My Autumnal Ritual

Every year about this time I get this insatiable craving for country music. It's actually really bizarre because any other time of the year, that crooning makes my eye twitch kick into over drive. And yet when that cool breeze comes floating in and I see my mountains littered with color, I find myself hankering for Rascal Flatts, Carrie Underwood, Trisha Yearwood and Faith Hill.

I even have separate pre-set country stations in my car that are used ONLY in Autumn.

I add Pandora Stations at the end of September and by the beginning of November I have deleted them all, returning to my usual listening habits.

I have vivid memories of my college friends and I taking many a road trip in September and October, which makes me wonder if that is why I always listen to country this time of year? We made day trips to St George, Jackson Hole and even one time flew to Portland to see a friend and then drove all the way back to Utah-- listening to Country the entire way.

In October. 

It could also be that during the Fall while Jefe was in Law School I would take the kids on weekly --usually daily-- drives or "field trips." I didn't like to drive the country roads in the winter, so I would get my "fix" until the first snow fall,  which was typically the first week of November. Then I would stay put for the long and dreary winter.

The cold weather makes me want to sing and honestly? My vocal chords seem to really dig these country tunes. They have deep, sultry sounds that my gravely voice can easily find the harmony to. I have my favorite ones that I've put on a disk and when I have a lot of errands to run or some distance to cover, I pull that baby out and sing to my hearts content.

For me, signing is cathartic. Healing almost. And, it makes me feel good. Alive even.  A lot can happen in three and half minutes when you're singing a song. You're whole outlook can change in those few short minutes. That's the power of music.

Moxie has started crooning with me and it totally melts my heart. When I look in the rear-view mirror and see her sitting in her seat, belting out the tunes it knocks me flat. Then add into the mix her copying my idiotic dance moves while we do our errands? I'm out cold. She is her mother's daughter, that's for sure.

Her Dad commented about how she was singing at the top of her lungs one time with him: "Not only does she sing every single song that comes on the radio, she also knows all the words and inflections, too. And her pitch? It's dead on."

Yes. She is my child and that makes me feel all sorts of sparkly, gooey, fou-fou happy inside.


*Pulled from the archives. Originally published on October 6, 2011