The Wicker Basket…

When my pops was younger he became strangely fascinated with country music, deciding, after giving it some serious thought, to begin a collection of all his old favourites from dear old Dolly to Kenny; Loretta and Johnny, Glen and Jim not to mention Randy and the lovely Conway, if it tugged at his heart it was added to his collection…

So nineteen years later, I now find myself strangely fascinated with country music; blaring it as loud as I possibly can out of my stereo as I pack up my room to face the world as an undergrad student in a brand, spanking new city. I have them all, the Loretta’s and Johnny’s, although I have to admit, the ones that tug at my heart most are the dulcet tones of Randy Travis as he wails out his story to me about digging up bones—taking a walk in the graveyard of his long gone love.

I sit down to consider what he’s telling me, about resurrecting memories and upbraiding the ground in ways that he shouldn’t  and I think, it’s a fine thing to say Randy, but why do you keep doing it? When pops was younger and grew fascinated with the heart rending honesty of a good country song, He decided to collect all the best ones he could find, perhaps in the hope that it would lend him a hand in that arena, that maybe he would learn the trick of heart rending honesty instead of the inability to speak that seemed to have got a hold of him somehow…

Most of his collection is tied with a string inside a medium sized Wicker basket that I now own, which I have left behind in my old room because it’s not likely to fit into the room I’m moving into in my new city and even if it did, I’m not really sure I want to be listening to the Pasty Cline’s that are the top of his list, among his favourites talking about Walking out after midnight…

As I shake myself a little and remind myself of the work that is involved in moving, I consider telling Randy that its better to leave things alone, but then again, He seems to be in full swing, so I shrug it off and lend him my ear anyway; sometimes we all need someone to listen.


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