deeper than the holler

I love Randy Travis, circa 1986-88. Okay, there. I've admitted it to the world, well to my reader(s) at least. I spent most of my childhood in the suburbs outside of Atlanta and my Mom loved Randy. She'd pop in her Old 8x10 cassette during our trips to the bank and the post office. I remember playing house with my little sister, frosting my plastic fisher-price cupcakes and singing 'Diggin' up Bones'.

Randy was always either wailing about good intentions, cheatin' blues, and the end of the line. Or he was singing about her perfume, forever holding hands, and lovin' without fear. While I'm not a big fan of his more recent work or all those Christian worship albums he did, I've just recently rediscovered the treasure trove of records released in the mid and late eighties courtesy of Rhapsody. I have a new appreciation of my mother now listening to Randy's country honey voice and hound dog lyrics while I'm scrubbing my ceiling fan blades and vacuuming under the couch.

Forever and ever, Amen.