So, last week, my favorite travel companion (she just loves it when I call her that!) – aka my mom – and I left Alabama bright and early (well, not so bright, but very, very early – it was 5:30 in the morning, after all) bound for Tennessee.
A little side trip through Mississippi and then Memphis, TN to pick up the newest member of our farm poodle gang (meet Alfie, here), and then it was on to Nashville for something that I couldn’t wait to experience. Even 11 hours of driving couldn’t take away the excitement!
Was it the Ryman Auditorium? Maybe Bluebird Cafe? Or Music Row? Nope, it was a hockey game.
That’s right. I’m letting you in on a secret that is so unbelievable and just plain weird that you may not even believe me. I am an Alabama girl who would rather watch hockey than football. Any day of the week. Shocking, right?
I mean, there are certainly no frozen over ponds in south Alabama (well, except the Icepocalypse that time) and ice rinks are very few and far between. And I can’t skate to save my life anyways, but it doesn’t matter. I love hockey.
By the way, according to this video, I may not be from the South . . . .
Over the pedestrian bridge and through the woods we went to grandmother’s house. . . oh, wait, wrong story.
I will say that my poor, ever-suffering mother was a really good sport – she only asked if we were there yet like 30 times. And it only took us 15 minutes to walk from the car to the arena, with me saying every few minutes, “We’re almost there. Just a couple more minutes.”
Which she should’ve learned by name is totally and completely not true.
By the way, I think I’ve converted her. My mother, who has never been interested in any type of sports in her life (other than the Iron Bowl, but even then, it’s only a nominal interest in the outcome) said, as we were leaving the arena, “I get why you like watching them hit that ball around.”
Then, it was time to come back home to Sweet Home Alabama. . . .