Disney does it best

We celebrated the completion of five weeks on this road trip by spending the day at Epcot center in Orlando, part of the Disney complex--and the next day recovering.
Disney does it so well.  Whatever the company touches at the extensive park complex, is well done. Customer service is flawless.  At the park, when we were totally lost, we asked a cleaning person for directions.  She stopped what she was doing and helped us find our way.  Every employee is learned, willing, helpful--that's customer service at its supreme.  I was particularly aware because of the work I've been doing (online with Argosy University) in studying/teaching human resources, training, etc.

On another note: Epcot was only lightly crowded on this non-holiday, weekday in October.  The hot humid weather dictated much of what we did, at least the pace at which we explored the park, but we got it all in by arriving at 9 AM and staying until the 9 PM fireworks.  We visited every country's exhibits, sampled most of the entertainment, participated in the English skit of Romeo and Edna (I was chosen to be Edna, and played against a much younger Romeo--I was a cougar for 15 min).  Everything was wholesome, no foul language, no offcolor jokes, just laughing and high silliness.  At the American exhibit hall, upstairs in the Chase Card lounge, we met a couple who have been to Disneyworld 108 times--even without any kids for many of those visits.  They come because it is totally free of stress here (He works for Homeland Security in DC), and I get that.  Even the more adult Epcot park doesn't touch on any politics, no world hunger signs, just a time out from everything else.  The American acapela group sang patriotic songs, even a religious prayer, and everyone was respectful and listened.  I am once again struck by the recklessness of pushing more liberal norms on the whole country without preparation, without respect for those for whom God is part of the fiber of their being.  As a young child who had to sit in the school auditorium during weekly prayers I am wondering how we can truly respect all without going to nothing, which actually respects no one.  I think had we been told, in elementary school, that everyone is invited to give whatever thanks, to whomever, while the majority recited their prayers--I don't know, got to work on this.

Great place to people watch, older couples like us, kids kept out of school for family vacation, some teenagers (a group, we think, from Brazil).  Everyone, it seems loves Disney.  This month is the Wine and Food Festival so there was wine and beer for sale at every exhibit--that surprised us.  We were told, however, that there's no alcohol at Disney World, just at the more adult oriented Epcot.  Also lots of small plates from different countries, which was a nice way to "eat across the world".

I'm struck by the brilliant marketing, the films, with the related characters, the world wide business.  We met, at a Disney story in Downtown Disney, a young couple whose 6 year old daughter was waiting in line at Bippity Boppity to have her hair, make up, and costume done so she could look like a Disney princess--and the parents, a very hip couple from Australia, knew it was going to cost plenty--the line was long and the "salon" chairs were busy.

At Epcot center, and at Downtown Disney where we went today, most of the exhibits, the stores, restaurants, are paid by other companies.  The fireworks last night were sponsored by Siemens!  Companies pay for the privilege of being associated with Disney.  Lego land, everything for sale, loose blocks to purchase at the pound, and every kit you can imagine.

A gigantic serpent in the lake at Downtown Disney--all made of Legos

The shops were busy, people were buying, they were hunting in order to buy. Even Stu and I made a Disney brand purchase, another addition to our rubber duck collection.

This was a good, short visit in Orlando.  Orlando is Disney and Universal and resort tourist businesses. It will be a long time before we come again, but we were glad we made the stop.

Amelia Island with photos

Stu at the edge of a Marshland nearby.  Lisa and I took a walk through the marsh and saw ospry with its prey, egrets, herons, turtles, brown rabbits, a snake, frog, fish, blue heron catching and eating fish, crabs, and a variety of insects.  

I'm totally lost over what I've blogged about and what has been left out We don't have internet in the cottage and don't often get over to the side of town that has internet, the Starbucks.
  We have been particularly blessed with great weather, mild, partially sunny, lovely wispy clouds, pleasant breeze. But, you do feel the humidity at times.  last night we thought we could wring out our night clothes, but sitting at an outdoor patio, sharing drinks with Lisa and Kyle, watching the moon playing with the clouds and alternately shining on the ocean, was all worth it.  Certainly has felt like the most lay back area we've been to since we're not rushing about to see all the major attractions.

Oh my, what is not to love.  BTY my shirt says "Shalom Y'all" 

We have been blessed with being able to spend a lot of time with Lisa and with Kyle.  We are also taking most of our meals at their restaurant, Jack & Diane's. The food is yummy, wholesome, and it is the only restaurant we've been to in the south that does not have any fried foods.  Imagine that in the land of fried everything.

Amelia Island was the home of commercial shrimping in the 1930s.  Now the fleet is down to about 6 boats due to the competition from the farm fed shrimp coming in from overseas.  The farm fed shrimp are packed with steroids, chemicals, etc but can be harvested in weeks compared to months.  Try to find natural shrimp, it's a challenge.

Lisa, Stu and I took a 3 hour narrated boat ride the other day, through the Amelia River, the causeway around the islands, and off to Cumberland Island.  We loved it.  Our closing moments were a treat as some local dolphins, Bob and Sandy, accompanied us to the dock.  This island is truly a glorious vacation spot, we'll be sorry to leave tomorrow (Sunday) for hectic Orlando.  We will return!

Cumberland Island wild horses seen from our boat

We're loving Amelia Island

We began the day, after my luscious 3 mile beach walk, with a trip into town for the trolley tour of the north side of the island.  We drove through old homes, heard their history, change of ownership, founders.  David Yulle is an important figure in the town’s history, only his name wasn’t Yulle, it was Levy.  He changed the name so that he would fit in better with his Southern neighbors.  (We’ve been surprised at the Jewish history in the south and more understanding of the play we saw last year, The Whipping Boy, which told of Jewish black slaves adhering to Passover ritual--fabulous story.)  Yulle (Levy) brought the railroad to Amelia Island to take advantage of the natural port and to transfer goods from north to south and back.  The train spur continues to operate and is used heavily by the paper mill and the shrimping industry.  At one time Cargo containers were made here, but the paper mill expanded into its factory and now makes cardboard boxes in the plant.  

Great port, super shipping, lots of sailors means lots of shore leave, lots of ladies and bars, an entire Ladies Street remains as do the bordellos, lovely old Victorian homes, several are bed and breakfast inns.  The shrimp industry began in Amelia island and thrived for decades until higher diesel fuel prices, more regulations, concern for the environment including the green sea turtle, significantly reduced the industry.  One of the unintended consequences of the shrimping industry’s demise is another wonderful story, and folks we met on our island tour.

