Chris Johnson: I don't know where I'm a-gonna go

We remember different songs for different reasons. Perhaps it's a catchy tune with well-written lyrics. Maybe somebody just played it 500 times too many and you not only can't get it out of your head, but you also find out it's the unplanned soundtrack to your REM sleep at 3:30 a.m.

Most often, though, certain songs bring to mind a time, a place or a person. And it might make no sense to anyone but you.

For instance, like many other couples, my wife and I have "our song." Unlike many other couples, our song is "Brick House" by The Commodores.

True, a lot of other couples may lean on something more standard and current like "Thinking Out Loud" by Ed Sheeran or standard and old-school like "The Closer I Get to You" by Roberta Flack, which is an outstanding song.

"Brick House" happens to be our song only because it was playing when the woman who dumped me a week earlier changed her mind when I came to visit and she said, "I have a proposal." I stuck out my ring finger and squealed, "Yes! I always dreamed of this moment!" Actually, she had changed her mind about that whole breaking up thing and proposed that I hang around a while longer. "Brick House" just happened to be playing in the background on her kitchen radio at the time.

You may have heard that I'm a Parrothead -- another word for us Jimmy Buffett fans. But that doesn't mean I like every one of his songs. I hate "Cheeseburger in Paradise" and have never been a fan of "Volcano" until now.

About 10 days ago I was on a house-building trip with my wife in Nicaragua when Momotombo blew his top. The massive volcano erupted for the first time in 110 years, complete with a huge red lava flow and immense smoke and ash.

This sparked an earthquake and tsunami watch in the Pacific coastal village where we were working.

I'd completely forgotten our "ruta de evacuacion," and the words of Buffett's "Volcano" song were on repeat in my brain: "I don't know where I'm a-gonna go when the volcano blows."

Now, that song will always remind me of those wonderful families down there who could teach us Americans a thing or two about hard work and how to treat other people.

It'll remind me of that amazing stretch of coastline. And it'll remind me that the Earth can be an unpredictable planet.

On our last night in Nicaragua, my friend and driver Alberto took us back to bustling, overcrowded Managua -- a route that took us by Momotombo, which was taking a break to cool its head. Alberto listens to a station that plays old-school Americano music. The song "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" by Chicago came on. That's the first song I ever head on a compact disc.

But Alberto didn't like it.

"I not like that song so much," he said. "It reminds me of the war."

Alberto doesn't like to talk about the war, but he did explain that they put a rifle in his hands in 1979 and sent him into the jungle to fight.

He was 14 years old then, and he spent the next decade or so as a pawn in a proxy war that cost about 30,000 people their lives.

When I think about war songs, "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" by Chicago doesn't pop into my mind. OK, nothing by Chicago pops into my head as a war song. But I guess when it comes to the memories certain songs generate, you just had to be there.

Same way with our "Brick House" and "Volcano" -- you just had to be there.

I just hope someday there's some confluence of music, burgers and timing that will make me appreciate "Cheeseburger in Paradise."

Unfortunately, I suspect Momotombo is more likely to blow its top again before that ever happens.

-- Connect with Chris Johnson at Facebook.com/KudzuKidWriting, Twitter @kudzukid88 or kudzukid88@gmail.com.

This story was originally published December 12, 2015 at 8:35 PM with the headline "Chris Johnson: I don't know where I'm a-gonna go."