Continuing my basement clean up saga, tonight I managed to fritter time away with perusing my vinyl collection, I'm talking records not clothing you sick people. I knew going in very little would be accomplished, it wasn't like I was going to get rid of any of them. As I sat on my stool next to the turntable I began picking up musical portions of my life in a chronological order. It was then that I discovered an old clear red record with no label, I placed it gently on the turntable and began to play it for identification. I couldn't make out the garbled lyrics until the light in my skull lit up, 78 rpm not 33 1/3 or 45 rpm's. The music leaped to life and some unknown vocalist poured his heart into an energetic version of "Pony Boy". I was immediately 4 years old again, riding a black broomstick stallion over the hills and plains in search of whatever adventure was around the next bend. My ten gallon hat some how fit my pint sized head, my trusty holster and sixgun hanging halfway down, what was then, I think, a much tinier butt. I played that record over and over until every memory that was tied to it played out. I can assure you that was 15 minutes of pure joy, being home alone the temptation to mount one of our modern bristly steeds and gallop through the basement was almost overwhelming plus through the years that gallop is more a trot. Oh well, that's enough for this nights cleaning, headed upstairs to the bunk house.