I was looking through a cabinet the other day trying to find an old CD.
I had heard recently that the ska-punk band was coming to town in spring to play the entire album, so I wanted to brush up on songs that had been favorites of mine in my late teens and early 20s.
I scanned my extensive CD collection — one I still find it hard to part with even though most of the music I listen to is in digital format on my iPhone — and found that familiar case with the band's name in bright red lettering on top of a black-and-white photo obviously shot at one of its live shows.
But the CD was not inside.
It wasn't uncommon, when I lived at home, for my younger brother to swipe my music or smear his cookie-residued fingers all over the back of my CDs, leaving them unreadable.
But I could've sworn I've listened to that CD since I moved out of my parents' home.
It had to be there somewhere.
So one by one, I pulled out each CD and opened it up to see if I accidentally stuck it in the wrong case.
Looking through that stack, I was reminded of songs I've loved and the places I had been while listening to those songs.
I remembered great times driving around aimlessly with friends, parties and ex-boyfriends.
I remembered road trips and concerts and road trips to concerts. I remembered how big a part of my life music had been.
I never found the CD — I ended up having to go and download the album — but the trip down memory lane felt like catching up with a dear old friend who I hadn't seen in a long time; a friend I hope to visit more often.
Kristina Serafini is a staff writer for Trib Total Media. She can be reached at 412-324-1405 or kserafini@tribweb.com.
