A Shining Trip to Lexington (and Sadness in C’Ville)

Margie and me (and my car, Daisy) in downtown Lexington.

Two Leos.

Margie and I had a fun–and  mostly uneventful time today–going north in I-81, but not all the way to Charlottesville (which is what I wanted to do). We wound up in the charming little city of Lexington, which I simply love visiting.

A friend suggested yesterday that I treat Margie to a day trip today and that I “buy her lunch and maybe a piece of jewelry at that little shop you like so much (Artists in Cahoots).” We went to the Southern Inn for lunch (she a burger–surprise!–and me a lovely Reuben sandwich.

On the way to Artists in Cahoots, we stopped into a charming gift shop, The Shenandoah Attic, where I bought her a little gold pig. She loves pigs as much as she adores burgers. While there, I got into a conversation with an extremely nice, well-mannered young high school student who said he plans to attend Christopher Newport University to become a sportscaster or sportswriter. I spent 17 years as the latter and mentioned to him that sportswriting is a great way to learn to become a real writer–one who writes books, both non-fiction and fiction. I liked this kid. Wish I’d gotten his name.

Margie studies the hamburger selection at the Southern Inn in Lexington.

We walked on down to Artists in Cahoots, which has moved next door to where it was three years ago and I nearly missed it. But we found it and I also found about five ideas for Christmas gifts within. Some truly lovely jewelry inside.

When we got back to Roanoke, I discovered the awfulness in Charlottesville and almost had a pang of regret that I wasn’t there, raging against the dying of the light (which is being killed by the political right, along with at least one protester). I’m probably too old to make much difference, but this is an important moment in American history, one where we are going to have to decide what kind of country we will be in the future. I’m hoping to god that it is not one where white supremacy runs amok.

 

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