Spring break, woohooooo, and we’re spending it in Tennessee with the Southern family. We flew in Friday morning and GUESS WHO was on our flight?
Sufjan Stevens. And the members of the National. Between the band and their managers and crew, half the seats in the puddlejumper were occupied by hipsters in skinny jeans, hoodies and knit caps. I would never have recognized old Sufjan but my husband knows this sort of thing, just like he knew about the special show they’re doing together in Knoxville.
The only thing I could really remember about him was that David bought his double Christmas CD a few years ago and for some reason it’s the only one we haven’t lost so every year when its tree trimming time, David puts on the Sufjan Christmas album which is a very nice and pleasing album, but doesn’t exactly conjure the yuletide spirit, and I say, “Would it KILL us to listen to some Dean Martin while I string this freaking popcorn????”
I tell you one thing -- made me feel old as sin, to be chasing after my two rugrats in the baggage claim area of McGhee Tyson airport while soft-talking Sufjan and his pals collected their equipment. But here we are in the Smoky Mountains and loads of sweet tea, put put and ranch dresing await!
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