I can play a song from thirty, forty, fifty years ago. And while they usually will cause the recall of a specific event - the morning I blasted my new record, Hey Mr. Bassman at 6 am., they are not soul blanketing feelings.
My father came running out to find me dancing up a storm. He laughed and then explained that disturbing a parents sleep was a venial sin. Please wait until 8 am.
What does strike my soul like a hammer to a bell is a smell.
Smells seems to open floodgates of memories.
I smell a wood fire and I am transported to Watkins Glenn with my father. We are pacing back and forth trying to stay warm.There are fires, but none in my tent. I was walking in my neighborhood, smelled a fire and found myself frozen to the sidewalk.
Or Cape Cod and the Dunes at Truro.
Or when Bert & I burned our Grand Funk records. The smell of burning plastic causes the memory to literally hit me in the head.
The scent of a flower and I see high school all over again. I feel eighteen.
If I smell the sea I hear Coney Island or Far Rockaway. My lungs ache inside of five minutes. It is a memory.
I wish a song or an album held more than one event.
Knights In White Satin is always the same sad recollection.
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