Goodnight, Mrs. Calabash, Wherever You Are.
Every Thursday afternoon I have a ukulele lesson. Learning anything, especially music, requires a lot of repetition so it’s fitting that after each lesson I call the same restaurant and place a to-go order. Even more fittingly it’s almost always Taylor who answers the phone, and, after several months of repetition, she and I often laugh at the fact that I order the same thing every time.
The last time, though, was different. After my lesson I called the restaurant and Taylor answered with, “Hi, Chris! I’m ready so go ahead with your order.” They’d added some new menu items my wife wanted to try so what I asked for was completely different. And I added a piece of cake. Taylor, who’s occasionally suggested I change my routine, said, “This is the single greatest order I’ve ever gotten.”
I was laughing all the way to the restaurant but when I went in to pay and pick up my food Taylor told me it was her last week. She’d enjoyed living in Nashville, she said, but she had three kids and decided it was time to move back to the small town in Pennsylvania where she grew up. She wanted to be closer to her family who could provide support and she also wanted her kids to have a childhood similar to hers.
It was the longest conversation we’ve ever had and it didn’t last five minutes. I wasn’t in any hurry—the food could wait—but she had work to get to, and, having worked in a restaurant myself, I know there’s never a lot of downtime. She was also in the middle of training her replacement which meant she had even less time. We’ve had other brief conversations before. One night I told her I was such a regular customer because I was learning the ukulele and she said, “Oh, it’s really good to take up a new hobby late in life.” I smiled and said, “Yeah,” and I was on my way home before I thought, How old does she think I am?
It’s a bit like going from one song to another: a lot of notes will be the same but the tune will be different. Thank you for all you did, Taylor, and good luck.