Our second day on the Gary Sinise City Adventure found us at the Listening Room Cafe, where we were entertained by artists Lexie Hayden, Luke Stevens, Maddie Lenhart. They were terrific, funny and talented, my favorite sort of people. Luke was a bartender at the very cafe where he was now entertaining us, which reminded me of the various authors I’ve met who once worked at the bookstores where their own work is now on display. Life is full of poetry and these entertainers are poets. Luke’s song about his grandfather’s truck was one of my favs. In typical county fashion the truck, a family heirloom, was stolen. 

Years ago I took a songwriting workshop in Alabama. I love being creative so that was great fun. I have no idea what I wrote but I remember the laughter from that day, the joy of that workshop. I’ve challenged myself over the years with playwriting, screenwriting and songwriting. Dabbling, nothing serious. Some of these were done in collaboration with other writers, which is my favorite way of attempting something new. I think this is a carryover from my kindergarten days, always wanting a friend by my side to hold my hand. So naturally, I was excited to learn that I was headed upstairs at the cafe to work collaboratively with comedian/songwriter/entertainer Joe Denim. 

Since I was the last one to arrive – too busy talking with Maddie – to the songwriting workshop the Sinise Foundation had set up, and likely because my name is Karen, Joe was quick to pick on me. I’m good–natured most of the time so I didn’t mind. Working with the rest of the group we wrote a song! It was truly collaborative, one would suggest a line, another would tweak it, another would tweak that and Joe would tweak that. It was wild and fun and not nearly enough time. Joe said he comes to Bend to the Tower Theater and we are going to connect next time he does. 

With our lyrics turned over to Joe, we set off for lunch at The Butter Milk Ranch, and ohmygosh, if you haven’t been, go the next time you are in Nashville. Lordy. The food. I keep telling Tim I really miss having someone cook for me since we returned home. Tim just laughs in agreement. I wasn’t the least bit hungry when we arrived given that I’m not much of a early day eater. Coffee will usually carry me until mid-afternoon and I was still full from the dinner we’d had the night before at the Foundation office. Still, there were croissants and beignets and of all things – Vietnamese Iced Coffee, which I haven’t had since I was last in Vietnam. So of course I ordered that along with beignets which I can never resist. Especially these, every bit as good as Cafe Monde. Tim ordered biscuits and gravy, which even he couldn’t finish as delicious as they were. Everything the Foundation did was done in a big way, which honestly went way beyond hospitality, right straight into “I wish Mama could see me now!” fashion. 

A walk around the shops in the neighborhood and we were back on the bus again, singing along to the music, chatting with new friends, and marveling over all we’d done already and we needed a nap. 

But there was no time for that. We were ushered into a new venue – The Cordelle – where we were gifted cowboy hats by the American Paint Hat Company, owned by John Wayne’s granddaughter, and encouraged to decorate them while a bluegrass band – The Stones River – performed on the porch. There was fire and rhinestones involved, as well as line dance lessons with New Boots Line Dancing, which was so much fun. Tim rarely will dance but line dancing is different and he was one of the few men to actually join in. 

All that dancing substituted for the nap and we were off again to yet another meal – this one at Nashville’s renowned Peg Leg Porker Barbeque, where we competed in making a dry rub. Tim’s made it to the semi-finals but as you might expect a Texan took home the winning jar. Prior to finishing the evening with dinner, we were asked to say our fathers’s names as each of us had a photo of our dads at our place settings. The Gary Sinise Foundation built ways to honor our father in every event, from writing songs about them to speaking names that for too much of our lives were never spoken. 

This July marks 60 years since Dad’s death. A lifetime. Recently I had the opportunity at another dinner engagement to speak to a beautiful woman whose three darling granddaughters were murdered by their father last summer. Their father was a veteran struggling with post-traumatic-stress disorder. We spoke about how our country continues to fail our veterans, and our military families. That was certainly the case with this young man and his daughters. I know this grandmother yearns for those girls whom she loved so well. Don’t expect time to heal this wound, I told her. All it will do is remind you of everything you’ve lost. Give yourself the grace to grieve those girls for the rest of your life.