Our first night in Nashville is the stuff nightmares are made of. Suffice to say it began with our delayed flight out of Newark, the rental car counter at the Nashville airport closing about five minutes before I got to it, being locked out of the apartment I had reserved and paid for, and got worse from there. By dawn Frank and I wanted out of this city enough to consider going back to the airport and catching the next flight. And then we decided to give the city another chance.
But let's go back a little further.
Our arrival in Boston went far more smoothly. We caught a cab, made it to the apartment, and made our reservation at Bistro du Midi on time. Our day of travel ended with a fabulous meal coupled with a glass of Kistler Chardonnay, a long talk about life with my sweet son, and a very long night's sleep.
The next day Frank and I went on a trolley tour of Boston. A good move. It allowed him to get his bearings and feel less intimidated by the city. We got off the trolley in Cambridge, and walked around Harvard and the surrounding area. We ate amazing seafood at a historic tavern, and got back on the trolley in time for him to check in at Berklee.
I could feel the tension seeping from his body as I left him at the dorm. It was one of those hard-to-let-go moments, however, knowing I had to. Shortly thereafter I met dear, dear friend Meredith for dinner on the North End. As I sit reflecting this morning, I am drinking coffee I bought at a pastry shop near where we had dinner. I wish I could make this pound of coffee last forever as the memories it evokes are sweet.
The next day I slept in (two days in a row, and yes, that is significant for me), and then started my own wandering adventure. I had planned differently, but ended up on the T on my way out to the JFK Library. Something beckoned I suppose as once again serendipity led me on a path I didn't intend to take, but ended up being the right one.
I found the JFK Library to be beautiful and interesting, but it was another exhibit that spoke to my heart. I wrote this Facebook post while waiting for the shuttle that would take me back to the T and into Boston about the Hemingway exhibit:
While I found the JFK Library interesting, my main reason for coming out here was this. The most comprehensive collection of his archives in the world. Self doubt, indecisivity [and creative license], fear of rejection, longing for approval, a need to write so overpowering it becomes as essential as breathing . . . part of every writer's DNA, whether Hemingway or Fitzgerald or Parker or Rowling or Roberts or . . . the lowly newbies. Divine reassurance seeing the struggle written in his own hand.Frank had called while on I was on the trip out to the library asking if we could meet for lunch. Sadly I told him I could not, but happy that I was back in the city in time to meet him for dinner. He didn't have a lot of time between his last class before dinner break and the studio recording session he was headed to, but we made the most of it with a fabulous dinner at the Summer Shack and a report about his day that filled my heart with joy. There is nothing quite like hearing excitement in your son's voice and seeing it on his face when he is doing something he is passionate about.
The next day was much of the same. I shopped on Newbury, Frank and I met for lunch and then again for dinner. I visited the Boston Library, and made a couple other "exciting" stops. Otherwise, I had a low key enjoyable day.
Sunday was a whirlwind of getting Frank checked out of Berklee, meeting Meredith and another dear friend, Elena, at our apartment, and then going out to Meredith's place in Weston. Four hours later, with still so much left to talk about, Frank and I were driven back into the city by Elena's son Kent. Prior to our departure though I was able to say a quick hello to her husband, who along with Elena, I hadn't seen since their wedding twenty-three years ago. I was also able to meet another of their sons Grant.
Meeting the children of dear friends, particularly when those children are close in age to your own brings a feeling of kindred spirit-ness. I suppose for the kids, it is much the same. If these people are important to my parents, they are important to me too, is the best way I can describe it. Frank knew that meeting my friends was significant. He knew that their interest in his life was authentic. When he answered their questions, he did it sincerely, speaking from his heart. It isn't often that we speak from our heart upon meeting people for the first time.
Kent graciously took us back into Boston, and then offered to Frank that he keep in touch if he ends up at Berklee. Warm heart for mom.
And then . . . Frank and I made our way to Fenway Park where we saw Paul McCartney in concert. We serendipitously (there's that word again) got great seats, and enjoyed the concert far more than either of us imagined we could. I cried maybe five or six times, which if you know me, is not a surprise.