It seems that a family, four generations of Burbanks, made hand tied shrimping and fishing nets.  When the industry slowed to a trickle the Burbank family nearly shut down, but a friend of the family went on to Georgia Tech to coach and ask the Burbanks to make a net suitable for practicing baseball.  From that first order the Burbanks, although they do continue to make a highly sophisticated shrimping net which doesn’t trap the turtles or dolphins, now made about 80% of the hand tied nets world wide.  You’ve probably seen one or more in a batting cage, a back stop, a soccer goalie, or elsewhere.  And the factory remains non-computerized, the work is done by hand, one tie at a time.  We got to visit the factory, which is nothing more in appearance than an over sized hangar.  One of the workers told us that it takes about 4 years to become proficient at tying, uniformly, the various knots needed for different nets.  There’s only 15 workers.  The young man we spoke to loved his job, been there about 8 years.  Stu and I love to learn about ‘how it’s made’ and this stop on the tour was a great treat.  We’ll never look at a net again without remembering our trip to the Island.

Once off the trolley we went up the street for lunch at--Jack & Diane’s.  Lisa treated us to another assortment of her small plates and I had my first Southern Grits of this trip.  Only Lisa makes her grits without butter, lard, bacon fat, or milk.  Instead you have a choice of a creamy flavorful sauce or a spicy Cajun concoction she blends.  i chose both and was glad I did.

Off to the Episcopalian church across the street.  Besides beautiful stained glass windows, a full set of pipes for the organ, the ceiling was built to resemble a ship’s hull, upside down of course.  Beautiful wood beams curved to support the pitched roof.  Rather unique, which is difficult to do considering there are more churches per acre than we’ve ever seen in our lives.

Back in the car for a trip to the coast and historic Fort Clinch.  Begun in 1942 with the intention of using the fort to protect the valuable harbor on the northern end of the Island, at the mouth of the St. Mary’s River, the fort was never completed.  It seems that someone told the northern leadership (I got this story from a docent at the fort who was dressed in 1864 Union uniform and remained in character during my entire visit.) that Northerners couldn’t withstand the Southern summer.  So all work ceased in May each year, the New York Engineers regiment went north, and return each October.  By the time the Civil War came, the fort was still under construction.  The Union engineers quickly rounded up everything that could float, row boats, canoes, dugouts, etc, burned them all so the Confederates couldn’t surprise them with an attack from the water or marsh.  Not to worry, the Confederates left the area without a fight.  Once gone, the Confederate sympathizers, store owners, farmers, families, left as well.  The Union soldiers went through Northern Florida, invited all the Union sympathizers to come to the island and step into the homes, shops, fields, the confederates had left behind.  And they did.

Amelia Island has been home to the flags of 8 different entities throughout its history., more than any other territory in the US.  Quite a history, and quite an important port. 

Photos

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This is a piece of art from the Macon Georgia Harriet Tubman Museum.  Well worth the visit. We learned about some African American inventors and inventions, mostly basic items you would use every day--like ice cream, the ice cream scoop, the ironing board.  We didn't learn about these and other inventions, partly because we can't be taught everything, and also because many inventions were eventually taken by white owners, or other powerful whites.  Slaves invented what they needed to make their lives and jobs better.

Enjoyed our visit to the Harriet Tubman Museum in Macon, Georgia

Cumberland Island wild horses.  Island was once owned by Carnegie family, now a state park

Photos--at long last

Amelia Island Cottage, 100 feet from ocean (Atlantic)

Amelia Island, view from stairs outside our cottage.

The weather has been fabulous.

Cottage where we are staying 100 feet from Atlantic Ocean

Welcome to Amelia Island--once the largest/busiest port on the East Coast

Welcome to Amelia Island.

Amelia Island is filled with surprises, too many for one blog so will be continued.  Only 13 miles long and 3 miles wide, this barrier island lies just below Georgia as a welcoming sign of Florida and its pristine beaches.  The island, for all its small size, is wildly diverse boasting a fisherman’s paradise and a highly productive paper mill as well as period homes dating to the 1800’s and a wonderful five star Ritz Carlton.

We are spending our time on the north side of the island in the historic district area and on the beaches where our friend Lisa spent many of her childhood summers.  Lisa’s family has been part of Amelia Island for more than three generations.  Her great grandfather was a preacher and land owner on the island.  His four children spent their growing up years on the Island until one daughter, Lisa’s mom, followed her sweetheart to San Diego.  She didn’t marry him, but she remained in California where Lisa was born and raised.  But the tradition of coming to the island for leisurely summer holidays remained.  The north part of the island remains the family summer retreat and are the lure that brought Lisa back to the Island full time.  And by extension, that’s how Stu and I got here, following Lisa.

We are staying in Lisa’s grandmother’s summer cottages where, depending upon the tide, we’re fewer than 100 feet from the ocean.  Alas, I have’t been able to get myself up early enough to watch a sunrise, but there are still a couple of days remaining.  I did take a 3 mile walk on the beach yesterday, but considerably past sunrise.  The Beach here is thick with sea shells fragments, some sections actually crunch under foot.  But there’s plenty of sand and sand dunes, sea grass (used to make the famous Georgia baskets which are hand-sewn, not woven and are a feature of the area).  

Lisa owns and operates Jack & Diane’s, a funky, eclectic restaurant in the historic district area. The menu is varied, very different from much of the southern fare as she doesn’t do any frying, everything is fresh, most is organic, and the menu features small dishes which we’ve been enjoying daily.  

Tuesday, when the restaurant is closed, Lisa drove us to St. Augustine, the very tourist mecca where Ponce De Leon is said to have discovered the Fountain of Youth.  (I bathed in it, but I’m still 69!)  Although the historic center is well maintained, there are entirely too many shops, and too much hoopla for my tastes.  We did manage to escape the tourist area for a bit and visited Flagler college, housed in a former resort hotel complex that is an amazing building.  Imagine living in a residence hall that has 72 original Tiffany windows (the most in the world in one place), hand painted gilt ceilings, period furniture.  Many of the rooms are available to view only on a tour.  We weren’t on one, but we did see one pass by so Lisa and I quietly joined the tour hiding with our hands and purses the fact that we didn’t have tour badges.  A smile gets you everywhere.  

We learned that in addition to his great wealth, railroads and oil, Flagler was a religious man however, he did have three wives.  The first died from tuberculosis and then Flagler married her nurse.  Had he and the nurse been intimate before the wife’s death? Did the nurse help the wife to die?  We may never know.  We do know that some years later Flagler claimed wife two had dementia and had her institutionalized.  Exerting his considerable political influence Flagler supported a law that decreed that spousal institutionalization was grounds for a divorce.  And thus stepped in wife number 3--a mere 35 years Flagler’s junior.  These two nearly life sized portraits remain in the grand salon only Flagler had his young wife painted to look older, and his own portrait made to look younger so the disparity in their ages is not quite so apparent.  Enough of the city, we were ready to return to the nature of Amelia Island.

