New Years in the Dirty South

Our trip to Memphis is currently without photos, despite my fervent pledge. I'm told they are on their way.

The trip, itself, was exhausting: the 12 hour drive from Detroit, the overnights in uncomfortable beds, the early waking time, the big, bloating meals. Still, there were highlights (and lowlights). For starters, Remy's father turned a monumental 60 years old on the 31st. We gathered, all of his children and their spouses, around the dinner table and had a celebratory meal, then played Apples To Apples. There was the traditional singing of "Happy Birthday" gifts were presented, stories were told, cake was consumed all by the solid and respectable hour of 9pm.

Remy's younger sister had also recently turned the similarly monumental age of 21 and declared that she wanted to experience drunkeness in the company of her older brothers. Though I wanted nothing more than to curl up with the dog on the sofa and watch the ball drop through heavy-lidded blurry vision, I relented and offered to be the designated driver for a trip down to Beale Street.

Having not lived in Memphis for seven years, I'm constantly impressed with the rapid change the city has seen. The downtown, abandoned and lonely in my memory, is now vibrant and full of life. The once nascent trolley lines now sweep in all directions, into the previously "tough" parts of downtown that now house art galleries and nightclubs and bars.

The same awe struck me when walking down Beale Street which was full of life. Handy Park, once littered with trash and homeless, was sparkling clean with a new amphitheater and bricked entrance.