Love's the Only House
Yesterday in the car I heard a song on WMZQ that I'm sure I haven't heard in more than six years. (This always happens -- my favorite songs are rarely the ones that get played ad nauseam.) It's a Martina McBride song called "Love's the Only House," and it was a country hit for about a week in early 2000.
That happened to be the same week that I rented a house in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia, to write. My ex -- at the time, my current -- came out for the first weekend with our two dogs, then he and our basset, Jake, left while I stayed for the rest of the week with our basset-beagle, Fred, who was 13 and having major health problems.
Something tells me I may have blogged about this already, but it turned out to be a really lovely time for me and Fred, just the two of us (he had been my ex's dog for years and then entered my life when we started dating; by now we were living together). It was an enormous house that slept a dozen people or something, but it was just me and Fred. In the morning, I'd stoke the fire in the wood stove and write on the couch, Fred curled up beside me. In the afternoon, we'd take a break and drive into town. I'd get a coffee beverage and a Washington Post and walk around a bit with him. There's a cute picture of Fred standing in front of the bandstand that I would scan in if I had a scanner.
Just about every day in the car, I'd hear this song, "Love's the Only House," and I came to really love it. (I have one of Martina McBride's early CDs, Wild Angels, which is an excellent country album, but since then she's degenerated into mostly crossover schmaltz -- though her most recent, Timeless, a collection of covers of classic country songs, was well received and I could see myself considering buying it someday.) At night, I'd listen to the radio as I cooked dinner -- as this was West Virginia, there was a wide selection of country stations to choose from -- and would hear the song several times again over the course of the evening.
The lyrics don't make much sense as a whole, but I like the refrain -- "Love's the only house big enough for all the pain in the world" -- and it's got a good beat (you can dance to it!).
I'll always associate the song with that precious week in the cavernous country house with Fred -- the first animal I ever loved -- who passed away four months later. (Jake, whom we had for less than a year, was put down two months after that . . . but that's another, tragic story.)
So what song do I hear again in my car today? "Love's the Only House." I guess the station leaves its CDs lying around instead of putting them back in the CD tower, just like I do.
***
Speaking of houses, I completed the loan process on my condo this week, and the inspection will take place on Wednesday. I'll probably settle in early to mid-December, though the date hasn't been set yet. Here's another glimpse -- intentionally tantalizing in its selectivity. ;) It's a view from the patio into the living room; my agent is sitting there on the phone. I'm very excited.
That happened to be the same week that I rented a house in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia, to write. My ex -- at the time, my current -- came out for the first weekend with our two dogs, then he and our basset, Jake, left while I stayed for the rest of the week with our basset-beagle, Fred, who was 13 and having major health problems.
Something tells me I may have blogged about this already, but it turned out to be a really lovely time for me and Fred, just the two of us (he had been my ex's dog for years and then entered my life when we started dating; by now we were living together). It was an enormous house that slept a dozen people or something, but it was just me and Fred. In the morning, I'd stoke the fire in the wood stove and write on the couch, Fred curled up beside me. In the afternoon, we'd take a break and drive into town. I'd get a coffee beverage and a Washington Post and walk around a bit with him. There's a cute picture of Fred standing in front of the bandstand that I would scan in if I had a scanner.
Just about every day in the car, I'd hear this song, "Love's the Only House," and I came to really love it. (I have one of Martina McBride's early CDs, Wild Angels, which is an excellent country album, but since then she's degenerated into mostly crossover schmaltz -- though her most recent, Timeless, a collection of covers of classic country songs, was well received and I could see myself considering buying it someday.) At night, I'd listen to the radio as I cooked dinner -- as this was West Virginia, there was a wide selection of country stations to choose from -- and would hear the song several times again over the course of the evening.
The lyrics don't make much sense as a whole, but I like the refrain -- "Love's the only house big enough for all the pain in the world" -- and it's got a good beat (you can dance to it!).
I'll always associate the song with that precious week in the cavernous country house with Fred -- the first animal I ever loved -- who passed away four months later. (Jake, whom we had for less than a year, was put down two months after that . . . but that's another, tragic story.)
So what song do I hear again in my car today? "Love's the Only House." I guess the station leaves its CDs lying around instead of putting them back in the CD tower, just like I do.
***
Speaking of houses, I completed the loan process on my condo this week, and the inspection will take place on Wednesday. I'll probably settle in early to mid-December, though the date hasn't been set yet. Here's another glimpse -- intentionally tantalizing in its selectivity. ;) It's a view from the patio into the living room; my agent is sitting there on the phone. I'm very excited.
posted by Billy at 9:06 PM
1 Comments:
Congratulations, Billy, on becoming a soon-to-be homeowner! I toast you with this glass of tepid tap water sitting on my desk...
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