Oct 28, 2008 - 07:00:57 CDT
One of the very, very few good things about reaching our age is that Memory Lane is now an eight-lane highway, with cloverleaves at every ramp. That is why old people are never bored - reminiscing can be a full-time job.This was brought home to me last weekend, when I was laid up with the Stomach Flu From Heck, and left to my own devices.
St. Pete was off doing his "man against the wilderness" thing (the wilderness won). So I was curled up in the big bed, with only Maybelline (aka the Empress of E-ville) and Joybelle for company.
Courtesy of Midco, I had Solid Gold Oldies streaming softly in the background as I lapsed in and out of consciousness.
There are many types of memory jogs, and, for me, musical is best. Songs take me back in a way that even photos can't.
"In the Year 2525" and "Wichita Lineman" took me to Delray Beach, Fla., where I spent a youthful summer with a school chum who had moved there the year before: hot sun and Hurricane Camille, palm trees and long walks on little feet that could go forever.
"Young Girl," "The Ballad of the Green Berets" and "Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town" took me back to Millville, N.J., and my dad's serious drinking days. My mom used to take me with her on weekends to the restaurant and bar where she worked. As the jukebox played, I'd cadge olives from softhearted bartenders and Jell-O from waitresses with violently sprayed updos. At least twice this weekend, I woke up craving olives, which were way, way off the SFFH diet.
"Silhouettes" was the subpar Herman's Hermits version, but I was back in my college friend Mike's car, making the four-hour drive to his family's home for the weekend. Though the song was an oldie by then, it was a favorite of ours, and we'd sing it several times, taking breaks from the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" soundtrack.
Patsy Cline took me back to every broken heart I've ever had. Not that my musical luck was all that good, mind you -actual breakups usually occurred while "Celebrate" was playing, or maybe "Rubber Band Man."
If I met a new love, something inappropriate would be on in the background, and we'd find that "If I Knew You Were Coming, I'd Have Baked a Cake" had become "our" song.
But the great thing about heartbreak is that you can orchestrate that truly self-indulgent afternoon of drama: Turn down the lights, get yourself a pot of coffee and a few packs of cigarettes, then sit there in the dark with Patsy's greatest hits. "Crazy." "Walkin' After Midnight." Repeat. Trust me. It's poignant as all heck, and then you can kick him to the curb of Memory Lane, and go out and find another one.
Last weekend's playlist was an emotional road trip, as well. No sooner had Brook Benton checked into "Hotel Happiness" than Elvis was going down to the end of "Lonely Street." Simon and Garfunkel wrassled with "Mrs. Robinson." Jeannie C. Riley's mom socked it to the "Harper Valley PTA."
I closed my eyes, and my fevered self went along with all of them.
No wonder I was so tired.
(Reach Derri Scarlett at derriscarlett@;yahoo.com. Her column runs on alternate Tuesdays.)
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