Mellowed Out

It’s already Thursday. Where has the week gone. Monday came after a “chilled” weekend. Friday night I met Nancy at Mellow Mushroom in downtown Franklin for a white pizza and a spinach salad (with hot freshly-sizzled bacon!), and then we sat on a bench in front of the old courthouse on the Square and caught up with all our writing projects. It was a cool fall evening and the Autumn banners on the lightposts added color to the bricked sidewalk. Downtown was alive with people moving about, talking, laughing. A guitarist named Daniel sat with his guitar five feet behind us and sang songs like Amazing Grace, Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone, and Leavin’ on a Jet Plane. Nancy and I tried to sing along and keep our minds on our conversation at the same time. We talked of our writing of true stories about our ancestors — and writing honest to include the harsh details of the times in which we grew up. Nancy was a small child during WWII and remembers when her father was off at sea as part of the fighting effort. I am a baby boomer, born several years after the war ended and my coming of age aligned with the struggles of the Sixties.

Saturday morning I drove into Nashville for a full-body massage. It was a birthday gift from my sons, and it was a first for me. I had visions of getting my upper back worked on for a whole hour, but this included everything down to the fingers and toes. And face. Why did I put make-up on? She smoothed oil onto my cheeks and massaged it in. I was so mellow that I got lost driving home. Missed Franklin Road, missed Granny White Pike. I spent the rest of the day drinking water and resting and moving slowly, a smile across my face.

Wednesday brought rain — much needed rain to Middle Tennessee. Looking out the glass wall of my third-floor office building at the hills of Brentwood, I saw fall taking shape. Clouds hung low and mist covered the patchwork of color as the trees begin their annual process of going from green to yellow and orange. It’s my favorite time of year, but it is bittersweet this year, as the world of coolness and the lulling of yellow drifting leaves makes me think of curling up close to someone and drinking apple cider or taking a long romantic drive through the countryside. But that won’t be happening.

So it’s onward and forward to the Southern Festival of Books. You know October has sunken in good when downtown Nashville comes alive with hundreds of authors and thousands of books in Legislative Plaza. I’ll be there in Booth #2. Stop by!

I suspect I’ll be going from mellowed out to fired up. I hope so.


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