We had most of the next day left to explore. Frank wanted to go back to Newbury to do his own shopping, and then we were off to the airport. I began this blog post with our first night in Nashville, so I'll skip that and write about day two.
It didn't go well. It went okay, but by the time we finished our tour of Belmont, our whole reason for being here, we weren't impressed. In a conversation before dinner, Frank and I agreed that Belmont probably wouldn't make the short list. The university was nice, but . . . we didn't like the location, so far we hadn't seen anything in Nashville that impressed us, and neither of us had the warm and fuzzys. Good thing we had another day here.
We went to dinner on night two at a BBQ place near Opryland. And then we went to the Grand Ole Opry. We were scheduled for a backstage tour, which we enjoyed so very much. We were onstage for the opening song, and afterwards a docent escorted us to our seats which displayed "Reserved for Heather Buchman," and Frank had one too, making us feel very important on a relative scale. I cried during the tour too, but not so much that anyone noticed, other than Frank because he has mom-tears radar, and little bit during the show, and in my world that means I enjoyed it very much.
Day three we slept in and then went out in search of breakfast. Serendipity stepped in and led us on a very long walk. We didn't intend to go for a very long walk, and according the online map, we weren't. But as we walked, the distance on the map never decreased. A mile-plus later (originally it was .3 miles), we found ourselves at Biscuit Love in the Gulch neighborhood of Nashville. There was a half hour wait. We wondered if it was worth it, but after the long walk, decided we were meant to stay. It was worth it. Every tenth of a mile, so worth it.
After breakfast we went out in search of the trolley tour stop. We'd bought tickets the day before, but wound up not having time to do it. The Gulch stop was outside a place called Two Hippies. When we walked in, not knowing if it was a restaurant or what, we instead stepped inside one of the coolest stores I've ever been in.
Frank got a mini-guitar, I got a really cool blouse, and we both bought a couple mementos. We walked around, chatted with the women working in the store, and soaked in all the positive vibes surrounding us . . . and they were. We just felt good, really good. That feeling stayed with us the rest of the day and night.
We took the tour around a time and a half, and saw the Nashville I wish we would've seen on day one. We discovered that Belmont University sits at the very top, perpendicular to Music Row. We didn't know that when we toured it. One of the tour guides was from Lockport. I couldn't find my ticket when we were getting on the trolley, but Frank had his. The guide said, "she looks honest. Is your mom honest?" I saw Lockport on his badge, and told him I was from East Aurora. He jumped up and said, "well give me a big hug then." It was sweet . . . and see . . . those good vibes stuck with us.
We ended our trolley tour at the Country Music Hall of Fame. No words really. Just more of that good stuff getting in front of us. I asked a woman working there where she would eat if she was only having dinner one night in Nashville. She suggested a place called the Farm House.
On our way back to the apartment to change for dinner, we stopped on Broadway and listened to live music. More good stuff. It was hard to pick a place to stop because on that part of Broadway, there is live music everywhere. Dinner proved worthy of the one dinner in Nashville question. And on our way back from dinner, we stopped again to listen to live music. We didn't have a lot of time to do so, not as much as we originally planned, because Frank is underage and had to be out of the venue, or any venue, by 9:00pm.
That brings me to this morning. I've been writing for more than an hour and now have to get myself ready to leave for the airport and our trip home.
Doug asked me last night when I called after our "better" day, if I had fallen in love with Nashville. A little, I told him. But more importantly, Frank got to see it from a different perspective, and is now considering it as a possible college destination.
It is hard to beat Berklee. To be immersed as he was in the very thing he wants to spend his life doing, is impossible to compete with. As rocky as our start in Nashville was, our entire time in Boston was magical. Every minute. He loves the city, and the people (who I have to admit were as gracious as they come), the school, the river, the restaurants, the nightlife . . . everything.
We'll see over the course of the next few months how this plays out. A small percentage of those who apply get into Berklee. He hopes beyond hope that he is one who makes it. If not, he has some other options . . . now Nashville and Belmont is one of them.
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