Recycled memories and new hairdos

The last seven days or so seem to have forced me to remember things from my past.

While riding my Honda Ruckus from work last week, the scent of the air took me back to my high school days, when I would walk home at night after working through the dinner rush at the family restaurant. Pockets of cold winter air would meet a breath of warm air on a certain turn of a dirt road leading to my house. It seemed to bring a sense of comfort after a long day of school and work. Last week's experience was no different.

On Friday, at a bowling alley going away function for a co-worker, the oily smell of french fries instantly took me back to 1983, when I spent Christmas break with my mother. Mom managed a pizza joint at the time in this little Wyoming town of about 300 people, if that. I probably hadn't thought of that memory in a decade or more. A guy named Moose, who had an uncanny resemblance to John Denver, befriended me, and taught me how to play pool while my mother baked pizzas in the back.

Then, Saturday, I clicked on the news on CNN and saw that a certain pop star shaved her head bald. I was reminded of Sinead O'Conner. This particular singer isn't anything like ol' Sinead, so I guess baldness is where the similarities end. Oh well. I never got into Sinead's music too much, but I respected her stance as an artist, and one who didn't want to be in the business just to receive awards and accolades.

Tonight, Glory made calzones. While watching her make them, and inhaling their aroma, I was transported back to 1988, when I was a freshman in college. The university had greasy, cheese and sausage-packed calzones for sale in the evening study hours --and they delivered to the dorm rooms! I don't know if I accomplished much while studying, but I sure accomplished packing on 15 pounds that first semester.

It's interesting what sounds, smells and sights will cause us to remember and reflect. Also interesting is what we sometimes pine away for. It would be great to order up some calzones and invite Moose over for a game of Nine Ball at a tavern somewhere. Perhaps afterward, I could walk home, feeling the warm and cool air on my face, while listening to Sinead's "Nothing Compares to You" on the Walkman.

Yeah, that would be great.

Bill