Grand old lady of the south...

Gretchen Wilson has a song called Redneck Woman, which my husband says reminds him of me when he listens to it. I'm half amused, half appalled--a lot of that stuff doesn't apply to me, first of all, and I don't really *like* her music very much. I think that country radio's tendency to beat a new song like a dead horse until there's nothing left but a bloody smear on the pavement might have something to do with that, though, so in a lot of ways, I react to that in the same way that I react to a lot of fangirl/fanboy squealing about various stuff. There are reasons I haven't seen Chicago, Moulin Rouge, Buffy/Angel, etc.

Anyway, I digress.

He doesn't really think I fit into the 'redneck woman' category, either, but there's this one line...

And I know all the words to every Charlie Daniels song

And well...

Born in North Carolina, raised in part by a man whose roots go back as far as my paternal blood line goes, I'm not sure I had much choice in the matter...though maybe that's not really a fair statement. I love the man's music, so the fact that I'm probably genetically predisposed doesn't really make much of a difference.

He's very politically charged, this is true, and though everyone probably knows him for either that or for The Devil Went Down To Georgia (which is another one that I love), my absolute favorite is one that most people would most likely be hard pressed to place. I'm not sure why I think of it as a Christmas song, either, I just do--really, though, it's not seasonally dependent at all.

There are songs that always make me cry, no matter when or where I hear them, and this is one of those. Something about the introduction--which is spoken--just really resonates with me, so much so that it's just...really very emotional.

And what brought this to mind today?

Well, as mentioned, I think of this as a Christmas song, and the local country station is having these little 'Merry Christmas from Nashville' things where various artists talk about the holiday, and I started thinking about the last time I was in North Carolina for Christmas.

I don't remember much about it--it was 1990, my last Christmas as a high school student, and we all knew that my grandma was dying, after several long years fighting the good fight against ovarian cancer. She lasted so much longer than they thought she would.

What I do remember...it was cold in Salt Lake when I left, cold and snowing, with a forecast of yet more snow. Hardly a surprise. But at my dad and stepmom's place outside of Raleigh, it was warm, probably 70 degrees. All the windows in the house were open, and they were out for something, so I was by myself. I sat at the kitchen table staring toward the Christmas tree in my short sleeved shirt. I could hear the sound of the horses in the barn from not too far away. My stepmom's beautiful, long-haired black persian cat was creeping through the house. Most of all, though, I remember feeling the warm breeze as it blew through the house and across my face and my bare arms.

It was strange to me then, to have such temperate weather at Christmas, and the rest of the trip went by in a flash, but I will never forget the way that breeze felt, the way it smelled...

And even though there's no denying that Salt Lake City is home to me, Carolina always will be, too.

The first things I remember are frosty Carolina mornings with a cheery fire crackling in my momma's big black wood cook stove.

I remember snow flakes as big as goose feathers and the moon the color of new made country butter and a night sky like diamonds against black velvet, reaching from horizon to horizon.

I remember when the biggest problems in my barefoot life were sand spurs and red ant hills.

I remember sitting with my grand daddy on the front porch and watching the last of that magnificent southern sun bleed away into the twilight sky.

I remember sunday school and kneeling at the cross and trying to imagine what God looked like.

Sunday dinner, short pants, hair cuts, and a little puppy my daddy brought home to me, and I remember love.

I remember steam puffing, fire breathing, awesome, 10 wheel locomotives and the conductor's watch looked as big as one of my grandmother's biscuits.

I remember my mother smiling in a red and white checkered dress.

And Christmas always seemed so far away.

Yes, I remember you Carolina, grand old lady of the south.

I remember you as home.

Carolina (I Remember You), Charlie Daniels