Spent Sunday in Historic Downtown Franklin Tennessee. It is a quaint old town that reeks of times lost. It is a virtual shrine to the confederacy, not in a rebel flag NASCAR kind of way, but in a sort of mourning for the old South. Franklin was named after a wealthy man who died and left a very wealthy widow. She remarried with one of the nations first prenups.
During the civil war she spent a lot of time at her summer plantation near nashville, away from the heat and the cotton. However, she shrewdly bought cotton with confederate dollars during the war and sold it in England for Three million in gold. I do not know if the cotton ever made it to England, but her money made it back here.
Franklin is home to an old Presbyterian church where the Parrish Presbyterian Congregation worships. It is around the corner from the cousins homes and the quaint stroll where neighbors met on the sidewalks and streamed into the church of course, cynical.
The music was nice, robust congregational singing accompanied by a violin and a piano with an additional singer. Almost a worship team, but not quite. Communion was bread, not Jes-its, dipped in your choice of red wine or purple Welches. I have wondered why red wine is used at communion and have concluded that it is because most red wine serves well at room temperature.
I personally believe that when Moses struck the rock, Pinot Grigio spurted out.
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