Stephen Yeargin

It was the second time I have shown up to an event that suddenly became a wedding. The first time was when we started exploring East Nashville and decided to attend a church service. It wound up being the father of my high school class president, which made for a slightly awkward hello after several years. The service was lovely, though we were a bit shellshocked to be there.

The circumstances for this one were a bit different. Our neighbor across the street has been hosting jam sessions for months now and sent me a text inviting me to a neighborhood party where his band would be playing. I usually do the polite decline when anyone invites me to go see their band. I feel terribly out of place at smaller shows. This time I said yes because the show was in walking distance, and Samantha and our daughter were out of town to visit with her parents. In short, it was something to do.

What makes things a bit different in Nashville is that the production value of a show like this will always be a level above where it really ought to be. A backyard performance shouldn't have $10,000 worth of lights, speakers, and a mixing table at the back of the crowd. But as it seems like every third person you meet is a professional musician or is otherwise attached to a touring act, it's not all that surprising. Our coffee shop open mic night would dominate a talent show in any other part of the country. I have had Lyft drivers who have played on Grammy-winning albums.

This band played covers, which is always a relief. They had selections from Foo Fighters, Black Sabbath and Rage Against the Machine, among others. All stuff from 2010, and most from much earlier. A gentleman near me commented after the set was over how much he loved the music. I agreed, but that there were likely some younger folks in the audience that weren't as familiar with it. He looked at me and said "Well, you are young too."

"I'm forty."

He chuckled and said that the music was good no matter the age. I took a moment to look around the crowd and noticed that it was somewhat reflective of the neighborhood. A lot of them were likely in their 40s and 50s, save a few folks chasing around toddlers. Samantha and I talk a lot about how a lot of our friends have moved away. I wondered if other folks there had the same experience. I did run into Andy, who with his wife fostered our dog before we adopted him. Other than that, I didn't know a soul. I need to get out and meet more of my neighbors.

That was about the time the wedding broke out. Our host was celebrating his 50th birthday and suddenly proposed from the stage to his partner. I thought that was going to be highlight, until he walked out sometime later in a sequined suit, matching fedora and sunglasses. From there, he played a ukulele and asked the crowd to make way for the rest of the wedding party. Only in Nashville. After a brief exchanging of vows (interrupted by a famous East Nashville train horn), they had another guy who learned a song specifically for the event play it.

I texted my neighbor to tell him it was a great show and headed home. There might have been a time when I would have tried to strike up more conversation with folks, but I didn't have it in me tonight. On the walk home, I hummed a song by Jimmy Buffett about turning 40^[1]. Buffett died yesterday, leaving behind a loyal following of fans who -- much like those of the Grateful Dead -- may base parts of their entire personality around his music. I texted one such Parrothead when I got home, offering condolences.

I haven't really sorted out how I feel about turning 40. There are so many well-worn clichés that it's next to impossible not to trip over one when talking about it. I think it is as good a time as any to be retrospective. I try not to spend too much time in that head-space, though. Years alone don't equal wisdom, and maybe saying less is better.

Summer is coming to an end. I will miss the longer days, but not the oppressive heat of June, July and August. Our dog needs more walks to slim down a bit after the vet had him step on a scale. He is only good for about 10 minutes of walking if the weather is over 80 degrees. Otherwise, he will flop down in somebody's yard and refuse to move. I also prefer the evenings when we can all go together on an evening walk. I know with the shortening days, those opportunities probably won't come back around until the spring.

Life moves into another season.