What music and words evoke

My husband's iphone is set to Folk Alley to provide some background music to assist my breakfast preparations. "Hello ruby in the dust." The lyrics break in as I crack eggs into the pan, and I re-enter my teen years in a small northern town, hear soaring music in a cavernous empty building, "the Centre," where we hung out.

"Ruby in the dust" is not the first line. What's the title and who's singing? I know it was Hello something in the something. But what?

I drizzle hot water from the kettle, grind on some salt and pepper and add a sprinkling of paprika. Then I pop the lid on the pan and push down the whole grain toast sitting ready in the toaster. It's all in the timing.

Now I have it. The slow and mournful voice is Neil Young. "Hello Cowgirl in the Sand." I'm still back in the hometown Community Centre listening to Crosbie, Stills Nash and Young. I see it in my mind's eye, this time the shabby exterior. I'd left town by the time it burned down.

Suddenly my aging adult self knows something my teenage incarnation didn't. That building was a quonset hut, left over from when troops were briefly stationed in town. In 1969 World War II, called "the war," was only twenty-four years in the past.

Now a quarter century seems all too brief.

The eggs are done. I grab a plate and arrange the freshly popped toast, then lift the steaming eggs from the pan and slide them aboard the hot steaming slices. Perfection.

Dad once told me that in the diners of the dirty thirties, when someone ordered two poached eggs on toast with the yolks broken, the waiter would call to the cook, "Adam and Eve on a raft. Wreck 'em." Today I've left the egg yolks beautifully whole.

Serving this food, I feel a welling of gratitude for these simple things: food and loved ones to feed, a long series of fascinating experiences to remember, and the power of music to evoke those memories.