More about the Island’s surprises in the next blog.

Going to Florida

On our way to another state.  Left Georgia and George this morning heading south on alternate route 17, trying to avoid the interstates as much as possible as there is little to see.  US 95 through Georgia is one vast setting for 50-100 foot high billboards.  Beneath the billboards are thick pine forests, very lovely, but the billboards are an unpleasant distraction.  Route 17 has small towns, variety of housing options, lots of churches by the way side, and a few road kill, but generally small local variety--I'm not sure what.
We took our leisurely time as usual and had a wonderful surprise when we pulled off the main road to stop at Jekyll Island in Florida.  Now a state park, the Island was originally Millionaire's Club hosting a century old club and dining room and the cottages of those millionaires at the time--Rockefeller, Pulitzer, Morgan, Crane, and more.  Their cottages were for the winter season, Jan to March, and were more like camping, only 10,000 to 15,000 square feet.  Imagine camping in that style.  The island fell into disuse after the depression and WWII when the original 103 members dwindled to 53 and then couldn't come at all because there were German submarines around the island.  The third generation preferred to travel to Europe, the Riviera, California, and places other than the quiet little island where automobiles were discouraged.  The state took it over and it is well preserved as an historical cite.  We got to visit the island, see a couple of the houses, peek into how the other half lived for a while (and still do only elsewhere).
We passed some plantations along the way, principle crops are/were rice and pine logs, paper mills still in operation.
And then we arrived in Amelia Island where we are the guests of Lisa Jones, my mentee and friend from LA.  She used to summer here as a child and has long family roots to the area.  She's been here about 5 years and owns a restaurant, Jack and Diane's, which is funky, popular, and moving toward organic.  Lisa is the teacher responsible for getting sodas out of the schools and getting at least a semblance of fresh foods onto the campus at LAUSD.  She's still a missionary.  Can't wait to hang out with her.

"Don't laugh at me, don't call me names" Peter Yarrow sings Savannah

Kirschner’s march to the sea (Okay, the Atlantic Ocean)

Host George set up a fabulous last day in Savannah.  We began with breakfast out at a new, upscale restaurant, the 5.  They served a bagel and lox like no other.  Try cream cheese-caper roulade, soft and flavorful with fresh flakey salmon topped with equally fresh and savory tomato scallion bits.  And then it was off to Tybee Island.

Along the way we stopped at Joe’s Crab house to visit the alligator park, meander through the eclectic restaurant outdoor settings.  Too early for us but folks were already lining up for lunch-an hour wait.

We stopped at the Light Station and Museum at the mouth of Tybee Island where I climbed the light house, all 168 circular steps each way.  We explored the light house keepers house, where he and his misses raised their four children whose experiences were captured on a video which is part of the museum tour.  Great, restored house, all wood interior, lots of quiet time for puzzles and family games.

And then it was full speed ahead to the island center where its annual Pirate Fest was in full swing.  I thought Shakespearian fairs were the final rage, but I was wrong. It seems in the right circles Pirates are it.  Costumed participants, vendors selling pirate garb and accessories, and authentic hornpipe music played on electric guitars.  I was there.  Couldn’t keep my feet from stamping, hands from clapping.  I lacked only a pewter beer mug to hoist in salute of my mates.

We finished out our pirate experience with grub and drinks at Fannie’s on the beach.  Every bit as good as George remembered from a day gone by.  But the day wasn’t over.  We went from the Island back toward Savannah stopping at Grayson Stadium for the 24th annual Savannah Folk Music Festival.  We arrived at the stadium just in time for a 50 minute set by Peter Yarrow and son (Peter of the original Peter, Paul, and Mary).  Peter is aging, 75, and his voice might be a bit weaker than we remembered, but the sound and the gentleness were still in evidence.  The audience of a few thousand sang along with Blowing in the Wind, and teared up to Yarrow’s stories about www.operationrespect.org where he has developed a free curriculum to deal with school and playground bullies.  There weren’t too many who weren’t moved when we joined in the chorus, “Don’t laugh at me, don’t call me names.  Don’t take your pleasure from my pain.”  Everyone was back in the schoolyard being bullied, maybe being a bully, or knowing a child who is bullied.  I had heard this song nearly 15 years before when our granddaughter Alex was bullied at school.  

Educators and parents and grandparents there’s free curriculum and songs and games to help healing discussions about bullies and being bullied.  Worth checking out and sharing with others.   www.operationrespect.org     

Home again for our final night with George and watching the movie, Midnight in the Garden of Evil.  We loved the film again, identified the places we’d seen in Savannah.  George pointed out some of the real characters, including Chablis (who plays every week in a club in Savannah).  Worth watching again.  Jude Law had his first great performance in this movie.

Good night friends.  Tomorrow we’re off to Amelia Island and Lisa.   10/13/13

Sunset from George's Neighborhood

This is the view from the end of the pier near George's house. I walk here in the evenings.  It's me and the fish jumping to snatch the myriad assortment of evening insects.  We picked the perfect time of year, summer heat and humidity is behind us, cool mornings, warm afternoons.  Best anecdote for high blood pressure or anxiety.      Wish you were all here.

Give me that old time religion

Marker from Synagogue in Charleston.You can't take God out of the pledge and still be welcomed in the south.  God's buildings are everywhere.  Churches in every denomination, and synagogues also.  The oldest synagogues and congregations are in Savannah and in Charleston--and they are active, thriving, and have spawned additional temples nearby and across town.  That old joke about two Jews, and three synagogues applies here.  There's the temple you belong to, and the temples you would never belong to.

Savannah has reform, in continuous prayerful congregation since 1733 when a group of 43 Jews, primarily Sephardic, arrived about a ship from England.  They were able to remain in Savannah, which didn't allow slaves, Papists, or Jews, because a doctor was among them, the doctor who was responsible for saving the colonists who were dying in vast numbers from cholera and dysentery.  Charleston was more welcoming and Jewish merchants thrived, as did profiteers who sold goods to both sides during the Civil War and became millionaires, even then.  

In Charleston, the synagogue existed along with a myriad of Protestant churches and church of England, but Papists weren't welcomed.  The Jewish congregation purchased a large piece of land directly across the street from the synagogue and donated it to the Catholics for their church.  The two religious edifices continue to exist facing one another on Hassell Street (Pronounced Hazel Street).  I wondered if the Jews hadn't helped the Catholics simply so they wouldn't be the only underdogs in Charleston.  With a Catholic Church in plain site, there were plenty of scapegoats to deflect the racism. Pretty clever if you ask me.

