice must have carried since the chair people looked up and very un-amused. Screw ‘em. If Trump upsets this election, it will be the most historic political event in American history since 1776.

           We toured anyway, stepping out into the setting sun and a waxing crescent Moon. Yes, the Reb knows all that terminology, we took many pictures and will pick the best one for you later. The top event was the Reb inviting me out to a steak dinner. This was, by coincidence, exactly 20 years to the day since my last steak. I’ve eaten beef but not much and usually when traveling, just never a steak. It was a cruise around to find a good spot, she knows I don’t care for chains and franchises. Nix to Red Lobster, O’Charlies, Longhorn, and the sort. We wound up downtown at Amerigo’s.

           The date was delightful. Our new-found common like of listening to mystery audio tapes made it along. Shown here is my wee tape deck (twenty bucks at Wal*Mart), as we regularly pause to guess the plot and assimilate.
           She far outshines my ability to remember the names of characters, much less how they are related to each other—a common enough theme in these stories. The only contribution to my vocabulary is that when I don’t know whodunit, I refer to him as “Winthrop”. No, not Winthorp. In this tale from the trailer court, “The Cherry Cheesecake Murder”, it was the actor who swapped the prop pistol for the real thing.

           [Author’s note: What? Speak up, Patsie & Theresa. Are you asking if we played a tape deck aloud on the table in a restaurant? Yes, you ancient cows, I know this is out of your league, but a private booth has many advantages, and this is one. Oh, and you have to have someone worth sharing the booth with, if you get my drift. The mall was not half as vacant as your lives.]

           The tapes are chosen by what is on sale. This one also contained recipes, we actually listened to the first couple. After that you know to set the oven at 375°F and move the rack to the center position. The plots vary in intensity. If I had to point out a pattern, it is how so many of the tapes are made for gimps. That would include people who are easily sidetracked, don’t stay focused all too long at a one stretch, and listen around 10% slower than normal.
           Ah, back to the steak. Well, it was exactly how I recall it. Being raised around steak, it isn’t that special for me to start. I also like it medium well-done, that is no pink. If anything’s changed, I’d say I found it just as flavorful but did not recall how “dry” steak is by itself. The Reb had a helping of super shrimp. As a treat to me, we stopped by the Rebar. She shuns community microphones, I sang a couple country classics to a typical Nashville room. That is, so jaded, tuned-out, and over-entertained that nobody but the Reb even listened or applauded. Hold on a sec. The Reb says that guy over there applauded. He was the singer that had been on just before me.

Last Laugh