The New Mr. and Mrs.

     This is the year of the nephew. Not one, not two, but three of my nephews are marrying this year. I shared with you the first of the family weddings here and now it's time to share yet another nephew's beautiful wedding. As an aside, here are some random facts for you: all three of my nephews graduated from Auburn; none are brothers; two are from my side of the family; one is from The Husband's side of the family. We've also covered some territory in the South with the wedding locales: one was in Florida, one will be in Georgia and one was here in Nashville. You know what they say about Southern women!!

      This precious couple met in the fall of their freshman year at Auburn and supposedly felt an immediate attraction to one another. She went home the next weekend and told her mother she might have met the man of her dreams. He, that very first night they met, kept dropping to his knee pantomiming a proposal whenever she walked out of the room. The only problem is that each was dating someone else. As you might well imagine things soon changed. Then at the beginning of her sophomore year, the Bride transferred from Auburn to Georgia, and it became a long distance dating relationship. The couple was reunited after college when she moved to Nashville to attend graduate school, and a few years later everything culminated in a lovely, joy-filled celebration this past weekend.

 The wedding took place at West End United Methodist Church, a beautiful historic Gothic church reminiscent of a cathedral. Five generations of The Husband's family have attended this church and two of our own children were married there. It's a glorious place for a wedding.

Here's another view of the sanctuary (from the Church's website)

These photos are taken immediately after the wedding in the side yard of the church.

The Bride wore an exquisite Monique Lhuillier lace gown with a family veil edged in Alencon lace.

She chose periwinkle blue gowns by LulaKate for her maids,

 and the flower girls were dressed in white organza with baby's breath crowns.

The reception which was held at The Loveless Barn, a perfect venue for a fabulous party!

Here they are!

 One more hug from the nieces before they are introduced as the new Mr. and Mrs.!

 First Dance!

The Bride and her Daddy

The Groom dancing with his Momma (my dear sister-in-law)

I am in love with her dress!

Colored glass vases of varying heights filled with delphinium, 

stock, roses, and hydrangeas were centered on each table

 In lieu of a traditional Bride's Book at the church, guests wrote notes on recipes in

the Newlywed Cookbook at the reception...a great idea!

The best wedding cake in Nashville is made by Leland Riggin at Dessert Designs.

It's always beautiful and delicious!

The Groom was totally surprised with his Auburn stadium cake, complete with LED lighting,

 designed especially for him by Billie Mochow Cakes.

 With so many alumni in the house, it was a huge hit!

Here you can get a better feeling for the venue. This is the side veranda, an open tented space.

As far as the food goes let's just say it was a sumptuous Southern feast!

Before the meal they passed fried green tomatoes, pimento cheese on toast, and bruschetta.

Dinner included a shrimp and grits bar, a hashbrown casserole and mashed potato bar, a bar featuring the famous Loveless biscuits accompanied by country ham, bacon, and assorted preserves,

 a glorified version of the green bean casserole, salad, sliced tomatoes, corn pudding,fried chicken, and beef tenderloin with rolls. For the first time in his life, The Husband did not make it through the entire buffet. 

You know the party is going well when the groomsmen decide to join the band!

   Thanks to the Atlanta Groove Factory for keeping the dance floor full all night long!

Here's to a wonderful evening with family and friends celebrating two very special people!

Much love to my nephew and my new niece!

The Hot Spots in Nashville

   It started back in the seventies when Ed Sconiers, the owner of the Tastee Freeze in DeFuniak Springs, Florida, discovered that I attended college in Nashville, Tennessee. You'd have thought he had won the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, the man was so excited he could hardly stand it. Ed was just sure that it would not be long before Porter and I had made one another's acquaintance and that it would just be a matter of time before I was on a first-name basis with Dolly. It never happened. But what did happen was that all kinds of people started calling me for tips on what to do when they came to visit Ed Sconier's Music City. At first it was just friends of Ed's. And then friends of friends. It's still happening to this day. And it's been a long time.

   And since I was raised by my mother to be helpful whenever possible, I did develop a list of places that are must sees. It has changed and adapted itself over the years. So I reckon it's high time I shared it with you, but be forewarned that there is no way that I am going to be able to cover my Hot Spots in one post, so I'll just have to have a go at it and then we'll see where we end up.

So, without further ado (in no particular order)

The Ryman Auditorium. 