A landmark of Charleston is Hyman's Seafood--a must stop in any Charleston tour.  What I didn't know, is that Hyman's Seafood is also known as Aaron's Deli, two menus, same family ownership.  Great grandfather W. M. Karesh, a Jewish immigrant from Eastern Europe, began as a wholesaler in 1890.  He sold underwear and other "schmatas".  Wolf Maier Karesh's son-in-law, Herman Hyman took over in 1924, passed the wholesale business to his son who sold wholesale dry goods until 1986--same location close to Charleston's harbor.  Herman lives above the current location on the 3rd floor. The name and mission changed when the area underwent some remodeling and grandsons Eli and Aaron Hyman opened Hyman's Seafood and Aaron's Deli.  Today, the fifth generation, Brad (we met him today when he came by to see how we were enjoying the meal, we were) operates the restaurants which serve even a Glatt Kosher meal (prepared and sealed by Chabad with all proceeds going to Chabad).  Six cousins work at the restaurant and one or more are always in attendance.  There are two floors of dining tables in this casual atmosphere, a line of sauces and batter for sale, and the most amazing hush puppies this Northerner has ever eaten--and they just keep coming.

For me, what I've been touched by is that being Jewish doesn't seem to be an after thought.  So many of us are not affiliated, but here, in smaller population centers, the old time religions still resonate.  Savannah's reform temple hosts two deer skin Torahs from the 12th century which are held in great regard and on continual display in cases close to the silver belt of names of young adults confirmed each year engraved in silver and added to the belt since 1935.  There's tradition here, in the synagogues, and certainly in the First African church we visited on Thursday.  

Hyman's Seafood/Aaron's Deli  Continued commitment to Israel 

The south may not appear so sophisticated, although there are theaters with current Broadway touring companies, art museums with extensive, well archived exhibits, and homes in every price range from mobile to mansion.   (BTY plenty of Charleston water front homes in the $4 million dollar range for sale, check your Wall Street Journal real estate section.)

Our politicians need to be sensitive to the commitment of millions to their Churches and Temples, to including God in their lives 24/7.  Instead of pushing a very liberal agenda, we need to engage in conversation and bring folks along, even those who might now believe that alternative lifestyles are immoral.  Beliefs can change, but not by imposing those changes, by inviting discussion, by taking baby steps with hands open, not fisted.

Our thanks to dear friend George Bowen who has welcomed us to his beautiful Savannah home by the tide water.  Thank you George.    Your hospitality has been so warm, we may just have to come back, y'hear.    

PS  I broke down and bought a t-shirt:   Shalom Y'all      How could I resist.

Trying to 'walk a mile' in the other guys' shoes/mind

The trip so far has been exactly what I was seeking--learning about the country and its people, all the space between the east and west coast.   We left Atlanta on Tuesday, it's Thursday evening, and took our time driving to Savannah.  We had a long stop in Macon, Georgia, visited the Harriet Tubman museum (well worth the stop), and then visited the town and its most distinguishing feature--its churches.  The Catholic Church was built 200 years ago by the Irish immigrants. It sits on a hill top, but the steeple of the Methodist church next door is a few feet higher. It's difficult to imagine that newly arrived Irish immigrants, who faced their own challenges, could and would built a church that was and is so luxurious--gilted sainted and fittings, stained glass windows from Europe, carved pews, painted domed ceiling.  And there are churches everywhere in town, all maintained, at least from an outsider's point of view.

We took the smaller roads from Macon to Savannah which both stretched out the drive by several additional hours, but also took us through many small towns, some only a bend in the road.  Wherever we drove however, were more churches, seemingly more churches than people.  We didn't see any mega churches but lots of small buildings, Baptist churches under every name from First Baptist to Hallelujah Baptist in Adrian, Georgia. (Never did see a Second Baptist.)  There are AME churches, Methodist churches, Baptists of every denomination, non-chain churches, clapboard, brick, stainglass, steepled or not.  Today I toured the Savannah First African Baptist Church, built by slaves for slaves.
Please, the observations I'm going to share are simply observations, thoughts about what the churches mean, how they influence the politics, not about agreeing or disagreeing.

I come from a liberal political background, never really spent much or any time with those from the Bible-belt, so this trip is opening my eyes and my mind to how others think, what values they may hold as dear as those I hold.   The tour guide at the African Baptist church was a mid-twenties young man who grew up in this church, went to Southern Georgia University, and loves his church, Jesus Christ, living according to God's commandments as he understands them, and has no doubts.  I didn't try to argue, share my own viewpoints, just listened and tried to understand.

When you believe God is part of your life, from every fiber of your being, reinforced by your institutions, your family and friends, to the point that there is no question in your mind about God, about pleasing Him, about answering to Him, then you have to defend those beliefs whether they are popular or not, the law of the land or not.  I can understand, even though you know that Roe vs Wade is the law of the land, that you believe this is wrong.  That homosexuality is wrong, that God and country comes with a set of values that is not open to discussion.  That government should be local, not so far away that the law makers don't know us and our values.  And I can understand, again, understanding doesn't mean agreeing with, how you could fight abortion, big government, diversity of marriage partners.  What is missing on the national scene is more dialogue, more effort to understand where the other (who we so easily label extreme right, or Tea Party).  I don't know what understanding and dialogue might look like, I don't know where balance or compromise might happen, but I do know that as a bi-coastal city person, and a majority of voters who live in big northern cities, we don't listen.  It's been our way or the road.  It's been more and more policies saying God doesn't belong in school, or in courthouses, or in the pledge of allegiance.  Some things should be left local, and education, according to the US constitution is a state's right, so that the local values are respected.

Before you jump all over me, stop for a moment and just look around.  This country was built with churches and God at the forefront, and who are we to take God away.  It seems the more I learn, the more I open to others, the more I observe their institutions, their actions, the less I know for sure and the more I want to find other ways of looking and being.

How did this group of slaves build a church building?  Those who were able to labor outside of their slavery, and usually saved their coins until they had enough to purchase their own freedom, instead donated their small savings to build a church so they could worship together as they wanted to worship.  Why Baptist?  Because slaves were required to take on the religion of your master.  This group of slaves, some walking from plantations 10 plus miles away, not only donated their small savings, but came nightly or weekly to contribute their labor as well.  The church has been continuously occupied, and remodeled a few times, for over 200 years.  The young man, dynamic, energetic, funny, smart, loves this church.  He made us all love this church and its proud history--it was on the route of the underground railway helping slaves escape north, hiding them in a secret tunnel beneath the church that ran to the Savannah river, even though helping a fugitive could result in your own death, in the burning of the church.

