It's About Time

For me, it's 2010: Begin Again. But even though committing to revolution more than resolution, sometimes the past continues to live on in the mind.

The brain is a weird and wonderful thing. It amazes me that it can store the strangest memories for years, then suddenly spring them lose on you when you least expect it. This morning was a classic example for me.

Jingles for TV shows and commercials seem to have the power to embed themselves deep in the mind. For me, they can work their way to the surface at unexpected times. I’m sure something triggers it – something too subtle to register – and suddenly it’s like I’m back in time and music and lyrics are playing in my head. OK, OK, so I’m actually singing along to the soundtrack of my mind.

This morning it was a flashback to a horrible TV show from the 1960s. From out of nowhere I found myself singing:

“It’s about time, it’s about space,
About two men in the strangest place.
Wait ‘til they see what is in sight,
Is it good luck, or is it good night.
It’s about two astronauts
It’s about they’re fate.
It’s about a woman
And her prehistoric mate.”

The lyrics aren't complete, but that's the section I remember. And, weah, the show was called It’s About Time. It came out a time of very silly shows on TV. Things like the Beverly Hillbillies, the Munsters, Gilligan’s Island and more. The premise was sillier than any of the aforementioned, with the possible exception of The Munsters. It’s About Time was a comedy about two astronauts who travel back in time and hook up with a tribe of cavemen. Whacky adventures ensue. Dumb. Really dumb.

But the power of the theme song makes it live on in my mind.

Radio jingles do the same thing. When I was in Grades 1-3, I lived at the air force base near Summerside, P.E.I. Every school day Mom would have breakfast prepared and I’d eat at about the same each morning. Mom also had the radio playing at the same time. And I swear I heard the same radio ads morning after morning.

Now I’m 52 years old and I still remember:

J-E-N-K-I-N-S
Jenkins is the very best.
Beef and lobster, chicken, too.
Jenkins is the best for you.
Shop Jenkins, Jenkins
Jenkins of P.E.I.

Jenkins doesn’t exist anymore. I know. A couple of years ago, when the jingle was going through my mind, I contacted the editor of the newspaper in Summerside to see if it was still around. Nope. It’s long gone. But it lives on in my mind – along with the memory of the first time I had cinnamon toast. That was also one morning in P.E.I. while having breakfast before school.

Cinnamon toast and Jenkins. Two memories intertwined and linked by a simple radio jingle.

The mind really is a weird and wonderful thing.