Strike Up the Band

The Riverview Restaurant is a local favorite for all things fried...especially catfish. It's nestled between a bluff and the Cumberland River and indeed has an excellent river view. They also have an RV Campground and riverboat cruises. Kind of a one stop, mom and pop, eat til you drop hangout.

Editor's Note: sorry, but I couldn't resist the rhythm of this last sentence...go back and read it again, but this time, take a breath between "stop" and "pop" and then end it with a Little Richard "Hey!". It kinda swings doesn't it?

I digress...back to the restaurant...it's always crowded with folks from all ages and there's always a line...not for a table, but for the ladies room. Tonight, I stood in line with a couple of vintage ladies who could have been my great aunts. We had a lovely chat about purses and such. Being flanked by these Southern Belles, I expected a little wave of nostalgia, but I wasn't prepared for the flashback I encountered when it was my turn in the ladies room. As I entered, I thought I had made a wrong turn to 1959. You see, wanting to be delicate about such matters, the lady before me left her calling card...a very distinct smell...that of a struck match!

In my childhood home and in all of my relatives homes, there was always a box of matches on the back of the toilet...which in my youth I thought was to light the gas heater in the wall...but later learned, the struck match is the equivalent to todays can of Glade (or whatever you use in your private chamber). As I was passing the torch to the next in line, I wondered if I should say something like...don't be alarmed if you smell smoke...but I thought no...why break the illusion and walked away with a big grin on my face.