I worry that I am losing command of the F-word. I find I don’t need it very often anymore. People are nice to each other up here in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Not just sometime. All day long.
This week, we drove 20 miles to a book lecture at The 1927 Lake Lure Inn and Spa. We crossed the Eastern Continental Divide in apple country and followed the French Broad River as it flowed down toward sea level. The Inn is just down the road from Black Mountain. The PhD author is an Asheville fellow. His novels are peppered with historical mountain wit: “We’re running out of cousins to marry.” And the buffet was damngood at the Moose and Goose Lounge. Seriously.
That same evening, we were still on a roll so we attended the seniors group at the congregational church about 10 blocks away. No bingo, no prayers for the people, no requests for money. We would like to think we might have been the youngest couple there. Couple? Yes, nearly half the 100+ audience were male. And they were having fun. Maybe it was the cookies. Or the breezy jazz singer who was in port from her regular gig on the cruise ships.
Next day, I had to get some routine lab work. Six people were ahead of me at the hospital waiting room. Gradually, I began to hear murmurs about Renee. Was she working today? Just out to lunch? Renee has a soft touch. Renee is quick. In perfect harmony, Renee walked through the doors at that exact moment and the waiting room erupted with soft cheers. Ahh, Renee is back. She located my bashful vein, applied her soft touch and I was out of there in a jiffy.
Makes sense, doesn’t it. In a retirement community like Hendersonville, it follows that we, the patients, would know the A-Team in medicine.
Fine. Just fine. That’s a good four-letter F-word. I’ll try to get used to it.