Sentimentality...

I can't really describe the feeling of listening to an old album that has been collecting dust (metaphorically, since all of my cds are on my computer). It is like rekindling an old friendship--the friend never left you, you knew that they were always there to support you, but because of time or change or what-have-you, you lost touch. Coming back together is a flood of emotions and feelings that you had forgotten about. Sometimes this reunion is bittersweet, conjuring up memories from the past that you had wished to forget, while other times it just brings the simplest smile to your face.

I also love that, no matter how much time has passed, you still know all the lyrics to all the songs on said album. And each song holds special meaning. It is the small things in life that truly remind me of how wonderful life is. And how life without music or art or more aptly put, beauty, however you define that, is simply not worth tolerating.

Anyway, today, while perusing through my iPod looking for a suitable cd to listen to while I read my book, I came across Natalie Merchant's "Tigerlily."



I have not listened to this album in its entirety, I am guessing, since I was in junior high going through that whole Lilith Fair phase. (Who am I kidding, I am still IN the Lilith Fair stage, though I believe everyone else refers to this as "lesbian rock" and the artists have changed over time, but whatever). Thinking that this overcast day was the perfect opportunity to reunite with Ms. Merchant, I have now listened to the cd well over three times. And I remember every single word to every single song. And it brought back such a flood of sentimental memories, I had to go for a walk to sort of rehash through some things.

This cd reminds me of the Idaho mountains in winter. Not just the mountains themselves, but the smell, the feel, the taste, everything. And this is one of the things I miss most about Idaho when I am away for a long time. It is just a feeling. I think anywhere you grow up and have distinct memories of will elicit this sort of gut-wrenching yearning to be back in that place. Walking through the trees and knee-deep snow in the dead of winter, smelling fires burning, people making hot chocolate, the sound of the wind in the bare trees. The nights when the snow just falls perfectly under lights and there are no cars on the road. Everything seems so peaceful and so right (right up until you have to wake up the next morning and drive to work in "winter conditions," at which point my happy, little meditation state is replaced by me screaming at 2C drivers on the connector).