Well, I’ve always been really partial to Train’s “Meet Virginia”, because my ex-husband (before becoming my ex) swore up and down the song was written about me - almost every bit of the song (except for the occupations of her parents and her brother, and I actually do smoke a pack a day) fits me to a tee.
Of course, it mainly started because I was wearing sweatpants and putting on high-heels to go for a walk around the block - and the song happened to be on. It’s not really the most flattering-sounding ode, but I can deal with it
Sooo, in short, if I can convince my dad to wrestle alligators while my mom works on carburetors (and my brother really would be a fine mediator for the President), I’ll happily live out Meet Virginia.
Now I think I’m going down to the well tonight
And I’m going to drink till I get my fill
And I hope when I get old I don’t sit around thinking about it
But I probably will
Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture
A little of the glory of, well time slips away
And leaves you with nothing mister but
Boring stories of glory days
Well, there was the time I hosted this big party. I made a big fancy cake. It took so long. And then someone – I’ll never know who – left it outside. It started to rain. The worst part was, I just can’t find the damn recipe. I think my dog ate it.
My “son” Chris and his birth family seem destined to live out the ouevre of Garth Brooks – nearly every song the man has ever recorded matches uncannily some event in the life of one of them. And he and I have a personal eerie phenomenon: Whenever we are together and listening to the radio, if the Scorpions’ “The Winds of Change” plays, we know we’re in for a radical change in the life of one or the other of us.
The final item is a cute story about one of his kids and an accidental living-out-a-song reference:
Two years ago, I was bringing my honorary grandkids home to their home with their parents (which was then 11 miles from my own home) from their grandmother’s in the town 714 miles away that we had all grown up in). We were driving down Interstate 95, about 80 miles north of Richmond VA, and Amanda, then 10 and with flaming red hair and a personality to match, was in the front right seat, with the two boys dozing off in the back. And Travis Tritt’s “Modern Day Bonnie and Clyde” began playing on the radio.
And she and I caught each other’s eyes, and burst out laughing!
*Let’s not go home, we’ll catch the late train
I’ve got enough money to pay our way
When the postman calls, he’ll deliver the letter
I’ve explained everything, it’s better that way
We’ll catch a plane to New York and a cab going down
Cross the bridges and tunnels straight into town
When the postman comes we’ll be miles away
On another continent and another day
(Divided by, divided by) Let’s not go home
(Divided by, divided by) Or call it a day
(Divided by, divided by) You won’t be alone
(Divided by, divided by) Let’s run away*
One time I was on a road trip and had just made the turn onto a different highway when Gordon Lightfoot’s “Pride of Man” came on the radio. Turn around, go back down, back the way you came.
Everyone in the car suddenly realized that we had turned in the wrong direction.
Is that for real?