Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack and a Nice Encounter

I'm beginning to feel like it's all Lyle, all the time around here.  That's most certainly the case of late, given the fact our temps are moderate and we have our windows and door wide open, availing ourselves (and the neighbors) of our most excellent stereo system, which is entirely loaded with Lyle at the moment.  This tune is from his brilliant two-disc album, "Step Into This House," wherein Lyle covers tunes by folks that were his inspiration and favorite song writers.  About which, this:

In choosing songs to record, Lovett favored songwriters whose works influenced his own style instead of immensely popular artists whose name recognition might boost sales. The writers selected include Robert Earl Keen, Michael Martin Murphey, Willis Alan Ramsey, and Guy Clark. The second disc is largely dedicated to songs written by Townes Van Zandt and Walter Hyatt, with the final track being a traditional piece. (from The Wiki)

Here's one such tune, written by David Rodriguez:

It's a penny for your thoughts,
It's a dollar for your kisses,
Keep a running tab on the time,
'Cause what I've got the most of
Is what she misses,
The clock is hers,
The hourglass is mine.

Such a beautiful, beautiful tune... expertly rendered.  As for the above... I've pondered the meaning of that lyric for years and I still don't have a definitive answer on that clock/hourglass thang.  But I DO have a clue.

Now... about that encounter.  We made a beer run earlier today and opted to go to our local beer emporium, as opposed to drivin' all the way out to Cannon Airplane Patch.  The beer emporium hired a new girl to wait on the counter and she's a mid-20-sumthin', friendly, lovely, and above all, helpful sort (minor digression: and she's right smack dead center of my personal envelope, too).  She followed me to the coolers and told me they had recently stocked a few new varieties of seasonal beers and would I be interested in seein' those?  "Why, most certainly," sez I, following up with "Do you have Sammy Adams' winter seasonal 12-packs?"  "I think so," sez she, "lemmee check."  And she vanishes into the depths of the cooler, returning with the Adams' Fall 12-pack... which was close, but no cigar.  So we picked up a six o' Abita Amber Ale and a six o' Shiner Hefeweizen and called it good.

The woman told me while I was settlin' up that she'd place an order for a few o' the SA Winter 12-packs, made my change, and sent me on my way with a "C'Ya next time, Darlin'," along with a smile that would light up half o' New Mexico on the darkest o' High Plains nights.  At which point my poor ol' heart went pitty-pat, as we've become used to having Sweet Young Thangs such as she address us as "Sir."  I don't LIKE that, but I've gotten used to it.  I know the girl was just using a figure o' speech, but I'm not too sure she knew she'd made my day.  I might go back and buy more beer tomorrow.

And now it's back out to the verandah to enjoy our 73 degree day.