Saturday Stories 2017--The Greatest Ever

I've felt a little guilty about my blog lately. I have a few posts I need to write from February, including my February goal update. Maybe I'll get to them tomorrow. I hope so. I miss the memories I record here.

The writing muse abandoned me over the last few weeks. Strange thing about the writing muse--she appears at random moments, then disappears just as quickly. Now that I'm working, she appears even less frequently. Today she appeared as I was deep cleaning the fridge.

I know. Why in the middle of a really important, really nasty job?

It was the music I chose, that's why. Music triggers my memories almost as quickly as smell.

Brad subscribed to Apple music almost a year ago, and I haven't found time to investigate it until this afternoon. I knew what I wanted to listen to as I cleaned. I watched this video a few days ago, and I'd forgotten how much I love Simon and Garfunkel.

As I cleaned months of stickiness and foulness from the glass shelves, I listened to an album I used to own on cassette tape in college--listened to all of it twice before Micah demanded silence from the kitchen as he practiced. Modern folk and indie artists owe much to these men and the groundwork they laid in the 60s and 70s. Who today can belt "Bridge over Troubled Water" the way Art Garfunkel did back then? And who today has the gift of incredible lyrics like Paul Simon? They are truly two of the greatest ever. The words came back to me quickly, and the time passed even faster.

And then the final song of the album came on (no shuffling for me).

I remembered my freshman year at BYU. My roommates--Melinda, Lisa, Paige, Anne, and of course Robin. I remembered listening to this album as we cleaned our apartment, but I will never forget listening to this song, rewinding it over and over as we drove from Provo to Salt Lake for a weekend away from school. Four of my roommates were from Salt Lake (very close to where my grandparents lived), and they let me tag along when there was room in the car. I stayed in my grandma's guest room on the squeaky bed, I slept as late as I wanted, ate homemade chocolates, played cards, and watched TV, and they both spoiled me rotten for two nights before it was time to get back to the grind of school and studies. 

Instead of roommates as my companions today, I danced with Annie to "Sound of Silence," watching her spin in her too big hand-me-down-from-Eve ballet slippers. I belted out "I Am a Rock" with my head deep in the belly of the fridge, remembering when I listened to these songs with my mom when I was growing up, placing the needle of the record player carefully on the spinning black disc. Simon and Garfunkel is part of the soundtrack of my childhood. Crazy to think these songs that were written the year I was born are almost fifty years old now, and my own little granddaughter is now sharing them with me.

Thanks to Simon and Garfunkel, my fridge sparkles and my rekindled memories shine.

And my writing muse returned, even if it's only temporary--I'm grateful.