Visit to Nashville

* WHew! I’ve been putting off writing this, because it’s a long story and I’m totally swamped with V-Day stuff. But here’s an attempt…

* Last Wednesday I left sunny LA to go home for the first time in two years. Two years is kind of a long time anyway, but so much has happened in my life over the last two years, I felt more like I was returning to a dreamed snapshot of my memories than going somewhere current and real. Andrea dropped me off at LAX, and within a short while I was wending my way across the United States to the capital of cool: Nashville, Tennessee.

* Tennesseans, and more specifically, Nashvillians, seem to have a very strong sense of civic pride that I haven’t seen very often in my travels.. Oh, sure, you have communities like The Bronx, where they are super proud of it all and let everyone know about it. But for the most part, people in Chicago or Washington or other places I’ve been just sort of viewed their living-place as a banal fact and couldn’t imagine making much of a fuss over it. Maybe it’s because a lot of the people in Tennessee were born there, and have a family history there. Big cities like Chicago and NYC are full of transplants from other cities and countries, so maybe the pull of the land is not as strong for them. In any case, I get excited when I think about Tennessee, and really feel a sense of rightness and peace when I’m walking up and down it’s hills, breathing the air and listening to the rustle of millions of trees.

* My old pal Oscar picked me up from the airport. I was to stay with him in his gorgeous, homey apartment for the week, but first we had to go pick up the car I was borrowing from my mother. Ahh, my parents…

* Mom and Dad have never accepted me, and as anyone who has read my book knows, they are completely immersed in a religion that will never allow us to be close. Sigh! So it was the usual negating experience of walking into the house I grew up in, facing a wall of military memorabilia featuring very unflattering photos of me as a 19 year old girl who had yet to blossom, and parents who relentlessly called me by the wrong name and pronouns.

* One wonderful moment occurred when my Mother slipped and called me “she”. I could see the instant mortified regret on her face, so I don’t take it as any kind of a hoepful sign. After a painfully nostalgic homecooked meal, I was ready to go. It is very difficult, that mix of degradation and comfort which comes from home for me. People who I am hardwired to need and love, but who do not see me at all. They only see a memory of a person who never really existed in the first place.

* So I hopped in the car I was borrowing and sped over to Oscars, quickly popping out the inspirational music cassette and dialing up some good old Depeche Mode on the radio. I was so happy to be home, no matter what happened with my parents, and settling into his apartment was heavenly. We immediately went out for brunch at my favorite boulangerie, Provence. I have not tasted better French bread, pastries, cheese and soups anywhere else in the country, and I’ve been lots of places. They have this amazing gourmet chicken salad sandwich with lavendar in it, on their fresh-made bread… heavenly! And then it was the belliponous “Apricot Coffee Cake Ring Bread”. My mouth is watering even now! And I washed it all down with fine black coffee. Ahh!

* You may get an early sense of the fact that during this trip I ate like there was no tomorrow. I could singlehandedly put Sally Struthers back in business… (If you get that very obscure reference, let me know in the comments section)

* Here is a super-unflattering-on-purpose photo of me and a chocolate-raspberry cheescake Oscar made for me to eat:



* I will write more later, but till then, here are a few other pictures:

* Me and “Nashville: The Next Generation”



* Me and Austria Andrews (yes, I am naked and don’t ask where our hands are):



* Me and my little bitty baby brother:

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