Musical Memories Date Thursday, April 25, 2024 - 12:12 AM PST Topic Experiences There are songs that bring us memories. Memories of pain, joy... sex. I have a memory associated with Massive Attack - Teardrop. A memory of my ears plugged with earphones attached to one of the first MP3 players that came out. The thing could only hold one song at a time and Teardrop was that song. It was that song because there was no other song that fit the early morning road of fog clinging to evergreens as a I walked to the bus stop. Or the view of Seattle from West Seattle - Admiral Way look out point (the best view of Seattle that exists) as the bus reached the highest point before decending down the long road to the bridge. That high point where Seattle, it's roots shrouded in a heavy layer of mist, always looked like massive mechanical trees sticking out above the clouds of heaven. You couldn't see the streets of the city or the waters of the puget sound from that level. Then the bus would decend down that long road to the industrial zone. I always loved the clouds of steam rising from the warehouse at the bottom of the hill where they poured metal into long beams of red hot lines that traveled out into the elements to cool on their way to their next point of creation. If you sat in the right place of the bus, you could see the hot liquid pouring smoothly from the big ashen cauldrons. Then the bus would move onto the West Seattle bridge and to another high point as the bridge arched up into the sky. High enough for ships to pass beneath it into the industrial loading areas where men labered moving gravel onto flat barges. Where factories loaded shipments to other parts of the inland ocean. The Fjords of the northwest. Exiting the freeway maybe a mile away there was always this homeless man sleeping under the bridge. His big black dog tucked under the sleeping bag with him. The bike he rode with a childs yellow tent on wheels attached to the back that I would later see during my lunch break in the heart of the old brick parts of Seattle. The dog sitting happily in the back, his tongue hanging out as though they were moving at 60 miles an hour in pure joy. Then it was down 1st where I would watch the factories and warehouses move past the window. Stopping occasionally to let off a man or woman wearing permanently stained jeans and shirts, lunch boxes or bags in their hands as they made their way to a job that you could see them wasting their life away at. Once in the old part of Seattle the bricks began. Brick buildings lined up in rows of 4-5 tall structures all built together. When I got off the bus I would walk past a flower shop that would toss the pettles of old flowers out onto the sidewalk. I remember listening to the music as I picked up one of the pettles and pressed it into my paper journal where it stays to this day, still yellow at it's base and light red near the tip. The colors may be faded but the memory is not. This part of the city was old. Built after the great Seattle fire of 1889 when the mayor declared that all the buildings should be made of stone. Here, where the sidewalks beneath my feet hide tunnels where the city had once been a single floor lower. Raised so that the sewers would stop turning toilets into fountains of feces in the businesses and apartments lining the waterfront. I remember walking across the square shaped boxes places in the pavement that had once been made of clear bottle cap glass allowing men to look up ladies skirts as they passed above. Their round peep shows now turned to a beautiful shade of purple with age. I would enter my work through a door next to the Central Tavern. Established in 1892, the office I worked in had once been on a floor occupied by prostitues who would lead the gents up the back stairway that we now used to take out the trash. Entering the building was always a different kind of beauty. A single stairway of brick walls. An old rail that was stained a red brown and stairs that creaked beneath your feet as you made your way up to the third floor. This is the solid memory that this song holds. I experienced that every morning. Sometimes, when I listen to it, my life seems empty. Now is one of those times. Now my mornings are filled with a rushed dress, wishing I could hit the snooze bar just one more time. Into the car where I drive down a busy highway on the east side, 20 or so miles from Seattle. The music I listen to is chaotic and changes daily. Here I work from a building with an amazing view of Lake Washington and I avoid looking because that place holds too many bad memories for me. He has ruined this place as much as he once made it magical and amazing. Tell me about a song that holds memories for you. Don't be ashamed to make it a long tale. I love to read as much as I love to write. Share a part of you so I may know you better and so others who read through these comments may know you as well. A private moment that sticks in your mind and brings words to your fingers through this posted request. This article comes from Shmeng http://www.shmeng.com/ The URL for this story is: http://www.shmeng.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=782