I'm not over you, Columbus

Sorry, fair overlooked city, but I haven't been able to get past our history yet.

This thought became official while cruising down High Street on Sunday afternoon, Comfest too soon at my back.

The city felt too comfortable. Why would I drive six hours, when I could just stay in a place where I could walk the streets blindfolded and always end up where I wanted to go?

Damn Comfest and its last full weekend in June scheduling.

I barely lasted a month in Nashville without returning, and I can definitely say I came back too soon. The wounds of uprooting are still a little tender, though I staved off the emotion until Sunday.

In less than 48 hours I smashed in 17 hours of Comfest, two impromptu porch parties, coffee with Katy, breakfast with the Stacey sisters, a last trip through my parents' house before they pack up for Atlanta next month, a brief visit with Jeff and Melissa, a red Gatorade mustache that wouldn't wipe off ... and other embarrassing drunken moments.

Oh, did I mention the dozens of familiar faces in Goodale Park?

Until Sunday, my feeling was, "I like Nashville, but God, it feels right to be back."
After hoisting a few final brews with fellow 3-day survivor Erica Peters, I walked back to the parking lost, leaving just as the crowd became obvious.

I milked every last Columbus moment I could. I took High Street down to Greenlawn Avenue before finding the highway, content with a little people-watching from Nationwide to Merion Village.

The LeVecque Tower-led skyline sank into the horizon at Grove City, then I was down to blasting CD 101's live broadcast from Comfest until leaving its range.

This is actually quite important, because I find Nashville radio quite foul; aside from a few hours a day on a college station, it's classical for me. None of the stations holds an antenna to CD101 and its playlists. In forty minutes I got acoustic Nirvana, some Evil Queens, "Icky Thump" for the umpteenth time.

And just try not to sing along with Amy Winehouse - I dare you.

And of course, the last song I got from Columbus had to be "Everlong" from the Foo Fighters, one of my all-time Top Five. A decade after I first heard it that perfect slab of loud rock, David Grohl's masterpiece overflows with fresh meaning.

Hibernating Columbus leaves its cave

I've never known a town so stir crazy when winter's cocoon cracks and its residents can finally roam again.

Any inkling of 50-60 degree temperatures, and the city roars to life, as if some long, demoralizing conflict has at last been signed away in treaty.

Children swarmed, locusts of the playgrounds; everytime I passed a park, the swings and slides bowed from a capacity crowd. Rarely will the crowds swell so large in neighborhood parks, even during summer vacation. There's something special about the first sunny day that cannot be cloned in June.

And finally, the porch party made its triumphant return to town, wiping away from the occupation enforced by single-digit highs.

In only a few hours on second-floor porch next to a busy glide path for bats, the feelings that winter seeks to crush now crawl away from their shallow grave and live again.

Today, the rain pounds away, and the Chicken Littles of television news already strut and cluck about rumors of snow by week's end, possible in time to give us a white St. Pat's Day (or as I have to call it in Melissa's presence, the day after Friday).

But a little taste of late spring will sate this body through the next visit from winter.