I am not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. Every once in awhile I’ll try to convince myself that with a few shifts in my schedule I could become a morning person, but the fact of the matter is that I’m a night owl. Trying to turn me into a morning person is like trying to turn a dog into a pig. I mean, the dog might eventually learn to add some oink-like noises to its bark, but at the end of the day there is nothing about that dog that even remotely resembles bacon.

And thus ends the most bizarre analogy of all time. You’re welcome.

My point is that this morning I woke up early because I had plans to go to Nashville, and when I crawled out of the bed I was just a smidge grumpy and caffeine-deprived. I bumbled and rumbled around the house so that I could wake up enough to, you know, function, and then I got all my stuff together, bid the husband a fond farewell (the boy is visiting his grandparents for a few days), and promptly drove to the nearest Starbucks, where I secured a grande Cafe Americano and then thanked the Lord for His blessed caffeinated provision. Within five minutes I had my music cranked and was rarin’ to go. I may have even been a wee bit cheerful.

Once I got to Music City I met a sweet friend of mine at Starbucks at noon, which means that I followed up my coffee for breakfast with some coffee for lunch. If I’d really thought it through I would’ve had a hamburger or something beforehand, but since I was so excited to get to sit down and have a real-live adult conversation WITHOUT A SINGLE INTERRUPTION, I drove straight past about 193 fast food establishments on my way to the Starbucks. That is only a rough estimate, of course. Because I think the number was probably more like 229.

So for THREE HOURS we talked and drank coffee and talked and drank coffee and talked some more and drank some more coffee, and y’all, when I left that Starbucks to go to my sister’s office and watch basketball, I was OUT OF MY MIND with the jitters. I really think I could have charged my own cell phone just by holding it in the palm of my hand. And when I called another friend of mine a few minutes later, I’m pretty sure that Italkednonstopwithouttakinganybreathsatall!

Becausewhydoyouneedtobreathe!

Whenyou’vespentthefirsthalfofyourdaydrinkingcoffee!

Drinkingsomuchcoffee!

You’veneverseensomuchcoffee!

Honestly, I haven’t felt that wired since an all-night study session my freshman year in college when I powered up for a big history exam by ingesting a ginormous bag of mesquite BBQ potato chips, a 2 liter of Mountain Dew and a couple of NoDoze.

Or, as the scientists like to call it: Brain Food.

I managed to tame the jitters well enough to drive without incident, and I pulled up to Sister’s office about three minutes before the Bulldogs started playing their first round NCAA tourney game. Sister asked if I wanted a diet Coke, and since I obviously felt the 32 ounces of coffee that I’d consumed weren’t nearly enough, I told her to bring it on, preferably with a pack of crackers if she happened to have some laying around. And maybe a mild sedative.

Oh, I kid because I’m a kidder and do you know what kidders enjoy? THE KIDDING.

Unfortunately the Bulldogs didn’t win their game, but as Alex just told me on the phone, “they tried their best, Mama, and that is all that matters.” And I know he’s right. It’s just that it would’ve been a whole lot more fun if trying their best meant that they won by 30, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

After the game Sister and I went to dinner so that we could visit and talk incessantly about how our poor Bulldogs played four games in a row last weekend and then had to fly all the way out to Portland and then had to play a Thursday game and OH, GOD LOVE ‘EM, THEY MUST BE EXHAUSTED. Sister enjoyed a delicious salad, I enjoyed a tasty burger, and we shared some onion rings for good measure. Once we finished our meal around 8:30, Sister ordered some coffee.

Strangely enough, I decided to pass.

Granted, the day’s basketball may have been lacking, but the caffeine has been above and beyond abundant. As has the fun fellowship, for which I am oh-so-grateful.

And on that note, this night owl is going to bed.

Now y’all know how much I adore the Dave Barnes. So a few months ago, when I saw that he was going to be performing in our fair city on March 13th, I took out a big black Sharpie, put the date on our calendar and promptly secured tickets. Then I danced a lively jig.

So last Friday night my hubby and I headed to the show with my sister-in-law Janie, and as we drove downtown I assured Janie that she was in for the musical treat of her life. Because in addition to the Dave Barnes, we were going to get to hear The Gabe Dixon Band, and oh my word, I could not love them more. If you’re not familiar with TGDB, then just imagine some old school Elton John combined with Ben Folds with a little dash of Harry Connick, Jr. thrown in for good measure.

I KNOW!

The whole night was above and beyond delightful; all in all it was over three hours of pure musical joy. Friday night was the third time that I’ve seen Dave Barnes live, and he and his band were better than ever. About mid-way through his set DB told the audience about the work he’s doing with Mocha Club, and it was such a sweet reminder that yes, the Dave Barnes makes great music, but he’s also totally committed to using his time on the road to make a difference. Love his heart, I do.

Whenever I try to explain to people why the music we heard Friday night resonates with me so much, I always end up saying the same five words: It reminds me of home. That’s not to say that if you drove to Mississippi right this second that you’d find musicians playing bluesy funk-pop on the street corners, but there’s such a strong blues influence (thanks, Memphis! thanks, New Orleans!) all over the Magnolia State that it just sort of seeps into your bones. And when I hear music that reminds me of home, I can’t help but sit back, relax and clap my hands.

And also: smile.

So what about you? What music reminds you of home? What music takes you straight to your happy place?

And if you don’t have a musical happy place, then I’m betting this guy and this guy can help.

Oh yes they can.