Three days later and I’m still pondering the “musical memories” theme from my last post. I’ve been considering all the delicious triggers of the mind that happen when old beloved songs strike familiar chords deep inside.

I attend a water aerobics class three times a week. The CDs they play are specifically designed to keep a steady tempo, song after song. Which means that most of them are remakes, sung by relatively obscure, unknown artists.

The tunes coming out of the boom box only vaguely resemble the originals. Imagine Willie Nelson singing “You were always on my mind” at warp speed while a bunch of “mature” women splash through a series of military-style jumping jacks. Not pretty.

Song after song, I’m thinking a bunch of leftover disco wannabe be-boppers on steroids have finally found employment. The greatest abomination (dare I say bastardization) was when the rendition Rod Stewart’s ballad “Maggie May” included no breaks at the end of any phrase, forcing a rapid four-count for our calisthenics.

I nearly drowned.

But somehow, the distant memories of my youth managed to surface, and I smiled as I diligently double-timed my jogging in place. “Maggie May” was popular during my early college years. And, oh, I remember those college parties! Oh, the all-night study sessions! Oh, the fun of floating down the Yakima River in inner tubes! We sure knew how to have one helluva good time back then.

I let the memories wash through me like the warm summer sun on the Ellensburg campus. Back then I met a real Maggie May, a woman I’m happy to say is still my friend, and I’m also happy to say we’re both still having one helluva good time.

Lousy musical remakes notwithstanding, life is good.