If Memory Serves, Part 2

When soul singer James Brown was alive, he released 45 RPM single records with a vocal track on side A, and an instrumental track by his crackerjack band the Blue Flames on side B.  (And when he was dead, he stopped releasing anything at all!)  The B side recording often carried the title of the A side song with the suffix "Part 2".  There were times however, if I remember correctly, when the B side tune had that suffix attached to a name that was completely different from the name on the A side of the record.  And this is what inspired me to concoct the above title, as the B side of  the earlier  blog entry seen somewhere below that promised these two stories, which  blog entry you should read first before reading what follows here.

The Bus Tour

We decided to take a bus tour.  I was never too fond of such group adventures, but I agreed.  We were young and could afford it.  It lasted four of five days, and on the last day, returning to our point of departure, the bus stopped in the middle of nowhere at some museum, of flora or fauna,  subjects of no interest to me.   I wasn't and aren't fond of museums either, finding them boring, overwhelming and tolerable only if I focus on one or two items exhibited within them.  And so, while everyone filed out of the bus, I decided to stay behind, because in addition to all these objections  I was experiencing a migraine headache or a stomach ache, and didn't wish to spend the whole time in the museum's bathroom facilities, or to vomit on its floors.

It was a mistake.  After everyone left me and the bus driver, who wasn't very talkative, I wanted to take a nap, couldn't sleep, my pains were soon gone and I took a walk around the parking lot.  And then walked again.   The party eventually returned, and my girlfriend reported it was a fun trip, the museum proved to be modern and interactive, I should have gone with her.

After we came back to the city, the relationship was soon over.  I don't know if the museum unadventure was the cause, but I suspected it contributed to it.   We eventually reconciled for a brief time anyway.

Rejuvenation

I used to take my dog to the popular dog park on the shore.  Right next to the parking lot was a water fountain with a couple of bowls beside it from which the dogs could get their drinks, and at which most owners stopped before returning back to their cars.  As expected, the shared bowls were a source of various dog illnesses, according to the park personnel, and my dog, as if he knew it, seldom drank from them unless I completely refilled them fresh or allowed him to climb on this back paws up to the water spout from which he'd take a direct hit of fresh water.  (Like every dog owner I was convinced my pooch was the smartest being on the planet.  Still am?)

But that isn't what this story is about.   One time at the water fountain, an older woman, whose dress and speech pattern unmistakable identified her as a member of upper class (most of us dress like bums around here),  called out to her purebred pooch to encourage it to approach the water bowls back from the hillock behind the water fountain where he was busy playing with some mutts, before they both  headed back to her Volvo or Lexus:

"Come Winston, rejuvenate yourself!"

Rejuvenate? Holy Lassie, what dog would  understand the word 'rejuvenate'?  Winston eventually came, had his drink and they departed.

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This concludes my musings about things we happen to remember without understanding why we remember them and not other experiences that have been perhaps more significant, more meaningful and worthy of a place among our precious brain cells.