It's known as the Mother Church of Country Music. It was where the Grand Ole Opry started before it moved out to what used to be Opryland (we Nashvillians have still not gotten over that one). In my book, this remains one of the best places to visit whether you are a tourist or not. Most musicians will talk about playing the Ryman with reverence and awe. There really is something magical about it. It's small for a concert hall, old, and it just reeks of history. There are no individual seats here, just row upon row of wooden pews, because after all, this really once was a church. And the honeyed tones of the wood absorb and reflect the sound so that the sound comes out all warm and honeyed as well. If you think I'm lying just read about The Ryman here. Sheryl Crow, Vince Gill, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Wynonna, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, BB King, Kings of Leon, Mumford and Sons, Black Keys, Emmylou Harris, Alison Kraus and the list goes on and on and on. You name 'em. They've played the Ryman. Except that it's The Ryman. Kind of like the Holy Grail. It's sacred ground in Music City.

 So go ahead and pay the money and take the tour. You can even stand on the stage and strum the guitar and act like you are singing and they will take your picture and then you have the pleasure of paying for that, as well. But while you are up there squint your eyes and gaze up at those stained glass windows, breathe deeply and imagine. Dream a little. It's what The Ryman does to you. 

It makes you believe. And that's what I love the most about it. 

The Schermerhorn Symphony Center.
   When you visit this lovely lady, you will know without a doubt that Nashville is a city well-deserving of the title Music City. We have come of age. Reputedly ranked among the top ten symphony and performing halls in the world, the Schermerhorn is a stellar newcomer to the stages of Music City and she is all the more enchanting to us because we nearly lost her in the Flood of 2010. The lady Schermerhorn is elegant, refined, and gloriously classical, but with thoughtful contemporary touches here and there. She's a Tennessee girl, after all, and the pride of Tennessee is woven throughout her architecture. If the Ryman is the "Mother," then the Schermerhorn is the newly crowned "Queen," a title she earned all on her own.

The lobby beckons and soars. It gives you a foretaste of the magic within.

  There is truly not a bad seat in the house. I do not lie when I tell you that the acoustics are so refined that if a sheet of music falls to the ground, everyone in the hall is aware of it. Go online to see if a tour is offered. You won't be sorry. As you feast your eyes on the beauty, look around for the Captain's Wheel, the Maxwell House coffee beans, the irises and the lyres, all symbols that call our fair city to mind. The Schermerhorn may belong to Nashville, but the world is her rightful stage. Just ask YoYo Ma.

The NashTrash Tour.

   Do you want to laugh so hard that you wet your pants? Then don't waste a moment more; go online NOW and get your reservation to the The NashTrash Tour. My friends took me for my birthday a few years back. I have never laughed so hard in my life. Now I send everybody I know. It's a once in a lifetime experience. Think Saturday Night Live meets Duck Dynasty. Now you are gettin' my drift. You will find yourself climbing aboard a Pink Party Bus (really a school bus painted Pepto Bismal pink) over at the Nashville Farmer's Market and riding around town for 90 minutes with two sisters who have certainly made a name for themselves. 

This photo of NashTrash Tours is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Oh, and don't forget to bring some adult beverages in a 6-pack size cooler. You won't need any food. The Jugg Sisters thoughtfully provide the Ritz Crackers and the Cheez Whiz in a can. This is one of those times you are just gonna have to go with it. Trust me. If Al Roker did it, you can too.

That's all for today, folks.

Best Southern Style Food in Music City

   I grew up in a part of the country that considered the meat-n-three a form of elevated cuisine. My tiny hometown prided itself on the fact that every single restaurant in town (including the Tastee Freeze) served up some form of the meat-n-three. However, at the time I did not fully appreciate the rich tradition and fine Southern cooking that these establishments provided.
  Part of the allure of going away to college in the early seventies was my desire to experience a more urban lifestyle. Therefore, I was attracted to a campus that was fully integrated into a burgeoning metropolitan area. Imagine my surprise when as a freshman my newly acquired college friends began raving about a place away from campus where you could get the most unbelievable food. After much conversation accompanied by a growing dislike of dorm food, we finally piled willy nilly into some commandeered automobiles and made the trek out to this much talked about place. I should have known something was up when we soon left the lights of the city and drove for what seemed an interminable length of time. As soon as we pulled in, I immediately recognized the restaurant. My first dining experience out in Nashville, Tennessee, and I am suddenly back in the land of the meat-n-three. Oh, the irony.
   Now all roads happily lead to home. In the intervening years I have enjoyed many a great meal at this establishment and enthusiastically recommend it to all comers to Nashville. It is an iconic eatery and serves some of the best Southern food on the planet. And what is this place? Why, it's none other than the nationally renown Loveless Restaurant.

