When I hear songs, they lead me into other songs, which lead me into more songs, and then inevitably, they collide, atom like, and split into even further songs, and therein lies that rub. Yet in the currency of life, well… songs are life. Fatal collisions notwithstanding.
But they do resurrect memories.
At least mine in my mind do.
This one, This Herb Alpert one, Taste of Honey, I first heard while shopping for glass slides for my microscope. (I think I was approaching my nine years’ on Earth anniversary) I was in a shopping mall–long before there were such things in any other place but my Bellwether California.
I was walking through the ‘toy store’, for that was the only place a ‘wee child’ could purchase slides for microscopes back then (without a legal guardian), when I, with the helpful help of the condescending moron at the store, found the blank glass slides.
“How much?” I earnestly asked.
“Four dollars,” he earnestly answered.
“Four dollars!” I exclaimed.
“Yes Son, Four dollars.”
“OK,” I said. “When a child needs slides, a child needs slides, but be somewhat forewarned and aware, that your sum represents two months’ allowance for me, reaped from the heavy hot labor of mowing yards, taking out trash, keeping my mouth shut, (when so ordered), and generally just being an unwillingly good kid. Someday you will lament this encounter when you are in Purgatory for ripping off a wee child.”
“Plus tax,” he said.
Sometimes one’s Bullshit falls short, and fails to hit The Mark.
You see? I was a wanna-be microbiologist even then. Of course, I did
murder, sacrifice dissect-ize, euthanize some frogs along the way. (For The Good of Frog-Kind, and for Science, of course) I figure the ‘statue’ of limitations on Frogicide has long since crumbled…
Dust now, most likely, that statute.
So now, Gentles All, I confess to my crime… of Frogicide.
I did it for the tadpoles.