I'm off for Nashville early tomorrow morning to visit my Aunt Jean Carol and her massive branch of the family. I've written about my aunt before. She's my Bonus Mommy. We talk at least once each week. She's good at fluffing me up and giving very good advice. I don't reciprocate often because this woman hardly needs fluffing up or my advice for that matter - she's always upbeat and has chosen so well in life that she rarely has those calamitous crossroads most of us have. I just shower her with the adoration she deserves. Now, you should meet her husband, my Uncle Bill – the finest gentleman to ever whistle Dixie. Uncle Bill is a native of Nashville. His vocabulary doesn't contain a single one-syllable word. Even the word "a" is a 3-syllable word. And when he settles into telling a tale, one should pack provisions. I adore my uncle to pieces.

About 1 1/2 hours outside of Nashville, up in the mountains, is a small college town called Sewanee. It's home to the University of the South - a quiet gem of academia. Upon his death, though he had never stepped foot on the mountain, Tennessee Williams bequeathed a large portion of his estate to the university. It's highly esteemed in literary circles and has one of the finest writing programs around - especially the summer series. Sewanee's population is about 2,500 and spitting distance to a neighboring town, Monteagle, which also boasts about 1,500 residents. I've loved this mountain ever since my first visit about 30 years ago. It's magical.

Though the university may sound nerdy, it isn't - it's magnificently steeped in rich traditions and at times seems more British than American. The professors and seniors wear black academic robes to class. There's something so pleasing to the eye to see their robes flapping in a hurried stride, or on the breezy flight of a passing bicyclist. The men students wear coat & tie, which often appear knotted by drunken sailors. The women wear skirts. I know this all sounds so fuddy-duddy, but the air of dignity is refreshing. It's kinda like when my children were young, if I set the dinner table with lighted candles, our meal became more civilized, more engaging with lively conversation, and better manners reigned. That same sense of propriety is established by the dress codes the students at Sewanee embrace with pride. And it ain't stuffy. The South rocks! These students know how to par-tay! I know because my eldest attended.

Anyway, I plan to visit Sewanee & Monteagle. There's a tug in my heart drawing me there. I'm packing my bags and leaving on a jet plane... um, there should be a song.