I'm a Wanderer: Getting My Bearings in A New Town
I was born on December 30, 1959. The second-to-last day of the year and the decade. In a joke I like to repeat as often as I can, I tell Peter - born so much later, in 1963 - that the 50’s were “different times”. It was more conservative, musically and politically. We were still getting used to post-WW II life. Haha, he says without a trace of laughter in his voice, you were only two days old when the 60’s arrived. Well (my new favorite word for starting sentences - it gives me time to come up with what is to follow), still, you just had to be alive then to know what I mean.
Here I am in the 60’s at sleep-away camp. That’s me, second from the left, with my best camp friend, Pearl. I still feel like this nine-year-old, most days. I wish I knew where Pearl is and what she’s doing. Is she still the fastest one around at Capture the Flag? Does she remember me as fondly as I remember her? And why is everyone in our bunk so disheveled looking? Was that just how everyone looked in the 60’s?
For those of you doing the math, that means that when December 30 came and went this year, I turned 60. For many people, that’s a milestone birthday. You suddenly feel old. You’re getting ready to retire, you may need a replacement joint or two, and you have a lot more life to look back on, and less to look forward to. I may be fooling myself - and I’m writing this paragraph on my birthday, so I may also be feeling a little more upbeat - but I don’t feel so different. It’s only the end of another decade of life.
I’ll try to forget the recent slap-me-into-reality words of my new opthamologist; he said my eyes were doing just fine, other than some “age-related cataracts.” That brought the upbeat mood crashing down rather quickly. But looking on the bright side, now I can officially say, “Boy, my 50’s were amazing!”.
I celebrated my first bday in Nashville at the delicious and stylish restaurant Lyra. Apologies for taking the photo post-feast. Missing from the photo are baba ganoush, fattoush salad, and other food that was as delicious as it was fun to pronounce. Our Amsterdam friends Darlene and Rob, who now call N.J. home, drove down to spend a few days with us. Making those kind of dear friendships in my 50’s was an unexpected but deeply-appreciated gift of living abroad. It’s not easy to make new friends when you are old. But it’s sure worth the effort it takes.
What was so amazing about my 50’s, you ask? Well …. (See how well that little sentence starter works for me? Feel free to try it on for size as you pontificate/say wise words in 2020). For one, there was the chance to live in Amsterdam for five years. The chance to travel to so many places. The chance to meet people from all over the world. The chance - through this blog - to reconnect to so many voices from my past.
And a word about longtime friends. They are different from the friends you meet later in life. Longtime friends who knew us way-back-when still see us as our younger selves, the selves they first knew. It’s nice to seem young in at least someone’s eyes. Their eyes have built in nostalgia lenses for the younger self you used to be. Parents have those same lenses. That’s why they look at their middle-aged children and still see the little boy or girl from long ago. It’s nice to shave the years away by seeing friends who knew you when you did things like stay out until 4 a.m. and arrive home when your dad was waking up to practice the cello.
It just so happens both of these friends have had their own brushes with medical disaster. In fact, Tom is packing the exact same internal heart-monitoring device Peter has. Now what are the chances of that? It almost seemed as if some divine intervention was going on, to re-connect me with someone who could connect to Peter over their respective heart troubles.
Back to the task of reflecting on the new decade. Not everything about the past one was wonderful, of course. My dad died 10 years ago, and left us with both memories and so many milestones without him. Along the decade, there were other deaths of family and friends, illnesses and surgeries, and difficult diagnoses. In 2019 alone, Rachel had lung surgery. We said goodbye to Casey. We ended 2019 with the mother of all near-misses, Peter’s long illness and hospital stay. Let’s just say we were not one bit sorry to say goodbye to 2019.
But all in all, my 50’s were good to me. Now it’s time to start a new decade. The best part of turning 60 is the chance to add a new joke to my limited repertoire, with many of my sentences in the budding days of 2020 starting with, “Now that I’m in my 60’s…”. What does any of this have to do with Nashville, you ask? Not much, I have to admit. But being “of a certain age” does make one feel like even more of an outsider in a young city like Nashville. So I’m both new and old to Nashville. Hence the new title of the blog.
What has this old lady learned so far about Nashville, you ask? I notice they love their biscuits. What’s not to love about a town that holds the biscuit in such high esteem? At Stay Golden, a coffee spot in a neighborhood called Berry Hill, I feasted on this beauty. I was the sole senior in a sea of un- or under- or self-employed young people. My waiter treated me like a rare animal at the zoo, coming over frequently to find out my story, and how I ended up in Nashville.
Is this the sort of activity at the local Community Center that’s in my Nashville future?
On my travels around town, I always bring a book and something to write with. Sometimes those are just props sharing a table with me. Instead of reading or writing, I just spend my time eavesdropping. It’s the best way for a newcomer to find out more about her new digs. I’m like Sting: “Every breath you take, every move you make/Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you. Every single day and every word you say. Every game you play, every night you stay, I'll be watching you.” You might want to warn anyone you know who lives in Nashville that their lives are fair game when I’m in the same room.
