Sit back. Relax. We’re almost there.
Not yet? Oh, OK. Hmm, the GPS must be out of whack or maybe the Greenhills don’t actually live where they said they lived – you know how some people facetiously say, oh, the next time you’re in my neighborhood, drop by – maybe Abby was just trying to be nice, so she sent us to a field of green hills. Ha Ha, Abby. Very funny.
But that’s not what happened. GPS can be so unreliable sometimes. It took my sister and me down Abby’s road (you just thought about the Beatles, didn’t you) but not Abby’s house.
My sister and I drove down the long country road, exhausted after having been in a car for nine hours. On our way down the road in the opposite direction we finally found a neighbor and asked, “Do you know where the Greenhills live?” He wasn’t sure (kind of hard to find somebody who is using a fictitious last name, I later discovered), but he pointed us in the right direction. So we drove slowly down the long road that eventually brought us to a house which, we were warned, was a fairly good distance from the street.
The long winding driveway eventually brought us to a place that could easily have been called paradise. My eyes widened in surprise at the beauty that surrounded me. I felt as if I were in a Disney cartoon. And there was Abby, standing outside her garage with her husband, greeting me with a warm embrace.
Stunned at my surroundings, I drooled, “Your home is gorgeous!”
With no hesitation whatsoever, Abby asked, “Wanna buy it?”
“No, really. It’s for sale.”
Sadly, the real Abby, her beautiful Golden Lab, had to stay inside because “allergy me” couldn’t be near her. I could see in Abby’s eyes a pathetic whining, “WHY?” And all I could do was mentally apologize to her for being allergic. Dogs are psychic, so I know she understood.
Abby and Hubby brought us to their back porch that looked out over a yard with a built-in swimming pool and was the dictionary definition of NATURE with a capital N.
Picture Bambi and friends prancing playfully in your back yard. Watch hummingbirds practically float around potted plants that adorn the spacious back porch in your land of green hills and long winding roads. Let those beautiful hummingbirds pull apart the curtains as you take your focus off the backdrop for a moment and tune into the foreground where Abby and Hubby sit in front of you.
My sister and I would spend the following week with no TV, no Internet, and no radio. So on this particular evening we had the Greenhills (not their actual names, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy; otherwise I would tell you) to entertain us.
We were now tuned into our own special comedy hour where Edith and Archie, Seinfeld, and Friends converged for a romp through amusing conversations splashed with funny observations. They could have their own reality program, entitled, oh, let’s say, “Porch People.”
Maybe not. But I found them both to be very entertaining and very hospitable.
Hubby fired up the grill and treated us to hamburgers and coleslaw, which Abby admitted was store bought, but my sister, Kathy, and I didn’t care. We were so famished, we would have eaten raw oyster shells if they had offered it.
I couldn’t leave without seeing the inside of Abby’s house, so I asked for a tour. I figured a few minutes inside wouldn’t kill me – I had my inhalers with me. I felt as if I were standing on the pages of House Beautiful magazine wandering from room to room, stopping long enough to drag my tongue from the floor and put it back into my mouth. The home was immaculate and beautifully decorated. I wanted to take notes.
When we left, I realized that I had not brought my camera into the house. But Abby invited us back if we were ever in Tennessee again, so I planned to take pictures later. On our way back home after our trip to Florida, Kathy and I called the Greenhills again and asked them to meet us in a restaurant near our motel.
Everything was fine until I pulled out my camera. Abby refused to have her photo taken, complaining that the only reason Associated Content had a picture at all was because they demanded it from their Featured Contributors.
So you’ll have to take my word for it – the photo above is of Elvis Presley, Abby Greenhill, and me. Abby has invited all AC contributors to her home, but you’ll have to visit soon – they’re already planning their move!
Thank you, Abby, for your hospitality and for not smacking my sister when she said you were being “ridiculous” by not allowing your photo to be taken.