And no, it's not a motel. It used to be. A long, long time ago. 

The restaurant folks just kept the sign because it was retro before retro was in.

   Don't be fooled by this seemingly small and unassuming exterior. Just roll down your car window when you pull into the parking lot and breathe deeply. The smell of all that fine Southern cooking is your first clue that it's gonna be good. Real good.
   Here are some things you need to know before you go: 1) Call ahead for a reservation, if possible or you are going to have a good long wait. 2) No matter what time you eat, you will not be eating dinner...you will be eating supper. It's a Southern thing. 3) Biscuits are served with butter, preserves, honey and sorghum. If you don't know what sorghum is, look it up. 4) Loveless actually serves moonshine (it's legal now), but the best thing to aid with your digestion is to finish off your meal with a little Whisper Creek Tennessee Sipping Cream. Finally, 5) Forget the diet and go ahead and order the fried chicken. If you don't, you are gonna need to have your head examined. Immediately. It's also probably some kind of sin.

This photo of Loveless Cafe is courtesy of TripAdvisor

 My family always eats family style because that's the only way to go in my book. I am really not a fried chicken aficionado so I spend most of my meal savoring the unbelievable biscuits slathered with butter and peach preserves. I also eat my fill of the sides.

This photo of Loveless Cafe is courtesy of TripAdvisor

My friend Carol Fay was the famous Biscuit Lady of Loveless. We have a family connection with her that runs pretty deep. She helped me raise my children and keep my house. I just didn't know then that she was gonna be so famous or I would have gotten her to teach me how to make those biscuits.

This photo of Loveless Cafe is courtesy of TripAdvisor

This is the wall of fame. Everybody who is anybody has eaten at Loveless', and chances are pretty good that you are sitting next to someone who is famous. But in Nashville, we don't act like we recognize them because a lot of the time we don't. So we pretty much leave everybody alone. 

Even if it's Brad Paisley and his beautiful wife and their cute two little boys.

This photo of Loveless Cafe is courtesy of TripAdvisor

So if you want an authentic version of Southern cooking that hasn't changed much over
the past sixty years you need to pay Loveless' a visit.
As I said before, it's some of the best Southern food on the planet.
Can I get an Amen?!

A Native's Guide to Visiting Nashville

     My aunt and her book club are planning a visit to Nashville this fall to coincide with the Southern Book Festival. Turns out that in addition to being book-a-holics, these lovely ladies have also become addicted to the television series, Nashville, that showcases much about our lovely city. Thus, when my aunt called me to tell me about their impending visit, she told me that number one destination on their list was the vaunted Bluebird Cafe. The ladies learned all about the Bluebird from the TV series. I hate to tell them that Scarlett really doesn't work there, but surely they are smart enough to tell fact from fiction (even though you can never be sure which is which in the music business...) Deep down I chuckled at their request. Ever since the series debuted, the lines around the Bluebird have grown longer and longer. Part of me is proud that this little gem tucked far and away from the touristy honky-tonks down on lower Broad is garnering an extended national reputation, but the other part of me is downright sad. I don't want the Bluebird to get any harder to get into than it already is, but I guess that's the price of burgeoning fame.

   I thought I might pass along some of my recommendations for any other folks out there who might be thinking about visiting Music City in the near future.

Part One:  Accommodations in Downtown Nashville
    There are lots of options in the downtown area for folks who want to make this their base of operation. These are a few of my recommendations.
1. The most luxurious history-laden hotel in the city is The Hermitage Hotel (not to be confused with The Hermitage, the home of Andrew Jackson.) This is a gem of a hotel that sparkles with its restored beauty, but be forewarned that this accommodation will definitely set you back some serious bucks. There is also a fabulous restaurant at the hotel and an amazing bar, but I will get to those when I get around to talking about food.

And while you are at The Hermitage, you absolutely must check out the world famous art deco men's public bathroom. Don't worry, someone will stand guard so that you ladies can view it without any bonus sightings. It's actually not uncommon to see brides and grooms taking their pictures in there. Here's a glimpse of the glory!

2. The Indigo - the hipsters like this place, but I think my aunt would, as well. The Indigo is only a couple of blocks from Broadway and has a great contemporary vibe with live music and a hopping bar scene. The hotel is also housed in a former bank building that has found new life. That kind of repurposing makes me happy.