A group of Jewish settlers came here in 1733 and built a synagogue, continually used since that time.  Synagogues thrive here as well as churches, religion is important in this bible belt country.  Tomorrow we are visiting the Temple Mikvah Israel.

There has been much to think about during this trip, I'm feeling less sophisticated and less self righteous.  I know much less than I knew when the voyage began, but maybe a little more about myself and about Stu.  This is good time and I am grateful to have the time and ability to make this trip across country.  It's a beautiful land, diverse and contradictory, and welcoming.
October 10, 2013

Leon Eplan, Atlanta's City Planner & a personal tour

We just keep getting luckier and luckier.  It seems that Iris (our hostess) is second cousin to a former Atlanta City Planner who has agreed to take us on a tour of Atlanta, his city, the city he helped plan and build.
What a day this has been.  We met cousin Leon at T R's, a funky Atlanta restaurant known for its Toucan, very hippy style decor, and holistic food.  Our quinoa & vegetable salads with roast chicken pieces were yummy--we felt healthier just eating them.  Leon lives about 100 feet away so the next stop was his condo, on the 18th floor of a new Atlanta high rise--the entire sky line and thousands of trees filled the landscape from his picture perfect living room window.
And then it was off to tour the city.  We learned about Atlanta's neighborhoods, from the posh side of town with its 5 acre rolling home sites, to the upscale modern Buckhead.  We viewed the 1996 Olympic sites and learned about the Olympics' impact on Atlanta (good), about the personalities involved in the city planning and building, the historic centers.  Leon told us about underground Atlanta and its shops and citizens--literally below street level, not secretive.
The mansions in Atlanta, and there are many of them, abound. Beverly Hills looks nouveau riche in comparison.  We learned that the preponderance of large homes is due to the Southern way of entertaining, at home, not in restaurants.
 Lots of corporate headquarters fuel the city, and plenty of old Southern money as well. The Jewish population is vast and supports Jewish Day schools, large synagogues within the city and in the suburbs, and prominent citizens who contribute to the arts and everywhere.
George is one of the 3 granite states and there's plenty of granite in the buildings, but the dense granite also makes it difficult to build down, as in deep parking garages.  Leon helped push through an electric trolley system currently being built and scheduled to open in April 2014 with its first miles of working track and modern, nearly silent, electric trolleys.
Atlanta Historical Society houses one of the largest collections of Civil War artifacts as well as the Swan House built in 1928 with swan motifs throughout.
After a fabulous afternoon with this wonderful guide, we heading back to the DeKalb market for a fresh dinner and some shopping.  I could move to Atlanta just to be able to shop at this market.  There wasn't a single food stuff I couldn't fine.  Cases of cheeses, dozens of different pates, trays of freshly made sausage links filled with lamb, beef, chicken, seasonings, and in lamb casings (Halal for the Muslim population).  There's 50 feet of fresh spices packed on the premises as well as more fresh sprouts than I knew existed (dandelion sprouts?)  And then the shelves of fresh tea leaves, averaging about $1.50 for 4 ounces.  I could go on, and we did control ourselves since we are traveling and couldn't really shop, but I lost it at the bakery.  YUM!

Tomorrow we are off to Savannah after a stop in Madison to see an ante-bellum town.  We just added this stop to our itinerary so who knows what we'll find.  We certainly have done extremely well.  Iris was a marvelous hostess, even though she doesn't generally like house guests, and we've had a fabulous time in Atlanta--oh, we never did get to tour Coca Cola or CNN.

(I'm struggling because I haven't been able to figure out how to upload photos.  There's a way to upload from Picassa, but Stu saves the photos in iphoto.  Anyone know?  Please help.)

Sunday, Funday, in Atlanta

Iris must be the best hostess ever.  We were so comfortable we didn't get up until 11 in the morning--a first for both Stu and I.  We are doing our planning as we go along.
First stop was the DeKalb Market--difficult to describe.  A super-sized market featuring everything edible from locally grown greens, so beautiful and lush you could put them in a cut-crystal vase for your living room table, to cases of cheeses, local and imported.  An entire alcove held chocolates, another for fresh cut spices.  Cases of sea food with shrimp in five different sizes.  More counters of pork, lamb, goat, beef, chicken, and turkey.  Still more iced boxes of fresh fish, whole, filleted, breaded, boned, marinated--ready cut or prepared to order.  Customers came in various colors, scarf covered Muslims, to Kepa clad families.
One food station served prepared foods by the pound.  For $26 total, Iris, Stu, and I tried a dozen fresh vegetable dishes, curried garbanzo beans, spicy red lentils, red and green cabbage chows, goat stew, chicken samosas and jerked chicken.  I only regretted having only one stomach. Much too much for a single visit so we are going to try a return trip before we head to Savannah on Tuesday.

Atlanta is a big city, with lots to offer.  We had already enjoyed a culinary feast, our next stop was a musical repast.  Ahavath Achim Synagogue, a large conservative congregation, hosted an afternoon recital featuring "9 String Theory".  Angelina Galashenkova-Reed playing the domra, and John Huston on the guitar.  Nothing electronic, just amazing music on the domra, an adaptation of a tenth century instrument that probably originated in Egypt and was condemned by the Czar in Russia in the early 19th century because it was used by Gypsies.  Ms. Reed played superbly, as one would expect from an international star.  John Huston's guitar playing was mesmerizing.  Together the domra, a 3-string instrument, and the guitar, 6-string, are the '9 String Theory'.  They've adapted music originally scored for piano, Flamenco guitar, full orchestras, evolved into a haunting stringed performance.

We're not done.  This was the last day of the 4 days Atlanta Greek Festival, so off we went.  The Festival is all about music and food.  We watched Black children dancing with their White counterparts, inspired by the Greek rhythms, everyone improvising.  Our feet couldn't stand still, our hips swayed, arms held high.  And then home when the first drops of rain began falling.

Some musings you can skip or not.  At the Synagogue I spoke with one of the officers and we talked about the waning congregation.  Why?  Because the young Atlanta professionals don't put their children into the Atlanta public schools, they move to the suburbs and enroll them in Jewish Day Schools.  The negative unintended consequence is that Atlanta public schools are less and less integrated with a Black school population of over 90% and city synagogues losing membership to the point of threatening extinction.  A positive consequence is that more Atlanta Jewish children are receiving a Jewish education and thus decreasing the impact of assimilation.

