Williamson County Fair

What is it about carnivals that the workers have to be so creepy? Is that one of the job requirements (must have a large, noticeable facial scar, a raspy voice, and hair that looks as if you've been manually pulling it out), because you certainly don't see normal people (e.g. salesmen in suits, pastors, nurses?--oh, forget it!) operating those machines. As Claire was having a ball on the kiddie cars, all I could think was "I wonder if this guy is a registered sex offender?" I am jaded in my old age, yet I have always thought about this, even when I was a kid. The weirdo-radar was programmed early, way back in Safety Town at age 4.

I was scolded by the woman in charge of the rotating pink elephants for fastening my two-year-old's seatbelt too tightly. In case of an emergency, she explained harshly, we need to be able to get the belt off quickly. Other than the bolt loosening and sending the elephant flying into the air like Dumbo, the only emergency I could think of would be my 2-year-old trying to be funny, wiggling to stand up, and falling out. Note to parents: always check behind the carnival people.

I need to have a side job as a carnival worker (after I get older and a little weirder-looking). I'm going to run one of those stands with all the goldfish bowls that you get 5 balls for $2 to throw in order to win a fish. They must make a killing, considering that you can buy feeder fish 12 for $1.99 at Walmart, and it's so difficult to get a ping-pong ball into one of those little bowls. Imagine how the fish feel, with balls bouncing all around them.

Either that, or I can buy a mobile food stand and a vat of frying grease and offer up all the Southern delicacies that anyone will buy. My favorites are fried Oreos (double-stuffed), and sweet potato fries. By the way, spellcheck replaced "oreos" with "oleos." Hmmmm....fried margarine, now that's a new one that I bet the Southern chefs haven't dabbled in.

Okay, my spellcheck program is WAY
behind the times here.
It underlined Walmart as a misspelled word!

Cheekwood Botanical Garden

Please click on the images for better detail. You can't really get an essence of the beauty of the leaves, hips, or flowers from looking at the overview of a tree.

Crepe Myrtle trunk

Weeping Norway Spruce

Smoketree

Smoketree detail

Laceleaf Chaste Tree

Laceleaf Chaste tree, detail of leaves

Laceleaf Chaste tree with closer view of flowers

Study in Magnolia

There is a great value in the aesthetics
of the Magnolia tree
outside of the fully-opened flower.

Observations from my backyard

Can anyone venture a guess at what this is? Let's just say that it wasn't on the realtor's MLS listing.

Maybe a closer shot will help solve the puzzle

A wild strawberry

My backyard will be pleased to know that today it has made my blog. Finally, after months of trouble getting the photos off the camera and into the computer, some technological miracle has occurred. It is a painstaking process, about a minute per picture. But I am now able to show the world the wonders of Middle Tennessee, at least from my vantage point.

Claire and I began early in the day by providing a feast for the birds (of bread, and semi-stale at that). I had found several loaves that were so old they were beginning to get moist in the bag, but not quite in the green stage of decomposition. A mini-loaf of Italian bread that could break plexiglass lurked behind the jelly, a sure place to get lost in the refrigerator. It was the good, bakery kind--loaded with steamed whole cloves of garlic.

Later on, while watching the common birds--robins, cardinals, blue jays and grackles--fight over the scraps, we learned some things about bird behavior. Blue jays and robins seem to despise one another, pecking and kicking at eachother as they fly. The outgoing grackles swoop down in the interim to get what they can salvage, taking advantage of the animosity between the others.

Garlic bread is not a favorite for anyone out here in the backyard. The truly brave souls are the grackles, oftentimes seen hovering around people-places waiting for scraps to fall, where they unapologetically snatch them up. It is only the grackles who even attempt to peck at the first chunk (it was too hard to break into pieces, so I hope that rain will fall to make it a bit more palatable). Upon finding this first bite unsatisfactory, they move on to the larger loaf lying in the tall crabgrass nearby. One sample of that, and up they fly. This same scenario repeats itself with scores of birds. Several of them pause before tasting and tilt their little heads sideways, kind-of like my dog does when I'm making howling noises (or singing. I wouldn't lie about such a thing, as Nashville is thematically the wrong place for me to be due to this fact).

I wonder if some of those same birds have come back to try again, given that there are so many flying in and out of the area, in hopes to find something different or better. I imagine that tomorrow morning the garlic loaves will be lying there still intact and loaded with ants, the crabgrass obscuring them just a little more.

Illinois in late May

"Referee"

St. Anne road with symmetry

"Waves"

Eastward storm

The fate of banana trees in Illinois

Tourist Franklin vs. My Franklin

Williamson County is the 16th richest county in the country, and was ranked the "10th Best Place to Get Ahead," so says a recent issue of Forbes magazine.

