Isn't it odd how certain aromas can take you places? A window fan is blowing a faint aroma of smoke in my room and I'm immediately transported to a holler (Yankees pronounce it "hollow") down in Kentucky. Around the campfire is three brothers, two with guitars, one with spoons, and several other friends and family members. All more or less intoxicated with their drink or smoke of choice.
We're roughing it, there's no electricity or other modern convenience. This is how Spyder Rydge camp outs always were; we'd pack and load the bare necessities, find or make a road and take it to some holler or ridge in the middle of Nowhere, Kentucky. We played music till the wee hours of the morning, then crash for an hour or two. I remember being the first one up most of the time, after my older brother woke, he'd mix a big jar of hair of the dog, then we'd eat a bite, and start all over.
The same thing happens when I hear a certain song. Michelle Shocked's "L&N" takes me back 25 years, to a garage in Louisville, where there's barely room to stand, but plenty of room to jam.
The aging process isn't a process, it's transformation in reverse. From knowing, to not knowing. From doing to not doing. From young to old, to young again in memories. And you go it alone. Kinda makes me sad, and afraid.