I love remembering.
I love how a story or a smell or a photo or a song can take you right back to a time and place.
Gerry Rafferty’s Baker Street was on the radio today. For those of you unfamiliar with Baker Street, it is a cheesy 70s ballad featuring a saxophone riff between each verse, and lyrics such as: “He’s got this dream about buyin’ some land / He’s gonna give up the booze and the one night stands / And then he’ll settle down, in some quiet little town / And forget about everything.”
Most couples have a special song that is an expression of their romantic feelings for one another. They might play their song at their wedding, or when they want to “get jiggy wit it”. The song might even be “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It”.
Baker Street is “our song”.
You might be wondering how Baker Street, a song about buying land, alcoholism, and sexual promiscuity could be “our song”.
September, 2011. Rhodes, Greece. Aegean Sea. The aroma of ripe peaches, sea water and romance was in the air…
Every morning we would trek up to the restaurant for breakfast, hand-in-hand, and every morning we would sip orange juice and prosecco, feed each other fresh fruit, kiss, cuddle, touch each other’s knees, etc. (we were the people you hate), and every morning the restaurant would have the very worst “classic rock” playing in the background.
I remember the saxophone intro. (It is so cheesy.)
I asked the husband what song it was (because the husband has an uncanny ability to recollect useless information. It is one of the reasons I married him).
Shockingly, he did not know. He took out his phone to google: “cheesy saxophone solo”.
Baker Street was the first result.
We both started playing air saxophone solos. We both started laughing. We both agreed this was the best vacation ever. We also both agreed that downloading music and movies without permission is morally equivalent to theft. I digress (as usual).
Weirdly/strangely/oddly, when we got home from vacation we started to hear Baker Street everywhere… all the time. Banks. Grocery stores. On the radio. While holding for the cable company. A fellow commuter’s ringtone. We would look at each other, laugh and remember: Rhodes. Sea air. Hand-holding. Making people jealous. That’s us. That’s Baker Street.