Country Road Take Me Home

To the place where I belongggg. *coughs*

Ok, be advised, mixing old time country music with a fever and cough meds is not a good thing. However, I will admit that my sinuses are at least a little looser now than they were 2 hours ago. I have been in the bed, lying down to recuperate from the feverishness that has plagued me for the past week. As always it gets worse in the early evenings. I don't know why, it just does. I'm a low temp type of person, so when it does go up, I go down for the count. Good thing that I had entertainment in the form of glittering Rhinestone Cowboys and all huh? Urm, yeah.

The thing is this: I'm a country girl, a redneck woman, all of that. Raised on Country Sunshine does not even begin to cover it. I've spent the last two hours on an emotional rollercoaster going high up into hysterical giggles with Harper Valley PTA only to fall way down low in the weepy slumps with Crazy, I Fall To Pieces and hell, just about any song Patsy Cline ever opened her mouth to sing.

When this is what you remember during the innocent times of your life, the time when your daddy still was THE king of your world and you were the lil princess, when mama was the bomb, the know all be all end all of your existence, then it cuts you down. It regresses you to a place where you never thought to revisit ever again. Then you hear it; He said I'll love you til I die.. She said You'll forget in time, and just OMG! I'm squalling my eyes out.

My father and I don't speak any more we haven't for almost four years now. It's something intensely private that I don't talk about, however, I can still remember riding in the big gray truck and him singing this song. See, my father has a wonderful voice. Our whole family on is a musical one. His brothers all play instruments, his sisters can all sing; its what southerners do, you know, for church goings. His voice is his instrument as he, like myself, was too stubborn or flighty to sit down to actual lessons. It's a beautiful one, rich, deep, and full of the pathos of living. So, when I hear Charlie Pride, Kenny Rogers, Marty Robbins, Hank Williams, Willie, Waylon, all of them, I hear my daddy. But, not the one I don't speak to anymore. No, I hear the daddy I love, the daddy I miss, the daddy that I still keep close in my heart.

This was something special he and I shared, the ability to carry a tune well enough to catch the notice of others. People comment on myself and my daughter now, jokingly saying that we are the Judds or whatever. So, we sang together, I can do harmonies because of this man, I know what an alto, tenor and a bass is, because of him. This, along with humor, and a love of the Grinch I can't shake.

So, here I sit all sniffly, and grumpy as old wounds have once again been ripped open by an old country tune and the sight of dead legends moving across the screen. Tammy, Johnny, Ray, Charlie, Waylon and now, Buck. I'll miss them all, and in the missing, I will also reminisce about my daddy.

Like Tricia Yearwood's song says: The Song Remembers When. It does, and it will reach out across decades to grab you and pull you right back to where you were that day. The day the sun was shining, the day you never even imagined it would all end. Ignorance? Maybe. Innocence, surely. Both are bliss.

So, *lifts glass* Here's to the daddy I once had, may he and I meet again one fine day. May the Circle Be Unbroken. Daddy sings bass, I sing tenor. Little bro takes after mama and is not invited to join.