3. The Hilton - for a chain hotel, this is one of the nicer ones. The lobby is large and filled with nooks and crannies for reading and relaxing, and the location could not be more spot on. Situated directly across from the Country Music Hall of Fame, adjoined on one side by the Schermerhorn Symphony Center and on the other by the Bridgestone Arena, the honkytonks, bars, and sounds and sights of the city are just a hop, skip and a jump away.


4. The Hampton Inn (not the one up on West End, but the one adjacent to the new convention center.I actually have not been in this hotel, but one thing about the Hampton chain is that they are totally predictable. You will get exactly what you pay for. No more, no less.
5. Midtown Courtyard Marriott - (not the one on West End, but the one in the century old high rise on 4th Avenue North. This hotel is located in yet another former bank building that is finding new life as a hotel. The soaring lobby has recently been remodeled. Centrally located, this hotel is just steps away from all the fun!

Another option is to do VRBO and rent out an apartment in one of the downtown high-rise apartment buildings: you don't get your towels and sheets changed out every day, but you can do your part to stay green if you stay there.

There are some obvious omissions here, but these are my faves for downtown.

Oh and watch this happy, snappy video of Nashville before you come. It will get you in the right frame of mind to visit our beloved Music City!


Stay tuned, Part Two to follow soon!

Up to My Neck in Spanx

    Up to my neck in Spanx. Literally. I bought one of those camisole-thingy's to help with that post-menopausal roll around the middle that I thought for years was a leftover accumulation of fat from baby number four, but since he is twenty-six years old, I can't claim the baby weight lie anymore. Sigh. Therefore,   I now readily admit that this roll (which seems to be permanent) is due to hormones. Let's face it, when you are just shy of 60 you can get away with blaming EVERYTHING on hormones. Unwanted weight. Creaky knees (even the replaced joints creak, go figure that.) Bad moods. General grumpiness. More bad moods. Zits on the chin. (You just thought you had problems when you were 14). Uneven skin tone (that's the nice way of saying DAMAGED SKIN.) Road rage. (That's a relatively new one that's come over me lately.) Keeping your house at near arctic temperatures. Hormones. Like I said. Not pretty, huh.
    Back to the story. Not too long ago, I strolled into our city's relatively new Nordstrom acting like I had every right to be there. For starters let me just say what a brazen move that is for a woman who religiously shops at TJ Maxx and who purchased her favorite jacket at Wal-Mart. Gasp. Yes, Wal-Mart.
   So I am headed to Nordstrom with a plan. Of course, I had made several reconnaissance trips to ensure that I would not make a complete idiot of myself. All of my friends who are in the know about things like Nordstrom had told me that their undergarment department was the best in the world. A slight exaggeration, to be sure, but they got their point across. So off to Nordstrom I went. To the undergarment department.
   I have to stop here and warn any males completely off this post, if they are somehow still with me. I figured the "blame it on the hormones" diatribe eliminated most of them, but I want the others to click away from this post IMMEDIATELY... You are getting ready to find out why: I HATE BRAS. I cannot believe that as an 11-year-old-girl, I actually begged my mother to get me a training bra. What insanity. It's been downhill with the bra ever since. As a matter of fact,  I don't believe I have ever met a bra that I liked. Oh, I have liked them in the dressing room alright, but get them home and the dark side of the bra starts to manifest itself. Bras are instruments of torture in my book. If I had in my possession all of the money I have spent buying ill-fitting or uncomfortable bras, I could probably have waltzed into Nordstrom and sashayed my fanny into any department of my choice and plunked down pretty good bit of cash for whatever my heart desired. But that wasn't happening. No doubt about it, I readily admit that I have been a bra wastrel.
   Not too long ago, I actually cleaned out my "I hate these" bra drawer. I don't know if you have one, but I keep hanging on to the darn things. If the underwire pinched me the last time I wore it, I don't know why I feel compelled to believe that it will miraculously be different the next time I wear it. I think I hate admitting defeat. However, I was down to two wearable bras. Wash one, wear one. That's a lot of wear on garments that have to be worn 365 days a year. Ugh. I was getting desperate, and the bras were getting very shabby, so I decided to take my friends' advice.
   Thankfully there are no snobs in the lingerie department. I guess that they have seen it all. Literally. However, the nicest lady waited on me. She talked me through the entire process, and I actually walked out of there with three bras in tow, a slenderizing tank top, and a Spanx-like camisole. I don't know what came over me. Deep down I knew I should have just stuck with the bras. But that's what Nordstrom does to you. Your brain goes out the window when you enter that place. It's a ploy. They sell you the bra, then they sell you something to cover up the bra. My nice sales associate even tried to talk me into going over to the dress department to give my new bra a whirl, but I wasn't buying it. I headed out of there as fast as I could because when she rang up the total of my items, I was thinking I might have to return one of my grandchildren to pay for the items. Yikes.
   I am still wearing the bras from Nordstrom. I am not wearing the slenderizing tank top much at all. It does not work. I still look like I need to lose about 30 pounds. But the camisole thingy, and I have had a come to Jesus and a definite parting of the ways. Why? Because I very nearly humiliated The Husband as well as myself and a few clients from his work to boot. I learned the hard way that unless you are Jennifer Hudson or can afford a stylist, you are never safe in undergarments that can suddenly take on a life of their own. I wore my lovely Spanx camisole to a bank function. At the time, it appeared to be a good idea. I put a nice Chico's tank top over it coupled with  pair of linen pants and a long jacket. I also wore a chunky necklace. That turned out to be a good thing.

