They say that smell is the sense that best renders memory. This may be true. Certainly there are smells that will always remind me of certain people and times. But when it comes to evoking memories of childhood, nothing does that magic better than music.
I remember summer afternoons, listening to classic rock and blues on the dry lawn of our place in Warwick while my parents got ready for a party in the evening.
I remember classical in the morning, Robert J. Lurzima's low soothing voice making the day start a little easier. When I started getting up too early in the morning for that show, I was sad to have lost it.
I remember decorating the Christmas tree, pulling out my mom's antique ornaments carefully to put them up, laughing at the ones we made as kids, and listening to the Chieftans' The Bells of Dublin. Even now, it's not the Christmas season until I put that album on.
I remember the music at the Caratunk Fall Festival, put on by the Audobon Society. Local folk musicians came to sing and play. My favourite, Bill Staines, was there often. I once heard someone sing one of his songs in a pub in Ireland. The nostalgia and displacement was so strange.
This afternoon I'm listening to "A Celtic Sojourn" on WGBH, another childhood ritual. It's pouring rain, and Irish music is playing on the radio. It's so comforting and nostalgic. I love coming back to places like this, floating back on the wings of the music.
I remember summer afternoons, listening to classic rock and blues on the dry lawn of our place in Warwick while my parents got ready for a party in the evening.
I remember classical in the morning, Robert J. Lurzima's low soothing voice making the day start a little easier. When I started getting up too early in the morning for that show, I was sad to have lost it.
I remember decorating the Christmas tree, pulling out my mom's antique ornaments carefully to put them up, laughing at the ones we made as kids, and listening to the Chieftans' The Bells of Dublin. Even now, it's not the Christmas season until I put that album on.
I remember the music at the Caratunk Fall Festival, put on by the Audobon Society. Local folk musicians came to sing and play. My favourite, Bill Staines, was there often. I once heard someone sing one of his songs in a pub in Ireland. The nostalgia and displacement was so strange.
This afternoon I'm listening to "A Celtic Sojourn" on WGBH, another childhood ritual. It's pouring rain, and Irish music is playing on the radio. It's so comforting and nostalgic. I love coming back to places like this, floating back on the wings of the music.