We should be having a national conversation about integration, its good and bad sides.  Because we are moving toward a national curriculum, a standardized common core, we are not free to espouse our local values, we neutralize everything with meaning.  God is removed from classrooms to maintain separation of church and state.  But for many of our citizens, God is essential to their lives, but they are not free to include values, basic right and wrong as they see it, in the education of their children.  We insist everyone value the same thing and gloss over studying the Holocaust, the Trail of Tears, even Slavery, for fear we offend someone.  And in the process we offend everyone.  Those who can leave the public system, those who can't have to regurgitate the values and history espoused by the (still predominantly white men) in their Washington DC think tanks.  We should be having a national conversation about the value of valuing local customs.  We are not a nation of everyone is the same, take a walk in the DeKalb market and see the selections different groups make.  We can dance together as we did at the Greek Festival, but that doesn't wipe out celebrating our differences.

Another observation: music writing.  During this musical journey we've been taking these past three weeks we are learning about the importance of writing to singing and instrumentals.  Not so much about the performances, although that's what we see, it's about the written word, the songs themselves, the stories they tell.  Did you know, I didn't, that Barry Manilow and David Sussman wrote the theme to American Bandstand? (Okay, don't know why I threw that in, time to sign off.)

Listening to the rain hitting Iris's roof, fall through the trees, and bring down the autumn leaves.  All good.

Harmony--Barry Manilow & David Sussman's new musical

Two months ago I read a short piece announcing a collaborative venture with Barry Manilow and his musical songwriting partner David Sussman.  They would be introducing their new musical, Harmony, in Atlanta at the Alliance Stage, and we would be in Atlanta at the same time.  We purchased tickets for what became a sold-out one month performance run.
We got into Atlanta on Saturday, settled into Iris's house in the suburbs.  A quick dinner, tasty kale salad and sliced steak, and we were off to the theater.
Harmony is a poignant musical about the six-man vocal group that was the number one selling musical group in the 20/30's, yet most of us have never heard of them.  They sold millions of records, made 12 movies, but because of their timing and the historical context of their performance period, they've remained obscure.  The group of young men included three Jews and three non-Jews at a time when Hitler and the Nazi's rose to power in Germany and eventually snuffed out all Jewish performance.  While extremely well done, due to the subject matter, you don't leave the theater singing any tunes, you do leave reminded that there were many stories like there's, many lives wiped out, voiced stilled, histories lost.  During the final scene the audience emits not a sound, no clothes rustle, no texting lights break the darkness, everyone is focused on the single performer, the Rabbi, as he tells of the final days of the group and both curses his memory and revels in it.  What words best describe this work? Riveting, poignant, a reminder that tyranny destroys real people, not just numbers, wipes out personal histories, and continues to happen every day (think Sierra, Rwanda, Darphur, and more).  We met with some of the performers after the show, and had a chance for a brief visit with David Sussman (Barry Manilow was there but he remained in the shadows.)  Sussman was gracious and deeply touched by the tribute we paid to his work.  There will be another trial run in LA in March (Ahmanson Theater), and we're ordering our tickets now.   We want to see what changes they make, if any, how we feel about it the second time.  And David Sussman asked us to stay in touch and let us know when we'll be in LA to see the show.
How do we follow this evening?  What surprises lie ahead as we continue this wonderful journey in the USA.

Chattanooga, there and gone

Can't believe we've been to Chattanooga and gone already without posting.  That's a clue about how busy we've been and, in reality, the lack of good internet.

We headed into Chattanooga after our wonderful distillery tours, dropped our luggage and headed down town to the world renowned Chattanooga Choo Choo.  This was the original Atlanta railroad depot, the first link between the north and south and instrumental in supplying union troops during the Civil War (which wasn't very civil).  The old trains cars have been converted into hotel rooms, or barely converted and serving as hotel rooms.  The Union Station has restaurants, shops, and a run-down museum.  In fact the whole place is a bit sad and in need of a new owner with funds to revive the past.

That said, we decided to dine at the Showboat, a restaurant with singing waiters.  Waiters, we have been told, are hired because they can sing and then taught to wait tables.  Our server, Trent from Knoxville, had a powerful voice and spent his off-stage time visiting with us at our table.  Guess his training didn't include "don't sit down with the customers" and we were glad it didn't.  The food was passable and plentiful (had left overs the next night headed in the in-room microwave), but the conversation was good.  Trent, is not an aspiring singing.  He's quite content, he told us, to play in his band, sing at the restaurant, and sing gospel in church.  Simple, down home, has his priorities in order.  If this were a restaurant in LA everyone would be discontent waiting on his/her next big break.  Very refreshing to meet Trent.

Friday was a lazy day.  We went to visit some civil war parks (thanks to the Federal government they were closed), learned a bit about the Battle of Chattanooga and understand the importance of this otherwise obscure city to the Union win.  Toured the downtown area for awhile (also in need of more refurbishing) and then we went to a fabulous blue-grass concert on the riverfront near Aquarium Plaza. Fabulous, free concert with 5 hours of bango picking, fiddle bowing, and guitar strumming music.  One of the bands, Balsam Range, learned only days before that they had been selected band of the year, with album of the year.  They were that good with harmony, instrumentals, and enthusiasm.  The crowd of about 5000 enjoyed every moment, as did we.  These country folks know how to have a good time.  Beer and wine sold on premises, but controlled.  Everyone was behaved, lots of families, audience of all ages from infant to grandpa--and same could be said of the performers.  Oldest about 86, youngest 13.  This is our second free outdoor concert of the trip, and another great evening.

Off to Atlanta to see our friend Iris Abelson.

111 miles in 7 hours--and loving it all

Thurs morning (Oct 3) we left Nashville only 10 minutes later than our planned 8:30 AM departure, but didn't arrive in Chattanooga, only 2 hours away, until nearly 6 PM (we lost one hour on the way) due to some unexpected, and decidedly wonderful, finds.

Originally a re-visit to the Jack Daniel's Distillery was on the agenda, Stu hadn't been since 1988 and was curious to see how the Distillery had fared since Jack Daniel's Whisky is sold in every CostCo warehouse around the country--excepting those that don't sell liquor due to state/county laws.  Searching the web uncovered another distillery in the area of Lynchberg, George A. Dickel Distillery--new for us so we added that to our itinerary, after all, it was only a bit off the road.  We arrived at the very small site of the Distillery which shares the same spring fed creed with Jack Daniel's and hence has the same high quality of spring fed water that contributes to the great taste of the local whisky.

The Distillery sits only a short way from its original 1890's site where it was founded by George Dickel, a merchant from the north, in Cascade Hollow, Tennessee.  Stu and I were the only ones there and signed up for a private tour, with a tasting.  What a delightful hour + spent learning about whisky making.  Corn, rye, and malt barley, in the proper proportions, (has to meet a standard or you can't call it whisky just like Champagne has to come from Champagne, France to be called by that name--you Frenchmen have nothing on us for sophistication and high standards) filtered through 13 inches of maple sugar tree charcoal sandwiched between two 100% cotton blankets, set aside in charcoal burned oak barrels, and 7 -14 years later you have some great Tennessee whisky. (Note: there's no "e" in Dickel whisky). No computers in this distillery as stages and readiness are determined the good, old-fashioned way, by taste.  Barrels are filled by one man with a hose, a mallet to pound in the plugs, and then rolled aside for pick up.