When we first moved to Amsterdam, I was struck by the power of the feeling of being able to go anywhere and not be recognized. No one, other than Peter, knew who I was. Before moving to Amsterdam, I lived and worked in the same small town. That meant I couldn’t go anywhere without hearing shouts of, “Ms. Vine!” from current or former students or parents. I found the anonymity of Amsterdam to be a refreshing change, at least at first. Then I met people and wasn’t so anonymous anymore. Now in Nashville, I have that same freedom to fade into the background wherever I go. I’m enjoying it for now.
It’s not quite Vondelpark, but Centennial Park scratches my itch for a nice place to run and also watch the duck families. I remember writing early on in Amsterdam about how many of my expat friends were obsessed with watching the baby ducks in the park. This is what happens to empty-nesters when your kids live far away. You look at ducklings fondly and pretend they are your kids. And hope no one notices you doing this.
I recently found a “cycle studio” near our house. For those of you who have better things to do with your time than follow trends, indoor cycling is really big these days. I’m almost always the only old person in a sea of twenty-somethings in class. The instructors - who all have 90’s names like Ali, Stacie, and Annie - treat me like a strange, shiny, antique object to admire. The other day, Ali - or whichever one has tattoos like sleeves covering her arms - rushed up to hug me when I came in. And she actually called me a “badass” during class, an honor I’ll probably brag about often, or forever. These kind of micro-interactions you have with almost-strangers are really important when you’re new to a place and know scarcely no one. On the other hand, to the youngsters in class, I might as well be invisible. Or are they secretly jealous? “They smile in your face, but all the time they want to take your place.” I doubt it.
Walking and running are the best ways to get to know a new place. On my wanderings, I see a Nashville filled with construction cranes slapping up spanking new construction known as “tall skinnies” all over town. We live in one of those tall skinnies, I think. It’s not that tall or skinny, but it’s the closest I have ever come to fitting the “tall skinny” description. It will have to do.
Our tall skinny is the second from the right. As of this writing, we have no shades on the window. Our lives are an open book, just like in Amsterdam, where so many people live without window-dressings. It’s not that we are trying to retain some parts of our Dutch lifestyle. It’s just that the shades we ordered haven’t arrived yet. I’m sure our neighbors are very confused about these crazy Americans who lived in Amsterdam who don’t cover up. Sorry.
We are enjoying the new experience of living in a new-construction house. We’re also enjoying our first house with a view. I see why people covet them. There is something so mesmerizing about looking down on the world. In our case, it’s the lights of the city. It may not be an ocean or the mountains, but it’s a beautiful view nonetheless. I think being 60 is like having an age with a view. There you are perched up on it, with the ability to look back on your life. You have a perspective, a vantage point you didn’t have when you were younger. You see what’s important from that distance. I realize I’m not quite at that stage when the true downsides of getting old - the aches and pains and the growing lists of things you can’t manage anymore - have taken over. Let me enjoy my age with a view for now.
Not all of Nashville is new and skinny. I like to run in some of the established neighborhoods with houses that have more Southern charm than the new construction. On one of those outings I saw the poster, below, informing me, “A person is killed walking in Nashville every 16 days.” Not exactly what you want to see as you traipse around the city. This is a car-centric place for sure. I wish there were more sidewalks and more dedicated, safer bike lanes. I also miss the easy access to public transportation we had in Amsterdam and in most of Europe.
I saw this cyclist when I was out for a run on Thanksgiving and thought, so there are cyclists here! Then I realized it was Ben.
As I used to say to my students, the Complaint Department is now closed. Instead of focusing on what Nashville is lacking, from now on I’ll focus on the biscuits instead.
I’ll admit to being worried before our move about living in gun-toting Red-voting country. I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find - at least in our little slice of Nashville - many signs supporting both immigrants and the patron saint-senior, beloved-by-millennials: Bernie. I’ve reached the stage where my doctors are all younger than I am. Amazing that the current presidential race is still populated by so many seniors. It’s enough to make me feel so young, even if I am in my 60’s.
Bernie got more banner space than Santa in this backyard.
I’m going to have to up my country music game now that we live in Nashville. I didn’t know until recently, for example, that there is such a thing as country hip-hop. Lil Nas X has been nominated for a few Grammys and is shaking up the traditional country-western world. This young man must really know what it feels like to be an outsider. I’m going to take inspiration from his words: “I'm gonna ride 'til I can't no more.” Now that I’m in my 60’s….
We went “downtown” to hear music when Rachel was here with a friend. At 3 in the afternoon. The music joints were hopping even at that hour. And nothing says, “I’m ready to party” like my thick Irish wool sweater, does it?
