I was looking through some old-ish photos to get inspiration for a quick post today, and found this one. Recognize this famous house?
No? How about one of the gates?
Did you guess Graceland, home of the late Elvis Presley? Ding, ding, ding! You’d be right!
I was there in 1999, with the two boys. And my Mom. And my sister.
Wait. Let’s pause for a moment.
I’m just realizing how old I feel right now because I cannot for the life of me remember what the circumstances of this trip were, so forgive my faded, rusted memory. Stick with me; the punchline will pay off. (and my sister will either correct or add to my story in the comment section, I’m sure.)
Where was I? Oh yes. Memphis. At Graceland. So it was 1999 and D was about 7, J about 4. We stood outside the gates on our tiptoes, trying to see what we could because we were only passing through and didn’t care to pay for the tour (though I distinctly remember going across the street to purchase Elvis postcards and mailing them at the Elvis/Graceland post office so they would have the rubber stamp indicating where EXACTLY they were mailed).
D said, “Mom, whose house is this?”
I answered, “It belonged to the King of Rock and Roll.”
He said, “You mean Ricky Martin?*”