Now, don't get me wrong--I absolutely love it here. I'm not sure that I could live anywhere else in Tennessee. But I think they mean that it is easier to get ahead here if you are already rich.

If you take a closer look, you will notice that not everyone in Williamson County is wealthy or even middle class, despite what many of the citi-data.com comments imply. Franklin IS Ms. Economic Development By Way of Tourism U.S.A. with the conservative values attached, and the powers-that-be would lead one to believe that we are a quaint little town, despite the rapid sprawl that is occurring. But with her antebellum mansions, homogenous tract homes, and overwhelmingly non-white "inner-city," all living in harmony with an aging historical downtown area where some residents have maintained their homes and neighborhoods through several generations, Franklin has something for all social classes, especially social climbers.

Is it possible to live in this county and still take a summer vacation outside of working in the garage? Yes, as long as you stay in the front yard.

If you are a tourist, you simply can't miss the historical downtown that Franklin has to offer. Several blocks of eclectic shops, bakeries, clothiers, and music venues will keep you occupied for a leisurely afternoon and evening. The Factory continues the milieu. This is no run-of-the-mill mall. Although the rent is high, this is where independent shopkeepers come to make a name for themselves. On Saturday morning, a farmer's market takes place in the parking lot, where you can find fresh local milk, honey, baked goods, meat and eggs, seasonal fruits and vegetables, handmade soap, and knit-with-size-20-needles scarves.

If you live here, or just moved here and have already visited downtown, your survival mode must now kick in. Sure, those shops with the cute little handmade sundresses that sell for $80 are fun to browse. But when you have a daughter who thinks it's funny to eat chocolate and then passively let the ensuing brown drool gush forth onto her shirt, secondhand doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

So, on that note, I am going to make this entry a "living blog," as opposed to the ones I've written that are completely impertinent at this point in my life, or that I am trying to ignore but don't have the heart to delete. This means that I will add restaurants and stores to the running list as I visit them. Since I am just starting this, I really don't have any detailed notes to share, but I promise to be more diligent in the future.


COZYMEL'S: I dined at this Mexican restaurant for my St. Patrick's Day birthday because the local Irish pubs were standing room only. Beware the question "Would you like some cheese with your nachos?". Seemingly friendly and harmless, responding positively to this inquiry will result in the addition of $4.00 onto your bill. The wait staff were courteous, considering that we changed tables 3 times due to my preference for a booth, then a view, then not having my back to the dining room. And I hadn't even started drinking yet. Hey, it was my birthday. Speaking of drinking, if you are undecided about which margarita to choose, they offer a sampler of 5 different flavors. It looks like a candelabra for booze, but having it in front of me made me feel sort-of important. It's the little things that matter, after all.

ALDI: There was initially a backlash to the recent construction of the new Aldi. Opponents felt that it would bring down the value of the houses in the area. My take on that is if you are spending less money for food, you have more money to put into beautifying your home, which ultimately increases the value of the neighborhood. Beware the ground beef roll, however, although I haven't sampled it in years. Perhaps they decided to remove those little hard things from the meat.

BIG LOTS: The diamond in the rough of many a fledgling strip mall. I found a roll of wallpaper to use as shelf paper on my kitchen cabinets for $3.00. Why am I mentioning this in a Franklin post? Well, simply to show you that cheap chain stores are to be had. Hey, we also have a KMart, Walmart, Target, and Dollar Tree, and several thrift stores that donate to charity.

Please, if any of my loyal readers (there may be 2, one of which is my husband whom I force to listen to me read the entries to him) have any tips for saving money in Franklin, or know of some good deals, feel free to post them in the comment section. I will put them on the front page if they are worthwhile (pun intended).

Geography Lesson

El Paso is the toejam of the Rockies.

Kankakee is the armpit of Illinois.

Franklin is the jeweled navel of Tennessee.

The Diaper Wars

To those of you with young children, you might hope that this blog entry will discuss the pros and cons of various diaper brands. To those of you without children, you might think that I am about to chronicle the dastardly deeds of disposable diaper companies vying to outcompete one another.

But the subject is far more complicated. Actually, it is almost like working magic.

How to Keep a Diaper on a Toddler Who Doesn't Want to Wear One

Now maybe I should consider this dilemma in a positive light. Could this be a sign that the days of potty training are drawing nigh? Should I join the "non-diaper" movement, since the girl is obviously more comfortable going commando? I ask myself these questions on a frequent basis. However, it's more likely that Claire is following in the lofty footsteps of her older brother, and father as well, who seem to be obsessed with malodorous bodily functions.

