Seasonal Memories.

"I am a new day rising. I'm a brand new sky to hang the stars upon tonight. I am a little divided... It's times like these you learn to love again. It's times like these, time and time again."
- Foo Fighters, "Times Like These"

You know how certain times of day and certain types of weather make you remember different things? Or make you feel a certain way? For me, sunsets in the summertime always make me think of playing basketball as a kid in my driveway and trying desperately to shoot a 3-pointer.
On the other hand, crisp, sunny mornings in the Spring make me think of sitting in my bedroom--either first learning to play the guitar or playing with my G.I. Joe action figures (quietly, though, so as not to wake my parents in the room across the hall).

But here's a question:
Why do these certain times of day or season bring back those memories?

For instance, right now, I'm sitting INSIDE typing this blog entry as the sun partially makes its way into the bedroom. It's cool outside, sure, but it's not cold. Yet, I don't really know that. I'm inside.

So does it matter that it's a cool, crisp, Spring morning? It shouldn't, right? Especially here in California where there really are no seasons and the only way to determine which one you're in is by the month on the calendar. January, April, August...they all mean sunshine out here. So
why wasn't I thinking about launching plastic missiles with Commander Cobra on a different sunny morning in a different month of the year? I'm not doing anything special to make that memory dawn on me (such as surfing e-Bay for vintage Joe toys, for instance...), so how come it happens now. At this time. During this part of the day. And how come I couldn't imagine this memory creeping up on me in any other type of setting?



This memory fits this moment, and this moment is unique to this season. It's something that I'll never be able to adequately explain...or even understand. Still, whenever a cold chill passes through my body as I stare up at the dark clouds forming in the sky, I'll always think of nights playing baseball against our town's rival team. And when I smell freshly-cut grass mixing with a slight whiff of smoke, I'll think of climbing the monkey bars in my backyard.

Though I don't know why these memories occur to me the way they do--at the times they do--I do know this: I hope they never stop. I'd miss them.


This Entry In Song:
Albert Hammond, Jr. - "In My Room"
Eric Hutchinson - "Back to Where I Was"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake