Opryland and Americana

I sit here in the rain on day three, pondering the events of day two.

Stephanie, Joanne and I hit the outlet mall in Lebanon for some retail therapy. I’ve been told my wardrobe needs updating (hmph, who knew?) so the girls talked me into some new clothes. At least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Three hours later, I had new sneakers, a bikini, jeans, cords, a cashmere sweater (only fifteen bucks, and I’m fuzzy!), and a satin strapless top. Sometimes I clean up real good, as it’s said around here.

I’m not a shopper though, and we were done early. Joanne had a writing meeting, so we dropped her off and headed to Opryland.

Now, the Opryland theme park was torn down about ten years ago due to flooding, so we weren’t after the roller coasters and those sorts of thrills. We were after a little relaxation in this whirlwind we’ve created.

I took Stephanie into the Gibson store, and did well to come out without this little ukulele. Actually, the only reason I didn’t buy it was that I thought I might find a nicer one today, downtown. Don’t ask why I want a uke; I can’t explain it. I’ve given up trying to explain my wants to anyone, even myself.

My original plan was to head over to the hotel and conservatory, but we were waylaid by the Grand Ol’ Opry gift shop. Walking in, we landed at the tail end of an Opry tour. Hey, why not? So away we went.

The Opry is an amazing venue. I learned all kinds of history tidbits, which I will of course pull out at random points in the future to impress you with my superior knowledge.

I stood on the Opry stage, on the Ryman circle, looking out at the rows of pews, in the lights, and felt inspired.

Loretta Lynn was there, filming with Crooke& Chase in the TV studio. She has a big pink bus.

We returned to the condo, with drinking on our minds. Ice cream withdrawal was starting to kick in by then, but without ice cream, scotch and beer were a satisfying option.

I then discovered that being one of the licensed drivers of the rental car means that I end up being the designated driver more often than not. Sigh. Off to the Mercy Lounge we went again, sober as a judge. Well, I was sober, anyway.

After about five seconds, though, I didn’t care. What a night.

The evening was entitled, “Roots, Boots, and Manuel suits.”

Manuel is a fashion designer based here in Nashville. When you picture all those corny cowboys in sparkly jackets, what you are seeing are Manuel’s creations. He’s been sparkling up the music scene for decades.

As a tribute, the musicians that evening were decked out in some of his finest, over the top creations. We ignorant Canadians, however, knew nothing of this. So when this grey-haired gentleman walks up to our table with his next scarf and sleazy smile, we smile politely and make small talk. Stephanie asks, “Do you live here in Nashville?”

“I’ve been trying to for thirty years,” he said with a smile.

Then they called him up on stage. Oops.

Anyway, the suits were only part of it. Jim Lauderdale, Mike Ferris, Thad Cockerell, and Amy Levare were on the card, and they didn’t disappoint.

This wasn’t country music, but folk/blues/Americana. And these were some of the best in the business.

I walked away inspired once again. Amy was an amazing stand up bass player, and a girl after my own heart. While the others were drinking water, she had what she called her “ass pocket whiskey” Jack Daniels mickey, nipping straight from the bottle.

Jim had to leave early, because he had to go help Elvis Costello finish his new album.

I love this town. I wish I was going to be here next week, to hear the New Pornographers and Kathleen Edwards at the Mercy. Mercy me!

Today we’re going to wander around downtown Nashville in the rain. Tonight, the Bluebird Cafe.