The House that Built Me

The wonderful thing about country music is the stories. Heartache, mischief, loves gone wrong, etc.

Miranda Lambert's latest, The House That Built Me, is my new fave. How does she know this much about me?

Here are some snippets:

I used to do my homework in that little room.
My favorite dog is buried in your back yard.

And the best part is the chorus:

If you'll just let me in, I swear I'll leave ... with nothing but a memory.

She needs to be in her childhood home. Touch the walls, feel the aura, put a hand on the concrete.

I'm in touch with this. My life fell apart and guess where I ran?

I'm long past the time that I should've moved on. Call it lazy or call it crazy ... I don't know.

I will move on. I will redefine the life I need for myself. But right now, I'm indulging a need. I put my head on a pillow, say my prayers and take great comfort in returning to the house that built me.

Let's Dance

It's possible that I dance every day. If you know me, you've seen it. I dance alone; I dance with strangers. I dance in supermarkets and I have left my footprints on more than one tabletop.

This is the part where I'm supposed to be sorry. Oops, I'm not. Dancing is who I am. I have been teased and shamed. It doesn't work. People who dance often make others uncomfortable. Here's a few things you should know:

I realize I'm not a good dancer. I don't care. The spirit moves me and I go.

I don't expect you to participate. I love it if you do. I am not hurt if you don't.

The true release of dancing is not always happy.

I can only speak for me but I feel sorry for people who don't know the soulful release of a good dance.

I had an iPod issue earlier this summer and I had to use my goddaughter and her boyfriend's good nature to fix it. I felt like an oldie because it was an easy fix but I needed young people to chart the course.

Now I am back in business. Flicking on my music and dancing to my heart's content.

George

Much to my dismay, I was bombarded with country music in my youth. Of course, today I love it. Years ago, it was not cool and I aspired to be cool.

In my house, we watched "Hee Haw" on Saturday night. And if my dad was driving the car, we listened to the country station.

George Jones was, and is, one of my Dad's favorite artists. We have been to his concerts. For the record, "No Show Jones" usually showed.

When George's ex-wife and love of his life (Tammy Wynette) remarried, George referred to her mate as his husband-in-law. I have often borrowed a version of that term.

He has jillions of great songs but the one that makes me reach for the tissues is He Stopped Loving Her Today. It's morose -- a love carried until his dying day:

"...They placed a wreath upon his door
Then they carried him away
He stopped loving her today..."

Today I went to the house to deal with stuff: his stuff, my stuff, our stuff, stuff nobody wants ...

And I admitted it to myself:

She stopped loving him today.