We learned that aging is temperature sensitive and since the distillery depends on the weather, the barrels are stored higher up the mountain where the temperature range is more limited.  When filled and aging, the 500 pound barrels are only stored 5 high so those on the bottom have about the same temperature as the barrels above, and the whisky is more consistent.  We probably heard a lot more about whisky that didn't stick because we were ready, after an hour touring, to get to the tasting room.

You couldn't always taste in Moore County, where the distillery is located, because its a dry county.  But with some recent changes in the law, if you distill it, you can taste it, but you can't sell it, for that you need a selling license (another part of the distillery grounds has a store--its about 50 feet away from the tasting room).   And we did taste, that was fine whisky!  The 7 year old whisky was good, with a bit of a bite.  The 10 year old was a bit smoother, but when you get to the select, where each barrel is chosen based specifically on its smoothness to the pallet (More of those epicurean terms--are you impressed?), after 12-14 years of aging, the whisky is very smooth--and the price much higher.  I couldn't finish my tastings, couldn't share them with Stu because there's a 1 ounce limit which is strictly adhered to by the distillery, but Stu sure did glow--no drop was left behind.  After a quick trip to the liquor store, and the purchase of a bottle of special select, we were on the way, down the road a piece, to Jack Daniel's.

Remember, If all you know is Jack, you don't know Dickel.

Well, 25 years certainly has made a difference.  The Jack Daniel's distillery sees about 1000 visitors a day with free hour-long tours (tastings are optional at $10) that begin with a film about Jack, then a group photo, which you can purchase, then the tour.  We found the whole set-up, large visitor center and merchandise store (everything from your name printed on the label of a bottle of whisky to golf balls) way too commercial and since we'd already learned how to make whisky, using this very same creek water, we headed into Lynchburg only 1 mile away.

The town is adorable, built around the classic two-story, red brick town hall (someday I'll figure out how to get our photos posted on this blog page so stay tuned) shops on all four sides.  Featured items were related to Jack Daniel's Whisky--t-shirts, shot glasses, walking sticks, oak barrels converted into wood carriers and sitting chairs.  My favorite, Jack Daniel's infused choclate fudge--mmm good.  Too bad the local quilt shop was closed, I was hankering to sit a spell.  One store, Moon River Pies, was too tempting to pass up, so we didn't.  Besides old style candy from "the day", they had boxes and packages of Moon Pies.  You have to remember those from your youth--two graham crackers, marshmellow cream filling, choclate coated.  Tasted just like we remembered  although instead of 5 cents a piece, they are now $.70, still a bargain and yummmmy.

When we were at Dickel's, earlier in the day, Kathy the tour guide told us about Prichard's Rum Distillery.  Since we hadn't taken the time to tour Jack Daniel's, we decided that Prichard's would be our next stop.  After all, we've seen wineries, whisky distilleries, even a cognac "factory" in Spain, it was time to expand our horizons.  Now, Prichard's, although drawing from the same spring water as Dickel's and Jack Daniel's, was a mighty piece down the road (Okay, you think I've been on the road too long--too much Ozarks, not enough city.  I can't describe the distance any better than to say down the road a piece, over in another hollow.)  And off we went.  This was a serious detour, the town of Kelso didn't even show up on the GPS.  I relied on a paper map (Thank you Bill & Rita Jennings for providing the state-by-state maps before our trip.)

What a find.  Prichard's entire operation takes place in a 1939 school house which he rented for $200 a month in 2001.  The old gym, basketball hoops in place, houses the supplies, some of the rum tanks, boxes for packing.  The former cafeteria, already converted once for the Kelso fire & rescue station, but never used because the town failed to raise enough funds to purchase a fire engine, has the only solid concrete floor so its used for shipping the full cases (6 bottles to a case, stacked 5 cases wide, high, and deep, to a pallet).  All bottles are filled by hand, labels put on individually by three people--the same three who fill the bottles on filling days, corked, sealed, and packed--yup, same three folks--they multi-task.  The staff of 17 (total employees including Prichard, the tour guides, office staff, chemists, bottlers, packers, and shipping department) served up $2.4 million in sales last year, up from $34,000 only ten years earlier, and growing.

Off to the side of the old school, are the brewing tanks.  Joe, the chemical engineer who mixes and watches, and brews (This Portland, Oregon native's got another story to tell--his patents for corn infused diesel fuel have just been awarded by the feds--before the shut down in Washington.).  Due to the high alcohol content (160% at one stage of the distilling) there's little need for perfect sanitation so we walked everywhere, touched every piece of equipment that wasn't too hot to handle.  By the way, Phil Prichard bought his copper tanks, stainless steel distilling tanks, and all other paraphenalia needed for distilling, at an auction, ten cents on the dollar.  He squeezes every penny, makes do with what he has on hand, hence he hasn't moved out of, nor remodeled, the old school house.  There's not even a flower planted in front as a welcome to tourists or serious rum drinkers.  Yet, he won second place in a recent national Rum competition and scored a 95 (some rating similar to wine ratings) on the national competition.  He doesn't care about fancy or pretty,  just about making good rum ( he also dabbles now in Bourbon).  And, he doesn't charge for tastings because he is in Lincoln County, not Moore County, and there's a loop hole in the law here, since the 1800's, that says he can, and he does.

We tasted straight rum, flavored rum (bought Cranberry and Key Lime), tasted Bourbon, tasted the creamed rums and bought two, including a chocolate fudge concoction that can get you in serious trouble, deliciously.  We reluctantly said so long to our hostess, who, by the way, is a retired airline steward whose husband was born in Fayetteville (a piece down the road from the distillery).  Retirement didn't work for her and she's done a great job at the distillery--she gets it, and she gets Phil Prichard.   Phil came out from his office, it used to be the 3/4 classroom back in the day, to say hello, sign a bottle for us, and share a few minutes of his day.  What we love about this stop, besides learning more than we ever thought we wanted to know about rum, is that just like Dickel, Prichard made it on his own.  They each had a similar dream, a hundred years apart, and began new careers, they took risks, did what they had a passion for.  Dickel may have begun as a merchant, and in a way he continued to be a merchant, of his own whisky.  Prichard was a dental technician, whose father was a dentist, but he was restless, didn't quite fit, and was bored.  He dared to look for something that suited him better.  There's a sign in Prichard says, "If you're proud of what you make, put your name on it."  I suppose that goes for rum as well as for your kids.

