I'm searching to find love where I work, work where I love. This assignment, music and community.
Photography. Videography. Writing. Social Media. Socializing. Driving. Riding. Emailing. Calling. Karen says people get paid for this but I still don't know how. Right now it just seems the right thing to do.
But still, this is hard. This assignment, because of the love.
Music feels like one of the most personal choices I make.
I either love it or I don't.
Can you force yourself to love?
Can you force yourself out of it?
Tempa Fleming is writing a series of articles about being the last woman to listen to country. Friends had tried to urge her. She was adamant. She'd be the last person so I think many of them had given up. She had them convinced after at least thirty years of saying, No.
Now a woman who fell in love with the blues at a juke joint called The Rendezvous and the last woman who would listen to country but adored a stand up bass from her Dad's jazz bands are sitting in an auditorium in Roosevelt State Park in Morton.
Tempa and I are on this journey together. She is writing her way through it and I'm talking and she's talking and it's honest dialogue about a banjo, a flat top guitar, a stand up bass, a mandolin and a fiddle.
And Woodie. Woodie of The Bluegrass Cartel.
A few weeks ago I looked at Woodie in a meeting. I pointed at him. Woodie, I said, you're next.
Woodie looked at me as any man who had just been confronted with their new stalker would. He ran from the room. Just yesterday I was able to find him at Roosevelt State Park in Morton.
Tempa was with me. We were trying to find the love in bluegrass music. Read the Clarke County Tribune. Tempa is writing a new article each week.
Will she fall in love with bluegrass music?
I don't know.
I think that is why we have to read.
Today I am grateful to open my heart and see what room could be left for something as personal as music.