Earlier thought while driving by myself: Ya think Country Music started as liquored-up folk music someone was was trying to remember on a lonely, humid evening on the porch?
Several hours and thin threads later, a memory: Mom playing “Ghost Riders” by Johnny Cash on the organ in the living room. My sisters and I dancing silly on green carpet with gold flecks. Circa 1979-80. Earlier still, she’d play the accordion.
Friends and Confidantes, let’s not go down that rabbit hole tonight. Sometimes one can listen on repeat, and sometimes not at all; tonight though, I can at least give her the praise she deserves – she had fun with her 3 girls in her own way.
Why do the good memories hurt, too?
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