Bluegrass Country

Stewart and I just returned from our now-annual trip to Lexington, KY.  For those of you who slept through 5th grade U.S. geography class, Kentucky is nestled within 7 states, but generally south of Ohio and Indiana and north of Tennessee.  And Lexington sits sort of in the middle of the Commonwealth, an hour and a half south of Cincinnati, and an hour and a half east of Louisville.   If you're looking to buy or race a thoroughbred horse, or house it in multi-million dollar stable surrounded by manicured fields of grass surrounded by miles of white fencing, you'll want to go to Lexington.  

But I digress.  

We attended the McNabb reunion/picnic (my  Dad's side of the genealogical house), and the ensuing cousin after party once the elders headed off to bed.  It was held this year in Shillito Park, the park of my childhood, although its layout and feel has changed considerably in the intervening 40 years.  

We hit the Bourbon Trail twice, once at Buffalo Trace and then at Town Ranch, which is slightly ironic since both Stewart and Mom don't drink.   My Dad and I stress the educational and cultural value of such outings, as we sip their bourbon and whiskey samples.  We also visited Colonel Sanders' grave, had dinner at Colonel Sanders' wife's restaurant in Shelbyville, and Mom and Dad treated us to a Derby Dinner Theater evening with Mary Poppins and a lot of  fried catfish.  All quite enjoyable.

Mom cooked and hosted a dinner with the Reverend Mark Beckett who came down from Columbus, and with Bill and Cindi Clark and their kids/our godsons Jay and David.  Then lunch out with my godfather/uncle Arden and aunt Shirley, and Stephanie Gardner.  

We try to go back to Lexington at least once a year, if not twice, although this December we will be headed to Spokane instead, for Stewart's son's 40th birthday.