These will be someone's good old days

So, I like country music. I like it more than those of you who have not ridden in a car with me would expect.
That said, I am not immune to the fact that there are basically about 8 motifs in contemporary country music lyrics. Hell, I could write a dissertation on it. We're not getting into that here. One main subset of the genre is "stuff used to be much better when life was simpler, which is whenever I was a kid." In general, I find those particular songs either amusing or annoying, depending on my mood. Hey, by the way, note to Bucky Covington, you are one country singer, in particular, who should not be singing proudly about how your momma smoked and drank while she was pregnant and you ate lead paint chips, because, um, we all know, and we just didn't want to say anything.
But wait.
That's not the point.
The point is that I was driving up Main Street in my small town, which was essentially deserted because it's after 7 on a Sunday night, and the live version of Mayberry, which is a prime example of that scoffable music, came on, and there was a really beautiful light and kids were playing outside in their almost snow-free yards, and I totally, totally got it, for just a second.
And then I drove to the sandwich shop, where my friend and I would sit across the table from each other, not talking, while I write my blog and she reads my blog on our separate laptops, and I get ready to comment to the small-town online social networking site about how what this town needs, really, is a laundromat with wi-fi.