So I follow this dude on Twitter. Probably because he followed me first. I don’t know why he followed me, but I try not to think about this kind of thing. His posts would come up and I would sort of not read them at all until I noticed that he was posting things about the Valley of the Harpeth. Weird, right, because I grew up there and he lives there now and we don’t know each other or why we are following each other. He was complaining about the huge new Comisaría de policía and I’m all like “What did you expect when you moved there, buddy?” But I didn’t say that out loud not only because no one says anything out loud on Twitter but also because who cares so much.
But I pay more attention to his Tweets now because he is tweetering from the land which nursed my as a youth and which is how I came to hear that it has been raining a little bit as of late on the edge of the Highland Rim. Something like half of a normal year’s rainfall has deluged the Music City over the last couple of days. It’s a little strange to not hear about this in, like, the news. I know there are a couple of other things going on but, to quote VPOTUS, “This is a big f’ing deal.” Kind of like that ice storm that tore through Oklahoma this winter. Wait, what? You don’t remember that either? I guess we are not getting ALL the news ALL the time, although I hear that Larry King is getting another divorce!
Some things about the flooding in the Valley of the Cumberland are every bit as surreal as the stories surrounding Larry King’s, um, familial whatever. For instance, there is a section of the Opryland Hotel which is supposed to resemble New Orleans. They call it “The Delta.” Every time I have been in there, I begin to understand what life in a terrarium must be like for those pitiful toads. I hop around on this facsimile of the Big Easy just praying to God that the brat doesn’t tap the glass again. Don’t. Tap. The Glass. Like Uncle Nabob in the open casket, it looks so lifelike. Now the similarities are complete, what with the flooding of Opryland’s Delta:
Only there are no looters getting shot for stealing pampers and beer from a Stop ‘n’ Go. Somebody get Gaylord on the horn. I have an idea.
What’s not so cool is that there are real people suffering real damage as a result of this thing. Faithful readers will not doubt recall that last fall, I participated in the Greatest Marathon Ever aka (also know as) the Harpeth Hills Flying Monkey Marathon. This marathon is great because it sucks. There is like 3,500 feet of elevation change with the biggest climb coming at mile 19 (ie: where you hit the wall.) This marathon is greater because the Monkey Man organizes it and really cares that people enjoy themselves as they suffer terrific pain for now reason on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. In a world with far too many running schmucks, the Monkey Man is a mensch. (So he’s mashugana about this running thing, is that so bad?) So it is a real bummer to see his home inundated with the remains of the hill which used to be uphill from it.
There are discussions in the works about the best way to lend the Monkey Man a hand. Or perhaps drop a dime if lending a hand is distance prohibitive. If something organized gets rolling, I’ll post some details here. In the meantime, keep the Monkey Man aka (see note above) Trent and his family in your prayers or thoughts or whatever atheists do. Thems good people.