Day 17 -- TN & MS

Today was Legend Day. (gong sounds)

It started late, because I had insomnia last night. We managed to make it to Ole Miss by noon, from Memphis, about an hour and half drive. We found Rowan Oak down a long gravel street, waiting patiently, silent in the imposing humidity. We have been ultra-fortunate to have gone this entire trip and only been rained on once, while driving. The weather was warm, humid, and when we pulled up on the Rowan Oak driveway, we opened the door to the unmistakeable sounds of the south -- insane bug sounds, sounds that sound intimidating and wild, sounds that make you check every itch for a massive alien bug that sounds like a giant toad.

We walked up the path to the Greek Revival style house, with a tree lined entrance, glancing curiously at the ruins of an antebellum circular maze garden, one that Faulkner never restored, and it is reported that he liked the Gothic look of it, overgrown and in ruins, so it remains untouched.

I spent a minute checking out the info in the foyer.

Inside the house is pretty well decorated, not overdone. I loved his writing room, with its door to the outside, and its little bed, and it's storyboards on the wall. I could see the kids in The Sound and the Fury coming in to kitchen, I could see Temple running through the brush, I could almost hear wagon wheels creaking, but to be honest, I felt more in tune with As I Lay Dying when I was in IN.

I loved seeing the grounds. (I just might be trying to steal a rock in this pic. I settled for an acorn) It is a very peaceful place. I would love to build a house like that, have land. To be in his house is strange, but okay. I felt rather odd -- I would never have known of him, had I not one day, in a little book store accross from where I cut hair in San Clemente, the book store that kept me sane, I would be sitting in my chair waiting for a client, reading War and Peace, and be asked, so what are you reading? War and Peace. Oh, just War and Peace. I was scanning the New Literature section when I saw this book, As I Lay Dying. Sheesh. I just figured it was short, and I liked things that were macbre -- so I went with it. The wife of the husband and wife team that owned the store, of which the husband was a huge Hemingway fan, looked at the book and said -- oh, I've been meaning to read this. I had no concept of college then, I actually was just beginning to think I might get my diploma. Being at Rowan Oak was fascinating for me in that way -- I find myself in a state of constant bewilderment at where I am, why I am there, how I made it there. And it's the same for everyone. I thought of Joe, growing up in the south, going to school at Miss, reading Faulkner, maybe knowing that he was destined for teaching all his life, maybe not. It's amazing how teaching connects your life with others, how a love of writing, and literature, makes up a subculture that, at least for me, connects me with others like a heart string that extends through my soul and catches on others, sometimes whether they like it or not. Kind of like the characters in Faulkner's books -- they had few choices, really. And although the ones that were great, the ones that you loved, Darl, Quentin, were doomed, were outcasts and endured madness...you loved them, and it's that love...that love...well. It's too much, really. Seeing the concrete -- the beds, the floorboards, the railing, the bricks, fired on the property since the 1840s, seeing these things that can be quantified and measured and remind that we live, we eat, we sleep, we walk through houses and stub our toes, we drink, some of us smoke, but ultimately, as his writing on the wall attests, we live in our minds. We live in a place of soul.

And speaking of soul, we went to the Oxford square, which originally burnt to the ground during the War Between the States, and ate at Ajax Diner. Dear Lord. I had the meatloaf, with cheese grits and sweet potato casserole. It wasn't just good, or really good. It was rediculous. The meatloaf was a bit moist, but it was full of garlic and crazy flavor, and had a mashed potato, or maybe it was roasted garlic, center, and the edges were crispy and to insanely delicious. The cheese grits were good. I had never had grits before, and the cheese used was really salty and sharp, so the creamyness of the grits was complimented perfectly. But nothing compared to the perfect sweet potato casserole. Sweet with brown sugar and dotted with melted marshmallows, studded with pralines, I was in heaven. Washed down with sweet tea, it might have been the best lunch ever. Here's Todd's catfish plate.

We walked around the square, stopping in at the old department store, and then Books on the Square, where I got a Flannery O'Connor short story collection, and A Light In August. Poor Moby Dick.

We then left in the direction of Graceland. We got in for THE last tour of the house. It was great because it wasn't crowded at all. Bling! I really like Elvis, but most often I find him such a tragic figure. I learned that he didn't name it Graceland, but the previous owner did, and Elvis kept the name. I liked that. I like that he was 22 when he bought the house, and that he would entertain his friends. I feel uttertly sorry for him -- and wonder how people with so much charisma can exist at all.

I would have liked to play cards with him. Faulkner, too.

We saw Elvis' house, stables, shooting range, '68 Special jumpsuit ('68 special Elvis is my favorite Elvis), tacky furnishings -- man the 70s were sucky for some people, grave, and cars and planes. It was fun. I got these cool Elvis window clings -- very campy.

We left Graceland and headed back to the hotel, still stuffed from lunch, and a little tired from touring. We've been doing laundry and I cut Todd's hair all off, and we're getting ready to head west. We'll be in Little Rock tomorrow.