home

After that concert, I listened to Eric Church songs till I was practically nauseous when that same song would come on. I learned them on the piano... Hometown, Springsteen, Carolina, Like a Wrecking Ball. All of em. Because he has this way of taking you home. I want to go home, but not like, to my hometown home. Although I do think about moving back there because my family has a legacy there, where I was born and raised, and that is becoming sort of a novelty in this day in age where people are so transient.

I had to shut him off because-- the nausea, duh. But, I couldn't shut of that feeling, that ache to go home to a country house by a little town where people know you by name and little country town drama runs the place. Where you order pizza from the gas station and you get dressed to go to the library.

I decided to write about it, while I look for a fixer-upper out in the sticks. I'm practicing my southern drawl- southern Missouri drawl, that is, because it soothes the ache.

Something about politics and rioting and protests and people I love calling names because of refugees they'll likely never lay eyes on or contribute to in any way shape or form. Something about it has me aching to run for the hills.

So I sit and play my songs on the piano because they still bring me joy and not nausea. And I sing my songs because they're love songs and they make me crazier about my man than ever.

Maybe it's because this world is not my home, it's just my house.

lvb