Two weekends ago I had a fabulous Saturday night, even without Edward proposing to me. And now I can't get a Bob Marley song out of my head -- the cover band that performed it that night made me a Bob Marley believer all over again.

But as each day passes, I'm finding it harder and harder to remember how the song I enjoyed so much went. Rasta zombies ate mah brainz.

I even searched through my LPs, because I know I had a Bob Marley album. Once I lent it to a friend and he returned it to me with peanut butter on it.

Jah, he was peanut-butter-and-jammin', mon.

Then I remembered that I sold the album at a yard sale a decade ago. It seems that I now wish I had kept the dozen or so I sold, which totally goes against my decluttering way of being.

So I sought a Positive Vibration and went over to YouTube to see if I could find the song that way.

Three hours later and I was beginning to feel like I was Waiting in Vain.

Or like Burnin' and Lootin'.

And I wasn't about to go and claim I Shot the Sheriff...

I know, kill me now. ;)

So I broke down and cashed in an Amazon gift certificate and bought Bob Marley and the Wailers GOLD, a two-disc CD containing 34 ganga-grooving tracks.

Yeah, even though I should be saving my money and not spending it on a whim. Even if it has a really good beat and I can listen to it while I'm on the treadmill. I mean, that's what Duran Duran and Madonna are for. ;)

The DH thought I was more nuts than usual. "Do you remember any of the lyrics?"

"Something about music and everyone being happy," I replied.

Yeah, like that would narrow things down. ;)

Well, the CDs arrived today. Squee! Or rasta-squee!

So instead of working on the WIP, I popped the first disc into the player and started jammin' through the tracks. What I didn't realize is that with every song I listened to, the memory of the one I was trying to find grew fainter and fainter, like a soft dreadlocked echo over the waters of my mind.

The kitten was not impressed. Zaphod staged an Exodus from my office, seeking the safe haven of the basement, where the ska-inspiring beats couldn't reach him.

I'd miss him, but I had a song to find.

And then the wildest thing happened: I found the track!

But it wasn't the same.

The cover band had performed Trenchtown Rock, but at about twice the speed, making it a more workout-worthy tune. Sure, I was delighted to finally know what the heck the song was called, and how the lyrics described how everyone was listening to music and getting happy, but it wasn't fast enough for me to sweat to. Sob!

And I still had 25 songs left to listen to on the CDs, which wasn't a bad thing, as I recognized most of them. Even Zaphod came back, looking more relaxed than before.

Then I found it. It was the perfect move-your-butt-because-you-can't-help-yourself track.

Iron, Lion, Zion. And it was the last track on the second CD!


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