A
few years ago, Terry, Justin and I were driving along in the car.
And for some reason, as the music played and CVDs were swapped
out and conversations and laughs continued, I shared one of my
favorite little observations.
The
seventh song on any album is the best track on every album.
I
smiled when Justin chimed in agreeing that my thought was true.
Now…
let’s stop right here.
It’s
not true. You know that. I know that. Justin knows that.
It
was an observation that originated when listening to a variety
of albums, by bands where I usually enjoyed the entire album,
and for some reason—probably on a long car trip—I happened to
notice that the seventh song on album after album was my favorite
song on each one. Seemed like a nice theory, which I never wanted
to not be true, so I just ran with it and left it in place.
The
past few weeks though, the thought has been in my head. I’ve been
cranking music again during writing hours, and looking around
for glimpses in my life that might in some way carry for a few
hundred plus words, and something dawned on me.
Saying
the seventh song is always the best is the rough equivalent of
always ignoring the rest of the album. It actually doesn’t have
to be the best song on the album, it just has to be a song worthy
of you looking for it.
Which…
of course… brings us to the grocery store.
We
drink Tropicana in our house. Tropicana Original. I’m not looking
for pulp. Definitely not extra pulp. No calcium added. I walk
in with my shopping list, look for Tropicana Original, occasionally
debate what size of container to purchase, and move on.
Funny
thing is, as a result, I can tell you that all of the grocery
stores I visit carry the Tropicana line. What I can’t tell you
definitively is any of the other orange juice brands they sell.
I think most have Simply Orange. Ditto Minute Maid. Maybe Florida’s
Natural, but don’t hold me to that. After those, well, right now
I can’t even tell you what other brands there are.
Am
I picking up some soda? Is it on the list? Maybe an impulse buy?
Because I’ll be focused on the Coca-Cola brand first and foremost.
Others occasionally come in to play because I am just not ready
to accept paying $3 for a two-liter bottle and might gaze around
to see if something else is on sale.
Seven
has a reputation as a lucky number. But the funny thing is, like
colors and other items we tend to have personal favorites of,
seven is not the lucky number for all of us. Our tastes and preferences
vary for anything, and sometimes we’ll just throw something out
because we deliberately didn’t want to select something others
had chosen.
1997.
Jay, Justin, Terry and I are in Florida. A few funny events took
place surrounding Jay’s baseball cap flying off his head while
riding the Python roller coaster at Busch Gardens in Tampa. A
day or so later, we were in a sporting goods store. Jay approached
me, presented a cap, and asked me if I knew what team it represented.
I looked at it expecting to answer him quickly, but almost as
suddenly realized I was stumped. I took it from his hands. I examined
it closely.
“Jay,
I’m sorry, but I’ve got no clue.”
“Perfect,
neither do I,” he responded, taking it back and turning to hand
it to Terry. “Mom, can you buy this for me?”
So,
here’s to all of you and your unique loves. For whatever reason
you love them, may they all be the seventh song on the album of
your life.