farmdoc's blog post number 105

At David and Anthea’s wedding. We were tablemates. As luck would have it. He sat opposite me. Seemed nice enough. Neatly dressed. Pleasant smile. Noticeably eloquent. Tastefully humorous. Intelligent. A legal man. A Judge, actually. Klezmania started to play. Music became the topic. The Judge was enthusiastic. About Klezmer. The blues. Jazz. Classical. Anything. Everything? No, not quite. He let it slip. The bombshell. He disliked country and western. How could he? The heathen. Not like me. I’m the converse. A true believer. Willie Nelson. Tammy Wynette. Merle Haggard. Johnny Cash. Bob Dylan. Emmylou Harris. Steve Earle. Kinky Friedman. Dolly Parton. And more. Many more. I love them all. I do. Country and western. Pure and simple. Simple themes. Simple lyrics. Simple melodies. Catchy tunes. Everyday people. Everyday predicaments. Everyday emotions. Very accessible. Not elitist. So then, Judge. What’s your problem? Red State music, blue State man? I’m not sure. I didn’t ask. It’s not my business. But wait a second. What’d he say? He let it slip. Another bombshell. The Grand Ole Opry. Out of Nashville. Country’s birth place. He went there once. He told me so. He really did so. Well nice one, Judge. You sneaky fellow. A true believer. After all.