What would I do if I didn’t drink coffee? It checks oh so many boxes for me. Among those are: 1. It gives me the excuse to get up and out and explore; 2. It gives me the chance to eavesdrop and 3. It tastes so darn good. In our 3+ months here, I have visited the following coffee joints: Dose, 8th & Roast, Headquarters, Three Brothers, Humphreys Street Coffee Company, Stay Golden, District Coffee, Revelator, The Frothy Monkey, The Well Coffeehouse, Crema, Bongo Java, Falcon Coffee Bar, Sump, and Steadfast. I apologize for that never-ending list. I started off adding just a few, and ended up putting every single place I’ve visited on the list. Checking out the coffee scene in Nashville is a full time job. Is there such a job? Anyone need a coffee concierge to help you find good coffee when you come to Nashville? If so, I’m definitely your gal. I just started taking a class at Vanderbilt, so I may have less time for coffee as time goes forward. Something tells me I’ll make the time.
If you sometimes need a little something to go with your coffee, Nashville has a lot to offer in the donut department, too. A prime spot, Five Daughters Bakery, opened a branch next to the indoor cycling studio I go to near our house. I discovered if you joke enough times about how a donut should appear on your bike on your birthday, it just might happen. These babies will quickly undo any positive effects from your workout, and are well-worth it.
I’m especially drawn to Humphreys Street Coffee, which gives 100% of its profits to programs to help students in the community.
Quite a few of the coffee shops here have a social enterprise component. That makes me feel better about spending money on coffee. It might as well go to a good cause. And this gives me the chance to play this old chestnut: “I'm gonna drink a lot of coffee, spend a little cash.” It’s from the early 60’s, but it reminds me of the songs we listened to in the late 50’s.
You know me well enough by now to know it’s not all about music and coffee. A gal has got to eat. We’ve done some restaurant exploring, and we continue to be amazed and delighted by the good food and the darn friendly service here. We enter a restaurant, and poof, like magic, menus appear. And shortly after that, drinks. And then, hallelujah, food! And smiles abound. My Amsterdam readers know what a nice change of pace this reliable sequence of events truly is. It’s Southern heaven. In addition to getting reacquainted with friendly service, I’m working on some other getting-used-to’s. Almost everyone refers to me as “Ma’am”. As in, “Can I have a biscuit instead of toast with my eggs?” “Yes, Ma’am.” And at the grocery store, I’m getting used to the person not just bagging my groceries, but also offering to take them out to my car. And putting them in the back for me. I’m not giving up my shot at enjoying every minute of this Southern hospitality.
“Every burden, every disadvantage
I have learned to manage, I don't have a gun to brandish
I walk these streets famished.”
Before we move on, just a word about Hamilton. The show came to town in December, which makes me happy even if I don’t have a ticket yet. It signifies that we are going to have access to good theater, in addition to music. There are so many Hamilton lines that speak to me, none more than this one from the song My Shot: “I’m laughing in the face of casualties of sorrow. For the first time I’m thinking past tomorrow.” After this summer, I truly understand the phrase, “casualties of sorrow”. I also understand the joy of being able to think past tomorrow, after the casualties subside.
Peter has also enjoyed reconnecting to longtime friends. Why does it often take a catastrophe to remind us to get off our duffs and see the people we love? You’ll have to ask Peter’s college friend Bob (see photo below) for confirmation about the meal we had together at Monell’s when he visited. They have a no-cell-phones-at-the-table policy. Bob could tell you our table was groaning with platters of fried chicken, pot roast, catfish, biscuits, corn bread, mashed potatoes, green beans, and more. Much more. You eat at communal tables and pass the food, just like at Thanksgiving. Their motto is “Enter as stranger. Leave as friends.” I guess I’ll have to go back someday soon and make some more friends there.
I love seeing so many murals around town. And have I mentioned how nice it is to see so much of the sun during the winter?
I’m putting this song in here just because I wanted to hear it. “You’ll be surprised at what you might find.”
The smiles say it all. Just so wonderful for Peter’s dad to see Peter up and at ‘em in Nashville. We took a walk on the pedestrian bridge downtown that takes you over the Cumberland River. It’s a really pleasant walk, but you have to watch out for the electric scooters. We thought we left tourists on wheels behind when we left Amsterdam, but they are breeding like bedbugs in a used mattress in Nashville.
This song - with its brief mention of “leaving out of Nashville, Tennessee” represents all I really knew about the town when I was a teenager. I guess it was more of a place to get out of, not move into in those days.
I recently came across an essay the writer Anne Lamott wrote when she turned 61. On that one-year-past-milestone birthday she decided to write down all the things she now knows are important. I loved her list, and especially one item that didn’t even make the actual list. Lamont wrote, “I wish I had shoe-horned in what E.L. Doctorow said about writing: ‘It's like driving at night with the headlights on. You can only see a little ways ahead of you, but you can make the whole journey that way.’” Well…now that I’m in my 60’s, here’s to driving at night with the headlights on, in my journeys in Nashville, and in life.
Saw this at the Eric Carle exhibit at the Frist Museum here. We may not have as many museums here as we did in Amsterdam, but this one is a keeper.
