We awoke to the call of bananas and peanut butter at the Heartbreak Hotel continental breakfast.
Following the footpath to the ticket area of Graceland, we passed under the warm winged shadow of the Lisa Marie (Elvis' private jet), and into the land of the mighty jumpsuited One - The Patron Saint of The Drag King.
It was a beautiful day - full of jungle room promise. And we were ready - all audio tour earphoned up and cued at the ready. Show me to the gates, oh mighty shuttle bus. The tour of the Elvis' home - a whirlwind of shagged rug brilliance that I am still digesting. They kept us moving so fast, I barely had time to focus the camera. But it was stunning, and homey, and downright Elvis. We shuffled along, with the voice of Lisa Marie cascading through our ears, describing how every time Elvis walked into a room, his energy had already arrived the day before, or maybe it was his cologne.
Walking through the hall of gold records required dark sunglasses and a case of awe. And we're not talking Awe Light. But all throughout the tour, I carried a sense of sadness, because we all knew the ending. And my audio guide quietly and respectfully eased us into the later years, and out into the meditation garden, where Elvis has been meditating since '77. Fresh flowers arrive every day. Good thing his fans haven't caught on to the trend towards Edible Arrangements.
The rest of the tour took us back across the street to the compound, where we refilled our cup and our souvenir collection, as well as took in Elvis' passion for things that go fast, motorcycles, Cadillacs, and money. Lots of money. He died at 42 with two planes, at least ten motorcycles, and twice as many automobiles. I'm still walking the streets of Memphis, and am only on my third car. I have something to strive for.
But we all had a yearning to see Sincerely Elvis - his collection of jumpsuits. And we were not disappointed. The man had jumpsuits. Many many many jumpsuits. Oh and the belt buckles. We cannot forget about the buckles. You really can't - they are larger than a banana cream pie on steroids. Probably weigh more than Las Vegas.
The only disappointing part was that each exhibit had its own gift shop - only with slightly different variations on the same things. And I don't know how many different kinds of Elvis lip balm are necessary in life.
But as someone who has wanted to go to Graceland, the home of Elvis Presley, the King, and a human being that has always been inspired a big hunk o' my grounded outsider 50's bad boi "If I Can Dream" inner soul - then it was a damn good day to be a king.
We ended our day by spending some time with a wonderfully generous group offering support to the Trans community of Memphis. It felt good to be amongst their warm company, be a part of a good discussion and we are grateful for their invitation to join them at their meeting, and for the hearty helping of coconut cake. Elvis would have agreed.
Tomorrow, we explore more of Memphis, the Civil Rights Museum is at the top of the list, and then head out with our feet ten feet off of Beale.
(for those of you who may not know - today's post was put up by Mal, aka Malvis. And this little note is from Renee - more than the gold records or the grommetted bedazzled jumpsuit goodness, the highlight of the tour was Mal's face. And the fun with glasses. We also weren't allowed to film at Graceland, so you'll just have to wait for a live recreation. It'll be worth it. Trust us.)
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