Nine twenty five. Aesop gets his breakfast in a few minutes. I exercise my freedom wherever I can. It’s a beautiful day, with the high temperature predicted to be 90 degrees. I just paid my insurance bill. I’m glad August is over. September is the month when school starts in my city.
I can remember the feeling of returning to school in Stride Rite shoes, either waffle stompers or wallabies, periwinkle cords, and a homemade shirt. I smell my lunch thermos. Scooby Doo or Speed Buggy was the theme. I see the old playground. Monkey bars and structures for climbing on, swings, and a slide. The fierce sun made the asphalt stink like tar. Some of the girls wore Bluebird or Brownie uniforms on certain days. We sang patriotic songs without really knowing what they meant. I was fascinated with dinosaurs, so I started a collection of books, posters, and stickers about them. Mom didn’t approve of this, but she went along with it. It’s strange, I can feel what it was like to be seven years old. The teacher hated me, but some of the other kids were nice. I began piano lessons the same year. I rode my bike to get my weekly lesson early in the morning, then went directly to school.
Mrs Weight lived in the green house at the end of Fremont. Her son had a dachshund named Sergeant Pepper. They called him Sarge. Every Christmas she held a recital of all her students. These were nerve wracking, and I don’t recall them very well. I studied with her for six years, then finally quit and dedicated myself to drum lessons with Ken. Mrs Weight was upset because she didn’t approve of rock and roll… Speaking of which, I ordered the 40th Anniversary edition of A Farewell to Kings by Rush. It should be kind of emotional for me, reminding me of past joys and disappointments. “Madrigal” ought to be particularly sweet.
robgradens 
I reminisced the other day as I sat in front of the old house my parents and I lived in. I took and old picture that I had on social media and tried to line it up with landmarks—a telephone pole and fence line. I couldn’t remember the address, but I knew the general vicinity. The longer I studied, the more it came back to me.
The picture was about thirty-seven years old. I remembered the little blond girl from down the street in the yellow house, but couldn’t remember her name. The house is still yellow. Then I remembered “Slick” from across the street, as my dad had nicknamed him. I recalled the red swing that I always wanted to swing on behind our home in the neighbor’s yard, but I didn’t know them.
Nostalgia: the memories, familiar smells that take you directly to a specific moment in time, remembering how it all felt. It’s an amazing part of the human experience.
I took your advice the other day and thoroughly enjoyed 2112 Overture, as well as some of Hemispheres, before heading into work. No Lemonade though.
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Thanks for the long comment. Yes, memories can feel like they happened yesterday.
Rush worked the hardest on Hemispheres. I love the way it was mixed, too, with most of the guitar double tracked and panned in stereo for ear candy. Everything sounds incredible. A great one for headphones.
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