I grew up around horses, coon dogs, raccoons, squirrels, going fishing and rodeo’s with my PapPaw. I wish my grandchildren could have the same fun I had growing up following in the footsteps of one of the finest men this world would ever see, Marlin Jones. I thought he could walk on water. I married a man who is so much like him, it’s scary. The only thing different, my husband doesn’t appreciate music. Before PapPaw lost his arm in a grist mill accident, he was a banjo picker. He could dance, sing and loved the Grand Ole Opry on Saturday night. You had better not make a sound when the Opry was playing. Husband wasn’t raised with music and he can’t understand, when I am up at 4am, listening to Merle, Mo Pitney, Joey+Rory, (and crying) or to Gene Watson, I have to. It’s like breathing to me. I have times when I need to listen to R&B that blows my hair back. But I put in my ear buds, because he just hears a noise.
I had a complete post to this blog, and I didn’t hit SAVE. I guess God needed that one!
So much has happened since I last wrote a post. Merle Haggard died 4/6. Last month Joey Feek died a few days after her little girls birthday in February.
She was half of the Joey+Rory couple. It hurts to think about her passing. She was so loved, because she was so lovable. I should put in her picture, so you could see her countenance. She was so full of the Lord, she glowed. She died of the dreaded ‘cancer’. But she left such beautiful music and a little girl who the world loves, like they loved her mother. Little Indiana is only two years old. Her daddy, Rory, is doing such a wonderful job with the baby. His blog tears me up most of the time. I end up searching for Kleenex. I can understand a writer has to get it out of their heart, or it would burst. His blog is thislifeilive.com.
I wish I could write songs like Rory, Wynn Varble, Bill Anderson, Willie Nelson and the late Merle. I can’t! But I can write and tell you a story that you won’t forget. I’m writing my books, and one day, I will publish. I’m waiting for God’s timing, not mine.