The Stars At Night Are Big And Bright

Jon & I recently celebrated a landmark in our relationship. One whole year. And what a year! He surprised me with a dozen red roses & a pair of tickets to see Robert Earl Keen. The roses were beautiful, but the tickets are more meaningful to me than I can probably convey.

First off, it’s meaningful because it was a complete surprise—I didn’t even know REK was coming to Utah. But more importantly, Jon despises country music, and it was his idea to go…just for yours truly. Robert Earl isn’t traditional contemporary country music, though. Huge folk influence, some jammin’ guitar, fiddle and the like, and some good old fashioned lyrical story telling. I’m not an avid country music fan by any sense of the imagination. I’m certainly not averse to it, but I wouldn’t even consider myself an enthusiast. The fact of the matter is, a piece of my heart belongs in Texas for a variety of reasons. Among others, deep family roots, and fields of vibrant bluebonnets.

I call on early memories—good and bad—that have contributed significantly to the formation of my identity. The inner Texan in me exists. It is and will continue to be a part of me, so I choose to embrace it. Whenever I hear Robert Earl, I fondly transition to a simpler place, a place I have been many times, a place I likely will never again encounter with any element of joy. No glitter, no glitz. Just dust and cobwebs now. In reality, very little was ever there --except some people about whom I care a great deal. I can’t physically reach out to them as I would prefer. So instead, despite the wistful melancholy, I choose to embrace the tunes of a storyteller from somewhere in Texas.