   The Husband and I found ourselves seated at a table with the clients. Things were going well. I liked the people we were with and found it easy to converse with them. The meal was good. But I kept feeling a little claustrophobic. And hot. You know like around my neck. At first I attributed it to my age or the hormones. I drank some water and swallowed some ice. Then it occurred to me that it might be the necklace. As my temperature was rising, I ran through my mental checklist. I had pulled my camisole down when we first sat down at the table, but hadn't given it much of a thought since. However the hot and bothered feeling around my neck was rapidly developing into a thermal reaction of some sort. I was starting to feel that prickle of sweat around my hairline. Not a good sign. In addition, I had picked up a few odd looks from The Husband but unless he has his glasses on (he didn't), I know he doesn't see that well. Nonetheless, I am in dire straits.
    I finally excuse myself and head down to the bathroom. The lights are dim in there, but I did glance over at myself before I head into the stall. I do not remember wearing a cream scarf with my outfit. Hmmmm. I also see that there is something bunched up around my chest. Minimizing this area of my body (along with every other area) is the name of the game at my age. I most definitely do not want anything to push up or add bulk of any type to the sisters. I am always trying to tone them down because they seem to have minds of their own. Oh no. I put my on glasses and peer more closely into the mirror. My feeling of claustrophobia is now accompanied by a rising tide of panic. These are important clients with whom we are having dinner, and I have what vaguely looks like a thick scarf around my neck and a few added pounds to my bustline. Great. I put my hand up under my waistband to adjust my camisole. Nothing is there.  Oh yeah.  That camisole is what is hanging out around my neck. It has somehow migrated north, and it is a bunched up mess of a thing adding unwanted extra inches and bulkiness to my chest. Just what I need. I am sure the clients are duly impressed. So what's a girl to do?
    Any rational person might simply pull that camisole thingy down and tuck it securely into the waistband of her pants. But you know by now that I am not entirely rational at this point. No way... I rip that sucker off my neck and chest like it is a leech and throw it with force into the bathroom waste basket. Slam dunk. I immediately feel better. But now the roll around my middle is once again more prominent. I absolutely do not care.
    I don't even want to know what the janitor thought the next day. He likely wouldn't recognize a Nordstrom label if he saw one, anyway. I did feel a pang later when I thought about the money I had spent on that instrument of torture, but I quickly waved it off. I don't know what the clients thought about my wardrobe adjustment. I was breathing heavily when I returned to the table, but the gleam of victory in my eye prevented any further discussion. Even The Husband knows better than to mess with me when I look like that. It was a knockout punch in my book. Spanx was down for the count. Never ever again. Can I get an amen? Never ever again. I may wiggle and I may jiggle, but there are no more Spanx of any variety in my future. Sorry Nordstrom. I mean what I say.
   

Teaching An Old Dog New Tricks

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but I keep trying. I am the old dog in this equation. And I have just undertaken my first real attempt to UPHOLSTER a chair. It's turning out to be a hair-raising experience. Over the years, I have, of course, recovered the seats of my dining room chairs (multiple times, I might add) and sewed a cushion or two, but I have never ever entered this heretofore uncharted territory.