A final note about the basics at Prichards.  Before getting on the road we thought it best to make a bathroom stop.  Only one functioning bathroom at Prichards old school house.  Had we known what we'd find, Stu and I would have skipped taking turns and gone in together.  There's one room, two toilets, no, one is not a bidet.  One toilet has the seat cover up, the other has the seat cover down.  You don't need a sign to know where to do your business.

And it's onward to Chattanooga.

Howdiee! Saying hello & goodbye to Nashville

Minnie Pearl (look alike) from our seats in the Grand Ole Opry

What a great city.  Memphis is struggling, but Nashville is doing everything right and it shows.  The music industry is thriving.  Song publishing, recording studios, performance venues, new convention center, state of the art.  Even public art on display next to the confederate heroes the city honors.

In the heart of downtown, close to the river front, the mayor commissioned a bronze statue as a tribute to Nashville's music.  During the installation the statue was draped and hidden from view pending the unveiling.  The whole town came out for the event; families spread picnic cloths, every dignitary came prepared to give speeches, town celebrities sang in celebration.  Then, when everyone was hushed, when you could feel the anticipation in the very air, the artist drape came down revealing the celebratory bronze: 8 totally nude statues, male and female, in dance form--this in a town that has more churches than bars (I'm not sure that's 100% accurate.)  They have a new mayor.

On the way to Nashville from Memphis we visited both the Belle Meade Plantation (3 star, not really worth the time/ticket price), and the Hermitage, home of Andrew Jackson, our 8th president (5 star).  Lots of contradictions in Jackson who was a slave owner who understood that if you didn't sell your slaves off, if you kept grandfathers, fathers, sons, and children together, they would work harder and would be less likely to run away.  Same for allowing them to work their own patch of land.  But he still owned them, housing was humble, rations adequate, whippings happened.  The cotton gin, instead of saving the hands that picked the cotton, increased the need to plant and harvest 4 times more cotton in order to feed the gin.  Interesting perspective, well done museum.

Then into Nashville for a whirlwind few days.  Broadway & 2nd--music is everywhere, from the light posts, out of every lounge up and down the streets.  The tradition is to play and sing for tips.  That's even how Randy Travis and Willie Nelson began.  There is so much talent, even the street musicians, who couldn't get into a lounge to play, are very good.  Everyone is working, waiting for their song to hit.  Songwriters reign here where everyone sings and plays multiple instruments.

We had a lot of highlights during our short stay.  Country Music Hall of Fame is a WOW.  We spent four hours and could have been there longer.  The history of Country Music from its beginnings to present day, well documented, a variety of genres, artifacts, music, story, and film all come together.  We learned so much, remembered some, got in touch with performers whose songs we'd sung.  Great visit.

Opryland is a world of its own.  We did the backstage tour and sat in the mezzanine for a live on the air radio show performed for radio audiences around the world.  Everyone goes to the Grand Ole Opry.  Dress is whatever costume you want. We saw a patch work quilted coat in many colors, in an extra large (not too pretty, but did make us think of Dolly Parton's hit--A Coat of Many Colors).  At the other extreme were tall, slender cowgirls in heeled tooled leather boots and black Stetson rhinestone trimmed hats.  A great show on and off stage.

We finished our brief visit to Nashville with a Red Neck Comedy Bus Tour of the city--what a hoot.   This evening, after some much needed rest, we went to a local lounge for an evening of music and beer.  The menu included some Tennessee staples--Fried Bologna Sandwich (Sliced Bologna Slightly Grilled, Served on Bread With Lettuce & Tomato--$4.50) and Grilled Cheese (Three Slices of American Cheese Served on Grilled Toast-$4.00).  Appetizers were all fried incluidng Fried Pickle Spears (6 Large Pickle Spears Breaded & Fried Served With Ranch-$5.50 and Yucca Fry Basket-$4.75.  I promise you I am not making this up.  We drank beer.

So so long to Nashville, and onto Jack Daniels Distillery and another local Bourban maker, Dickels, before we get to Chattanooga.

Grand Old Opry turns 80, Stu's only going to be 70!

Nashville Sound

Oct 2, Nashville, raining and lovely.
Yesterday was our Grand Ole Opry day.  We toured the impressive, massive, Opry, viewed the dressing rooms, stood on the stage, even selected our seats for the evening performance.  There's a rich history here, 88 years this coming Saturday.  We noted major contrasts with what we have known from the Hollywood scene.  Here, performers come through a private back door into the Opry, no red carpet treatment.  Dressing rooms are nice, utilitarian, comfortable, but without private bathrooms, showers, or closets.  Performers, no matter have great the star (and there are many millionaires among them) remain in more humble settings.  Perhaps that adds to the "down-country" feel, reverence for the history and for those who came before.  

There are success stories, but many are not as you can see from the wanna-bes who line the streets in downtown Nashville, playing for the change you throw in their guitar cases, or the tip jars if they are fortunate enough to get a spot in one of the many bars/lounges.  There is music playing all day long, through the night.  Music blares from street posts, parking lots, everyone with a guitar or mandolin.  Music is their surround-sound.  We think of the 10,000 hours theory that Malcolm Gladwell writes about when we learn that Eddie Skuggs began performing at age 7, already playing a mean steel guitar and belting out songs he wrote.  Barbara Mandrel and her sisters began before that.  By the time you are 18 you've passed the 10,000 hour mark it takes to be proficient in your field.  Music is accessible to everyone.  You don't need a private skating coach, or much special equipment.  Your Uncle Joe can teach you the chords and harmony happens around the dinner table.  Are we missing something by promoting only the most priviledged who can afford golf or tennis lessons?  So what do we do with our schools in the name of college for everyone?  We eliminate the music and art and push math problems which only very few will ever benefit from and enjoy.  I would love for our country to just stop and rethink everything, have a real shut down followed by discourse.

The name of the game here is song writing with most big name performers beginning with their own songs.  No matter how humble the beginning, singing and playing one or more musical instruments is de rigeur. While my kids were practicing their math problems, Nashville was playing music.  It is in the heart and soul, begins with gospel singing in harmony in one of the many churches, and there are many.  

I would love to connect more, but I don't.  I enjoy the country sound, the simplicity of many tunes, the bango and mandolin picking, but it is not really our music, doesn't grow from our traditions, and we haven't followed it through the decades.  Got me thinking about my own musical roots, what we heard at home--mostly Mario Lanza, show tunes like West Side Story, definitely not country.  And I recall being tapped on the shoulder by the iterent music teacher in sixth grade--she told me not to sing any more because I was off-key.  Still remember how that shut me down, not sure I ever found my voice after that.