We finally! (yes, that’s Finally with an exclamation point!) had a beautiful Sunday here in Connecticut. And so we took a nice drive in the convertible. We were headed towards the shoreline for a lobster dinner to celebrate my husband’s birthday.
Top down, the sun on my face (and kneecaps, I found out later), the radio blaring. And although I would have readily given the birthday boy his choice of music, he was in such a terrific mood he tuned (without my even begging) into Sirius’ sixties channel for me.
With a convertible, the radio actually has to be blaring – to be heard at all. But the surrounding racket has an advantage too. You can sing at the top of your lungs. Which I did.
“Down in the Boondocks” – corny, great beat
“I Saw Her Again” – ah, the harmonies
“Hold Me Thrill Me Kiss Me” – smooooooth
“Don’t Sleep In The Subway” – Carnaby Street
“Mony Mony” – the best dance song in the world
“A Whiter Shade of Pale” – weird and groovy
“How Sweet It Is” – cool enough for my beloved JT to sing it a decade later
“To Sir With Love” – the song I wanted all my life as the father-daughter dance at my wedding (until I was a 40-year-old bride and it was obviously no longer appropriate)
“Can’t You Hear My Heartbeat” – cute Herman
“Do You Believe in Magic” – teenage kissing music
“Please Please Me” – well, duh…Beatles
“Sunny” – I spent my allowance on that 45
“Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show” – it’s the build
and finally -
“Ode To Billy Joe” – monotonous melody, but how I loved the mystery.
I belted out every song. And every line.
And I won’t itemize the entire playlist on the return trip, except to say I knew all those lyrics too.
Half-way home it dawned on me how many songs were stored in my brain. The sixties of course has the big center parlor up in there, but there’s also an attic full of James Taylor and Joni Mitchell and Fleetwood Mac and Johnny Cash and Cyndi Lauper and a foyer with U2 and The Goo Goo Dolls and Pink; and there’s Gene Autry and Perry Como and some Disney tunes in the basement. And every Christmas song ever written.
I don’t think I have an unlimited amount of storage capacity in my brain. All those song lyrics are probably taking up more space than they should. Space that I need for other things.
If I could delete a few songs, I might have some room for other things.
I need to make a few trades.
I’ve decided to give up 25% of the Four Seasons, and 40% of the BeeGees, and 100% of Bobby Goldsboro.
And in exchange I’d like to remember:
- Where I put the only good photo of my college self.
- The directions – or at least the name – of that great restaurant we found by accident last year.
- How I tweaked that dinner roll recipe so they came out perfect that one time.
- Whether I took my allergy medicine five minutes ago, or do I still need to take it.
- The location of the property tax bill I just had in my hand.