The Day After: Loony

A beautiful day in Hickman County, where Martha and I painted Sharon's horses (literally, as it happened: one nipped at my cadmium orange and proceeded to spread it over one leg, lips, and side--our scrubbing turned it a sickly pink), and had the perfect Thanksgiving dinner and Lick Creek walk.

We just knew that the ThanksgivingAtTheBeach crowd was truly bored: nothing to do but walk and read. Called to confirm and crow a little in our superiority, and heard this:

Here's DiAnne's pic of the little loon that Rachel and a couple of other heroic beach-walkers rescued from illegal gillnets on Sunset Beach yesterday. Nipped Tom, but practically purred for Rachel, I hear, and wanted to follow her around.

Loony found a nurturing home with a Brunswick County bird rescuer, who thinks the prognosis for eventual return to the wild is good.

If THAT hadn't happened, they would have been bored. Without me. Really.

Thanksgiving

I've been abandoned for Thanksgiving-- Tom, Rachel and friends heading out for a coastal vacation, while I tend to the home front.

Dinner the other night with daughter and three of her farm friends--gorgeous food, with brilliant raw beet salad, greens, and the cutest little carrots. A fine time, though I am aware that the discourse alters a bit with Mom at the table. Too bad, can't help it, a function of experience, space and time, it'll happen to you too, just wait.

Baked a honey cake to take out to Mike and Sharon's Hickman County farm tomorrow. We always lay bets on how many dogs will be there (I'm guessing ten right now), whether BridgerTheUgliestDogInTheWorld will be as curmudgeonly as ever, and whether TeddyTheBestHorse will be in top form. The (attack) geese have been retired, but the peacocks are still around.

Current political debate is wearing us all down. We really do need a day of pure get-together-and-enjoy, bad jokes and old stories, and tomorrow will be it. Hello to the farflung fam, love to all (take that, Newt!). Hope to return, rejuvenated, waving our Sheila B. flag: Quit Your Meanness!

Home-grown.

A couple of weeks ago I was dropping off my entries for the Tennessee Art League juried show (third prize in oils, by the way), and an Australian couple came in. Chat led to a long discussion of what to do in Nashville, and Sarah, the receptionist, and I wound up printing up a long list: gotta go to the Station inn, have to see Hatch Show Print, the Parthenon is really a bit bizarre but a must-see, eat at Margot's, oh, yes drop by Meg's at ARt and Invention next door. The Farmer's Market. The library for a walk-through. Belle Meade Mansion for its luxurious public rooms and small family quarters. The Bluebird if you can get a seat.

Eventually I told them a bit about the farm, and pulled up the farm square dance video on YouTube. At this point, I realized I could possibly be playing into the Nashville = HeeHaw (not that there's anything wrong with that!) stereotypes, and--yes, salvaged the whole scene with a biting critique of postmodern deconstructionism.

Not really. But I did get to thinking that, while we talk a lot about eating local, what we all are really doing is moving towards eating local, art-ing local, entertaining local, dancing local. Some of us are reading local and writing local and banking local, seeing our own homegrown Nutcracker with the kids, and (we hope) buying books at Parnassus, Nashville's new local bookstore. Although our electronic world allows us farflung friendships, we are friending local as well.

And supporting our own local Occupy--TeClaw and the Hogslop String Band are hosting a square dance tonight at 9! Be there--the People's Plaza/War Memorial Plaza/Legislative Plaza. Whatever you call it, it's ours.

Aussies welcome. State troopers, too, if they want to dance.