WHRO, our classical music radio station here in Hampton Roads, plays constantly in our house. I tune to it in my car, hum along with the recurring themes, and win, more times than not, the classical music quizzes.
I have never been a fan of country music, but that’s not to say I don’t appreciate it. Certain times in my life I have found myself drawn to country. When we moved to San Antonio in 1980, it was such a foreign place to us, I wanted to drink in the flavor of our new city. I started listening to one of the many country music radio stations. My two favorite songs were “You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille” and “If You’re Going to Do Him Wrong Again,You Might As Well Do Him Wrong Again With Me.”
I finally outgrew my country craze and went back to my classical music. But recently, I’ve started listening to Emmylou Harris. Don’t know why. One of her songs which I play over and over is “Calling My Children Home.”
Country music is so plaintive, drawing out every loss and sorrow. It tugs at your heart. My children all live far from us, and we don’t get to see them but two or three times a year. It’s been this way for years. Emmylou’s song grabs hold of the raw edges of my heartstrings and plucks away. These are some of the lyrics of her song:
“Back in the years with all together,
Around the place we’d romp and play.
So lonely now and oft’ times wonder,
Oh will they come back home some day.”
“I’m lonesome for my precious children,
They live so far away.
Oh may they hear my calling…calling..and come back home some day.”
I can listen to that song over and over again as tears stream down my face. I’ll make myself a cup of tea as I hear Emmylou’s sweet twang. The tea isn’t always enough to stem the flood, so I will add a few biscotti (Sorry, Darling, I didn’t save any for you. I was too sad). Sometimes I need to pour myself a glass of wine. Or two. Wine is always best with cheese. Or dark chocolate. I try not to cry into my chocolate chip cookie dough–oh, did I mention cookie dough is fab with cab?–because I don’t want to make it soggy.
I’ve added a few pounds lately since Emmylou has taken up residence. I suppose I could turn that durn song off. Or maybe I could just retitle this blog post, “Country Music Makes Me Fat.”
Listen to this at your own risk.
Coming East 
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I’m going to skip the song because, even though I just returned from a visit with my children and grandchildren, it will probably make me cry and I’m stuffed up enough from the flu I picked up along the way. If I won the lottery (and I’d have to play first, I suppose), I would build a family compound so we could all be close (but not too close because I know everybody needs a break from everybody every now and again) and spend more time together.
Sorry it took me so long to respond, Robin. I’ve been out of the blogosphere for a few weeks. Can’t think of anything to write. Funny you should mention a family compound. That has always been our dream. It better happen soon, if it’s going to happen at all, because George and I will be in The Home before you know it.
I’ve always liked Emmylou Harris’ voice and style of music, though I don’t listen to it often. Crying makes my nose stuffy. Maybe I’m not eating the right things with it.
Haha! Your kid isn’t far enough away to cry about.
I noticed you let your hair grow out in an attempt to get yours to move closer. 😉
Haha! I’ll try anything.
Tears cleanse the eyes and chocolate is good for you. Now if only the kids would move closer, life would be perfect. I have grown accustomed to the country music here too – especially the Appalachian versions with clogging – Bluegrass maybe. I am never sure of the delineations.
You live in a great place for that music. I actually love to hear it performed live rather than on the radio.
Love the song, and I love a good cry.
This one will do it for you, then.
Glad you liked the biscotti. And Irish music works for me. Not the loud, fun pub songs but the sad ones. And, I have a emmylou song I play over and over again too.
You and I have always been moved by music. Love the sad Irish ones, too. Peggy Gordon makes my eyes water.