I remember listening to "Rain" as a sophomore with MaryBeth and Katie in Geer Hall. I remember sprinting in sympathy to "Tony" as I ran through the streets of Santiago. I remember swaying to "When it don't come easy" with the Tridelts my senior year. I remember staring in wide-eyed amazement as Patty sang at the Ryman in June. I remember gratefully singing "All Creatures of our God and King" with my friend Meg in my car on Shelby Avenue looking at a Nashville skyline illuminated by the setting sun. In fact, I had been listening to Downtown Church that very Sunday, probably even humming "Wade in the Water" as I waited on my latte.
All of a sudden, that same friend Meg came rushing towards my corner table in Ugly Mugs and, before I could even look up, she frantically whispered in my ear, "Ansley, do NOT make a scene, but Patty Griffin is right there. We absolutely HAVE to meet her." I gasped, looked, made a terribly unflattering facial expression, and then talked myself in out and back in to this desperately uncool mission. We stealthily walked to the cream/sugar table, verified that it was actually Patty Griffin standing three feet away and then made our way towards her. She is awesome. So pretty and tiny with a turquoise necklace and a soulful stare.
"Uh, Ms. Griffin," I stammered. She looked up and I suddenly forgot how to speak the english language. Silence.
"I'm Meg, and this is Ansley," my friend intervened. I nodded.
"Nice to meet you," sweet Patty replied, expectantly.
"We were just listening to your song yesterday and watching the sunset over Nashville," I effused (my verbal faculties had momentarily returned), "and I just wanted to tell you how much I love your music and how it ministers to our souls."
Forget the lameness of that phrase for a second. Forget also the awkward and sudden use of the plural pronoun 'our.' Just remember this: Patty Griffin is and was so gracious as she smiled, nodded, thanked us, and reached out to touch our hands.
Soooo jealous!!
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