Rambles In The Brambles

One particular memory was almost overwhelming. It was senior year, on the last concert of the week (spring break). I think that we were in Pennsylvania or Ohio or somewhere. (There is no better way of getting to know a group of people very well, than to spent 24 hours a day with them, surrounded by strangers and strange places. But that is a moot point, as I had spent nearly four years with these people.) Our show started in two hours, but everyone was in their concert attire. The guys wore tuxes, and women wore black skirts and white shirts. We had finished setting up the stage (on the altar of an old Catholic church), and everyone was relaxing, laughing at our inside jokes, and talking about minor things.

It is amazing how well I remember that particular moment. I can taste my saxophone reed, I can smell the hair of that dark-haired girl standing so close to me (an amazing surprise that trip), I can see the sunbeams shining through the dust drifting off the rafters, I can hear the murmuring and laughter of my friends.

At this point, I need to get Aristotelian on my head. Strong memories of pleasant times are good in the proper amounts: They can remind you of the joy that is possible, and can be like a buoy in the rough waters of difficult times. But one can have too much of it... The past is gone, and dwelling on those events can cause one to miss the pleasures of the present and future.

That said, I salute some excellent memories: my old friends, some lyrical music, a good day somewhere in the Midwest, and my past self.