These are the things I have already learned:

1. My newfound friends at the  Gaslamp Too Antique Mall told me it was easy. I don't want to say that they lied, but they are definitely young things and not an old dog.
2. They advised me to get a decent staple gun. I hope I followed their instructions. I don't know yet. But they didn't tell me that I would need anything else and thus far, I have had to use the following implements: needlenose pliers (I had to go buy these), a very teeny tiny flat head screwdriver (I looked in five or six drawers and two closets before I found one), a pair of tweezers (sadly I used one of my nice Tweezerman brand tweezers because I needed a sharp tip, and this one is no longer going to be able to go anywhere near my face again), and a hammer.
3. I did NOT want to sew anything in this project so I purchased something called "gimp" to finish the edging around my chair. This is what I will use in lieu of corded piping. I always knew gimp as a person with a limp but apparently it is also a flat trim of silk, wool that is used for fabric finishing or ornamentation. So there. Now you know another meaning for the all-important word gimp.
4. The guts of a chair are not pretty. Especially when said chair has been recovered multiple times. The chair has to get naked again and that can be a painful and tedious process. I can identify with this aspect.
5. I found out that I loathe removing staples. I am sure that professional upholsterers and other savvy DIY folks have this down to a science, but I was immediately dismayed when I realized I was dealing with staples over staples over staples, and I would not be able to use my new staple gun unless I removed about a bajillion staples.
6. Totally Random Information: Did you know that rocker Jack White of White Stripes fame was an upholsterer? I have it on good authority from my own upholsterer who told me that Jack had shown him his equipment and tons of fabric. Apparently if Jack had not "made" it in the music scene or were to fall on hard times, he planned to go back into the upholstery business. I find this somewhat hysterical. So while I spent the better part of this morning removing staples upon staples from the chair, I thought about Jack White doing the same. It got even funnier. Then I came inside and dialed up some White Stripes and Raconteurs on the Pandora station. It is definitely not my kind of music, but after about a bajillion staples, Jack and I got in the groove. 
7. I thought upholstering a chair would involve four steps: removal of the original fabric, cutting new fabric to fit using old fabric as a template and then stapling on the fabric and glue gunning (I don't think that this is a real verb, but it just became one) the gimp. (There's that other word for you.) At this point, I have just finished most of the staple removal on the top part of the chair and it has been about 3.25 hours. I still have the bottom part of the chair to do. Then I have to sand. And paint. And sand and paint the chair again. Then I have to make the template. Goodness knows how this is going to go. And then...I think you are getting the gist of this.
8. I do like my fabric. As I keep getting discouraged and thinking about abandoning what has become a tedious and time-consuming project, I keep looking at the fabric. It helps. Otherwise the chair is going to the dump.
9. Oh, and the previous owners had a dog or a cat or both. I intended to use the original foam, but now I have discovered that this will have to be replaced...yet another step. Yikes, I think foam is expensive. I am definitely not going to tell The Husband how much my little DIY foray is costing me/him.
10. I may never show you the finished product. It depends. If it turns out reasonably well, I'll post a pic. Otherwise, I will just let you use your imagination.
11. I think it was my imagination that got me into this mess in the first place.
12. What WAS I thinking? Oh wait, I wasn't thinking...I was dreaming.

I am afraid that this is what I am going to look like when I finally finish my chair....

Coldplay Atlanta Style

   The Husband is a concert addict. One of his true confessions is that he secretly dreamed of becoming a rock star when he was young. He became a banker instead.
    As you might well imagine, the dichotomy between the two worlds is immense. So in his spare time, The Husband sheds his three piece suits and heads to his favorite rock concerts. Fortunately we live in a place that calls itself Music City, so we have plenty of opportunities for him to fulfill his dreams, but when the need arises, he is not averse to driving out of town for a concert. Sometimes I make the trip with him -- especially when he will agree to stay in at least a four-star hotel and combine the concert with a side jaunt to Ikea, but if he wants to make a quick trip in the middle of the week, that's fine with me. At this stage in my life, I don't really relish staying in the Red Roof Inn.
   So this past week, he drove down to Atlanta to see one of his favorite bands, Coldplay. I think this is the third time he has seen them play. I have seen them once. It was great. I didn't feel the need to go again. However, he got so many fabulous pictures that I just had to share. Here are some of his faves.

Being a banker, on principle alone The Husband refuses to pay full price for tickets (another reason I sometimes hesitate to go with him). He is on a first name basis with the ticket "brokers" in Nashville. In Atlanta he sat next to people who had paid $600 for a pair of tickets to see Coldplay. I don't want to tell you what he paid for his ticket. Let's just say he was very very happy. And the seat was great...but that's another story.