Friday, May 6, 2016

Three Hours and a Funeral

A wonderful Bell Buckle man I first met as "The Mayor" died in March. His family arranged a memorial mass at the Catholic cathedral in Nashville, where his father had played organ for years. My friend F and I drove up for the funeral, a lovely service in a beautiful building, with a fitting tribute paid by his eldest grandson, who read goodbye letters his cousins and he had written. Mr. Strobel was a congenial, smart, generous person, and his grandchildren were lucky to have known him, and to have known him so well.

Three hours later, F and I finally had lunch -- at her house in Bell Buckle. Why three hours? Because we stupidly decided to have hot chicken at Hattie B's, despite the long lunch-hour line and our previousl mixed experience. Some two hours later, after paying the parking twice (for a total of $25) and after paying another $20 for lunch, we left the restaurant, having never received our food. Why pay another ten bucks, we reasoned, to continue parking and waiting?

On the way home, an hour's drive, we made a promise: "If someone says 'hot chicken,' go somewhere else or shut the cluck up! Never ever ever again!"

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