And read along. Every day’s going to be a cool story about Nashville. One of those stories will be mine!
Do you know what a “death crown” or a “feather death crown” or an “angel crown” is? The answer is here, but I’m curious to know if knowledge of them is still out in the world and how far it stretches.
My parents’ visit was both nice and grueling. We had a nice time. We went to the Dylan/Cash/Nashville Cats exhibit at the Hall of Fame. We had a lovely time. We got ice cream. We got a ton of stuff that I needed done around the house done. We spent all day with the Butcher’s girlfriend and her kids (when they call me “Miss Betsy” it does something to my insides I can’t even explain.) and we saw more of Gallatin than I even knew existed.
And I caught my dad on the phone with his friend explaining why I’ll never be married. I’m too mean. And, I don’t know, it just stung. Not that I want to be married. I just don’t want the people who I love to view my not being married as something that needs to be explained away with some untrue character defect. Say I hate to leave the house, that I don’t like to meet new people, that I am often the last person a man dates before he meets his wife or that I have occasionally sent men home to their wives and so I just, apparently, am the kind of woman who reminds men what they want in a wife who is not me.
Sweet Jesus. If I were mean things would be a lot different in this family.
I’m miserably sunburned. And I pulled my shoe apart on accident this morning, like some kind of Hulk. It was good to see them, though. I miss them when they’re not around. I just wish, after all this time, we’d have learned how not to step on each others’ toes.