I speak of that wonderful time of day (if you are lucky) and at night when you say to yourself: "This child is cranky. Perhaps I should put her to bed." The crankiness is a means to an end--quiet "me" time, but putting a baby down for sleep, and "sleep," are not always synonymous.

Claire takes a peculiar interest in her diaper during these moments of what is supposed to be gathering stillness. Even though the door is closed, I can hear the velcro tabs slowly pull free. Then a rhythmic "uh" sound, as she awaits her mother's entrance and pretends to know not what has occurred. She lays under her blanket, the usually dry diaper crumpled and tossed in the corner of the crib, socks balled up neatly underneath, pants strewn amongst the stuffed animals. Once, out of kind consideration, Claire neatly hung her jeans over the crib rail as if to keep them unwrinkled for later use. At times I would look at the clock and realize that it had been a half hour since I laid her down, still hearing her talk to herself, and wonder what on earth she was doing in there. Deep in my mind I knew that the diaper was off, but I was in a state of denial about the truth. Sure enough, the clothes were in their usual positions, and the sheets, and sometimes the blanket, the floor, and the spare box of diapers beneath the crib were wet.

"Uh uh," she muttered.

"Sweetie, your diaper needs to stay on."

"Uh."

I won't lie and say that I am the most patient mother, but this mysterious occurrence went on for several months without any physical intervention. I finally surmised that no matter how many times she smiles sweetly and nods her head in agreement, logic and reasoning do not work with a 22-month-old.

"We should duct tape the diaper on," my husband jokingly suggested.

"That's a little extreme, don't you think?" I countered.

But I kept the idea in the back of my mind, through several more bed strippings and washings.

Then came the final straw--a diaper removed twice in one nap session and two successive linen changes. I was beside myself. How was this kid ever going to sleep if all she did was pee in her bed? I thought of the duct tape idea, but I was afraid that I'd be unable to remove it without traumatizing the baby. Anyways, putting something silver on top of the diaper would only give her more reason to stay up and play with it.

I searched the house for something, anything, to use. I remembered those large yellow duck pins that secured cloth diapers on my first baby, but they were currently living in a storage space 45 minutes away. Plastic pants? Super glue?

Then suddenly, there it was--the solution to my dilemma. Scotch 2-inch-wide clear packaging tape. I tested it out, wrapping the tape around the tabs and supporting it with another piece across the back of the diaper. It held, and she fell asleep.

However, the child is clever. Later in the week, with the bedroom door closed, I once again heard the sounds of diaper removal, only this time a louder version. I had only placed one piece across the front in a conservation effort, and she managed to pull it off.

But in the past few weeks our relationship has evolved. While Claire still likes to sleep as her father did in the early days of our relationship, she understands the necessity behind diaper use at bedtime. I can say this with certainty because it is her routine to search for the tape and point to the tabs. When I ask "Should I put the tape on?" she lets out an agreeable "Uh."

While this new innovation may not win the "Parenting Invention of the Year" award, it could still garner some applause from the environmentalist movement for saving water from extra laundry loads. I know, disposable diapers take a million years or so to decompose. But Al Gore is driving a hybrid SUV that gets something like 22 m.p.g., and he won a Nobel Peace Prize.

Bluegrass Jam at the Station Inn

A local college student approaches the circle of musicians, and for a long second lifts his eyes to the crowd with a look of both apprehension and excitement. His banjo hangs loosely from the strap around his neck. He pulls it in close to his body as he makes his way to an open chair.

There is another banjo player directly across from him, a man with smoked spectacles who has stopped playing to take a sip of soda with the help of the woman who sits by his side. The newcomer introduces himself. There is no need--his presence has already been announced as he tunes his instrument.

Shouting over a high-powered vocalist, the fellow banjo player is welcomed by the elder musician. His response is muted by dualing mandolins. The conversation ends, the cup is placed carefully on the floor, the college student with the Belmont sweatshirt begins plucking at the strings with fixed intent. There are only seven patrons in the bar. They are soon forgotten, becoming wallpaper to the music.

Next to the group the stage sits empty, with scattered microphones like decorations to fill the vacancy. It is only eight p.m., and even though the jam is not scheduled to begin until nine, the musicians play with full fervor. The youngest of the group fiddles behind the bassist, the dobro player sits with his back to the meager audience, an elderly man with a steel-string guitar is perched on a bar stool. The youngest comes forward with a suggestion for a song, not with a name, but with a verse and "do you know this?," and hums a line from the chorus. Instruments are adjusted, and the jam members stir up individual notes into another melody borne in the mountains.

These sounds--unrehearsed, raw, traditional bluegrass--are best sampled live on a Sunday night at the Station Inn. At the heart of this genre is unpretentiousness, humanity, clay and dirt. The daily life of the common man is what it celebrates.

Smoky Mountain January