Not long ago I was blathering on about how scents evoke memories; in particular, we spoke of oregano and its ability to not only call to mind my father’s recipe for meatballs but also prompting a memory of, perhaps, having purchased a dime bag of it thinking it was something else.
But aromas aren’t the only prompters of nostalgia.
As has been previously noted and expounded upon ad nauseum, I was raised to pay attention to music, to listen for the changes, to know who played what on what. I even had a list, as a child, of what was to be played at my funeral.
Would you believe we opened with Moonlight Sonata?
Of course, now I can’t hear that piece without imagining my morbid 10-year-old self in a coffin, my parents and siblings tearfully wishing they’d recognized my genius sooner.
“If only we’d treated her better!” they’d exclaim, sobbing.
And I’d chuckle to myself. Oh, now you’re sorry!
Childish? Yes. Oddly satisfying? Yes. A little embarrassing? Well, yes, but I’m among friends, right?
So here I am, sitting on the porch on a particularly windy Friday, listening to Ted Nugent’s “Stranglehold”.
No one wants “Stranglehold” played at their funeral, do they?
“Stranglehold”, no matter how many times I hear it, reminds me of sitting in a basement, late ‘70s, blue smoke hovering, people laughing.
Which for some reason is making me think of oregano.
On the other hand, the B52’s “Rock Lobster” was the song to which I threatened to beat my brother with an aluminum baseball bat for refusing to turn it down while I put The Boy down for a nap.
Now there’s a pleasant memory!
And Bootsy Collins’ “Ahh, The Name is Bootsy” was particular to two weeks at the jazz camp I attended at Michigan Technical University.
That’s right. Two weeks at band camp.
But that’s another post. And I’m gonna need to see your ID.
Smell ya later!
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