Sunday, January 27, 2008

George Strait kind of night.

Perhaps it was the Judds playing "Grandpa" on my way home from playgroup Friday night, or slow dancing with my little girl to Vince Gill, but something about this weekend was meant to be infused with my Texas days. Tonight particularly, felt saturated in the lone star state.Does music follow us, or do we follow the music? It's an egg-chicken kind of question that makes me wonder, like so many things, if we create our reality from the subtlety around us.

I have been leaning ever so slightly back into the comfort and chaos of being young, having everything in front of me, learning the world one unraveling truth at a time. First fears, first day at school, first kisses, and a conveyor belt of new beginnings and personality shifts based on my surroundings. One of which was music... Country music: Clint Black, Randy Travis,George Strait, Garth Brooks, The Judds, Alison Kraus, Brooks and Dunn, Waylon Jennings, Trisha Yearwood, Reba, Alabama, Willie Nelson...I could go on.

It's bizarre that so many of my fondest memories involve a whining guitar and some twang. I actually think I learned some of my best story-telling from some of Country's greatest lyrics. The very butt of so many jokes about the genre of music, is what makes it speak volumes to me... literally. I still can smell the bailed hay that bordered the dance floor at the outdoor strawberry fests. The warm smell of Houston humidity in the fall. Sitting outside in the dim light of an "exit" sign at school waiting for some awkward young boy in cowboy boots to ask me to dance. We believed in love then, we hoped for it.

It's hard for me to hear George and not feel washed over with the overwhelming feeling that everything will be fine. He "gets" women, and gladly exposes his own vunerability. (Cringe-worthy cheese, I know) He laughs at himself in songs like "the chair" and consoles a woman's heart with validation like "he must have really hurt you bad." I still feel like two-stepping and nuzzling my forehead under a cowboy's chin when I hear: "you look so good in love" or "ocean front property". I can't explain it (even though I just spent ten minutes trying) but every soul needs the hug of good music-memories when they start reaching out to hold you. Mine started two days ago, and when I finally listened to the signals, I sat down and played some good Ole' country heart-ache.

Judge away....I will be here, soft and sweet, with my thumbs tucked into my Levi pockets. Swaying with my eyes closed, under a weeping willow softly flapping shadows over the moon's reflection on a lake.

1 comment:

John Young said...

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