The Big Purple Van o' Love has been working extra shifts this week, as all the cars around her wither and die in the cold, being made of less sturdy stock than she. This is my fifth straight morning waking up at 7 a.m. to drive Rye-Diggity, whose van is busted, to Memorial North Park Hospital in Hixson, a nondescript strip-mall haven across the Tennessee River.
Since I am not due in my office until 10 a.m., I have been taking breakfast in the smoking section of the Hixson International House of Pancakes, which is located, oddly enough, across the street from the Hixson International Board of Jewish Missions. (The people of Hixson are clearly interested in foreign affairs.) I have spent this hour enjoying Endless Pancakes and reading the New York Times. (I found a Times box, after a dilligent Monday-morning search, outside the Hixson Post Office -- which does not bill itself as international, although it probably has more claim to the title than do the missionaries or the maple syrup-mongers.) I have then driven the DuPont Parkway to Erlanger, only to make the trip twice more in the afternoon, picking up Ryan from work and going right back to downtown Chatty to get April Roe from her office. I have spent a bit of time in Hixson before, but only now I am truly growing to appreciate its subtle beauty. It is the Paris of Tennessee, a city of romance where you can order your McDonald's Vaule Meal at the Wal Mart check-out lane.
My chaffeur services doubled last night when Josiah and April called me, shivering at a pay phone outside the St. Elmo KFC. Their truck died, so this morning I dropped Josiah and April off at their respective workplaces, then took Ryan to a variety of post offices -- and then off to Hixson, where we enjoyed about 274 pancakes and discussed the presidents of the United States. (Ryan likes Reagan; I have a soft spot for Harding.) Then I dropped him off too. This afternoon I will repeat the process in reverse (minus the pancakes). I'm thinking of starting the Big Purple Van o' Love Shuttle Service as an official company.
Posted by mesh at January 16, 2004 11:17 AM | TrackBackCornerstone Pres. used to meet in the building that now houses the International Board of Jewish Missions. It was formerly called Hammil Road Baptist Church. That was about 5 years ago i guess.
Posted by: Brandt at January 16, 2004 11:52 AMmesh - so what are you saying - I feel no love for Hixon - and I want my belt back.
Posted by: your mother at January 21, 2004 09:04 PMI'm rolling with the assumption that you are not actually my mother, whose belt I have never borrowed... :)
I actually kind of like Hixson. It reminds me of my home in Florida, with its strip malls and small, dusty feel. I just like to tease about it, because it is such an odd, rural little city, and friends of mine -- including my pastor and my good buddy Alyssa -- live there. So it's fun to razz them about it. I can be kinda sarcastic at times (quiet nods from around the room) and I hope my post wasn't offensive to anybody who loves Hixson.
That said, I have a belt in my closet that misses its owner -- sometimes, late at night, it sings sadly -- and if it's yours, I'd love to return it to you. I have taken good care of it. Drop me a line at aaron@rocob.com.
If you are who I think you are, have a great, safe trip to ChattaVegas!
Posted by: mesh at January 21, 2004 11:27 PMHixson is filled with yuppies. What's to like? I put it in the same category as Fresno, California: to be avoided if at all possible.
Posted by: JosiahQ at January 22, 2004 01:57 PM