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As it turned out, I didn't watch the Tennessee Florida game. Seriously. Not trying to play dumb......as has been the case for many years, my team got beat. I did check the score periodically....but here's how the day went....
I reconnected with my Uncle Graham and Aunt Glenda. I'm not talking about triber uncles. I'm talking about my real, flesh and blood uncle. He also studied at the University of Tennessee. He had been to a football game at Neyland Stadium 40 years ago...the first night game at the stadium. He lives in East Kentucky, and drove about four hours yesterday with his wife to revisit Knoxville. I met him at his favorite restaurant: the "Buddy's Barbecue" at the BP station off Emory Rd. You know those people with whom you can bounce from one subject to another....cover 100 items in five minutes...without getting the, "please let me finish my thought". Graham and I.....we're like peas and carrots. Our wives have the same name. We love to travel. We love politics. We like to talk about Grandpa Martin. We laugh and compare notes at all the wisdom imparted to us over the years by the Honorable Del Kerwyn Martin. We use random movie scenes to complete our sentences. And my mom says I look more like Graham than my cousin Todd.
God is good. I actually took Graham and Glenda to the game, dropped them off in front of Hodges Library....basically just a downhill stroll from there to Gate 21. Then I drove back home. On the way home, I actually gave a ride to two sophomores of the female persuasion from Volunteer Boulevard to their sorority house. They smelled of something other than Mountain Dew, but they actually knew Brazil was a country, not the town in Indiana. Upon arriving back at our street, I reported my good deed to my wife who, as usual, displayed absolute indifference to my civic gesture. Anyways, I made the necessary appearance at our neighbor's house where the Tennessee Florida game was on the big screen in the living room, all of our kids were in the backyard (trampoline, playground, discussions of how to manipulate parents into buying rated M games). Instead of watching the game, I spoke with the mother of one of our neighbors who is a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution.....just like my grandmother Mattie Elizabeth Martin. We had the best conversation about the future of this country, the campaign at Vicksburg, Brett Favre (google is our friend), and why this country is still worth fighting for (but we did not end sentences with prepositions). Then I drove back to the UT campus, found a parking spot near the UT Law School (equal justice under the law, if you can afford an attorney), then walked to Copper Cellar (that's where my uncle Kerwyn would take me after the games when I was an undergraduate, before his divorce money ran out) and asked for a table for three. I was told it would be an hour. I sat outside sniffing the various cigarette flavors, then, after 45 minutes went back inside and discovered it would still be an hour for our table. I handed back the pager and walked back to the car. The car was on the same street as the stadium. But I didn't even turn on the radio. I checked the scores a few times on the phone, but, for the most part, I just sat there and rested.....little bit of country, little bit of soft rock. I drank water. God is really helping me to drink water......I feel so much better. Dr. Seuss, keep up the good work.
Anyways, Graham and Glenda had a good time at the game....I drove them back to Dad and Mom's house where their car was parked and they drove back to Kentucky, and I drove back to Karns. No, I didn't offer rides to anymore students. Just drove home, drank some green tea, ate a yogurt and one-fourth of a slice of cold pizza from Friday, then found a bed in the bonus room (my princess and my youngest padawan were already in their mother's bed, either sleeping or doing a great job of staying very silent).
I'm up again...it's 5:18 a.m. on the East Coast. I think I'll go to church today. I think I'll sing the in the choir, although I'm a bit nervous because there is one song where we have to sway back and forth. White men can't jump. This Cherokee ain't got no rhythm.
To Dr. Seuss and our two faithful female posters, and to the many others who post here, and to the hundreds/thousands of readers, and to the millions who have yet to read this website: have a great Sunday, and be listening for the sound of a trumpet.
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