Ok Trace Adkins, we get it.
I should probably get this out of the way right now: I am not one of your country-blue gals, not a woman who would tote her Bible to church (although I do go to church) in a zippered quilted cover. I am not someone who would watch the CMAs, though I would like to go to Merlefest, and I am going to vote for Barack Obama (holla), and am glad that Huckabee is simply not going to be an option for anyone, come November.
Ok, that said--I do listen to country music some. Part of it comes with the territory. I live in the country, and driving around listening to country music once in a while seems appropriate. I am kind of apologetic about it in part because I held popular country music in low estimation in my young years (sorry Garth), and then I also got irritated by the whole gentrification of bluegrass in the 1990s (while not the same genre, it's related), which makes me sort of scorn the whole thing.
However, today I found myself pulling over to the side of the road, crying like a baby, trying desperately to find some sort of nose-blower in my glove box, as a result of the new Trace Atkins song. With Dan turning 1 this week and Adam's grandmother passing away, I guess I'm in the right place in my life to be able to swallow the bait so effortlessly--but I have to say that he's right.
Our memories might be nine-tenths nostalgia, but how important it is to make them, and to remember that these ARE the good times, because tomorrow you won't be as young as you are today, and the cone of possibilities continues to descend with every passing day. When you have kids, the pressure to make every day a good one, and to make each moment count is crushing--sheesh, as if we needed more of an existential load to carry. But in a way, it's good and maybe necessary to know that we're not the only keepers of the memories--and that, for them, these are some good times too.
Check it out...
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