Different and the Same
I was enjoying those little snippits of overheard music today while I was putting my shopping in the car at the local grocery. A little rock. A little rap. But the best one was the Blues.
An old guy in an equally old rusty truck was trolling the parking lot looking for a spot closer to the store, maybe he felt rusty, too. I know that feeling myself. He slowed behind my car to see if I'd be moving on. Not for sure because I didn't recognize the song but I believe he was playing Mississippi John Hurt, one of my Blues favorites. The old truck guy looked me in the eye and smiled; I smiled back and nodded. The music was amazing, and I truly enjoyed that 10 second sound bite. Gotta love the Blues; that stuff always reaches deep into the heart.
Gotta love Mississippi, too. In spite of what other people might hear about this place, it's comfortable (in spite of our 9 months of summer) and we like it. Folks are friendly. And sometimes they share the Blues without evening meaning to. Nice. That's how I know I'm home.