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During high school and university, my most precious possession was a small black case that held all of my mix tapes. I always carried it in my carry-on luggage when flying, and it was my co-pilot on many a long road trip. My best form of stress relief for many years was making new mixes, on which I would bestow cryptic titles like “Roker” and “Probably” (all of which meant something to me at the time, but only some of which I can remember).

The tapes fell into disuse when I got married and started commuting to work by train, no longer having a tape deck handy during significant portions of my day. I made a few mix CD’s that got some use in a Discman, and shortly after acquired my first iPod, where new mixes now only needed minutes, rather than hours, of investment. The stress-relieving art form evaporated, and my old friends sat on a shelf for a few years.

Until one Saturday this past summer, when I decided to spend some time recreating my old mix tapes as playlists on my iPod. I discovered some real old gems (seriously, what ever happened to the Wallflowers?) and some real groaners (apparently there was a significant period of time during which I thought Jewel and No Doubt were pretty awesome). And I took some serious walks down memory lane, which I can now amble down any time with just the touch of a button.

And so, in this age in which I carry my entire music library in my pocket and can download any tune I fancy whenever the mood strikes, it’s pretty rare anymore that I:

a) think of a song I used to love but haven’t heard in a while

and/or

b) can’t listen listen to such a song when the mood strikes.

But I found myself in such a position today. Last night, while I was waiting for Alasdair to come to bed, I picked up an old journal at random and read a couple of pages. The journal in question was from my junior year of high school, in which I spent most of my ink waxing (less than) eloquent about the half dozen boys I was crushing on at any given time. In the pages I picked out, which dated almost exactly 13 years ago, I was lamenting the break up with my first boyfriend (Steve the Senate Page — swoon) and talking about how much Chicago I was listening to as a result.

Fast forward to this evening, when I was working late at the office (story of my life), and decided to put my iPod on for some company. Feeling a bit nostalgic, I thought I’d put on some Chicago and think fondly of teenage heartaches gone by while I reconciled tax comps.

Except… People. There is no Chicago on my iPod. My artist list skips from Cheryl Wheeler directly to Chris Ledoux. Apparently the mix tape on which this obsession was documented has made its way to K-Bar Heaven.

Oh, the tragedy!

I satisfied myself with the Cranberries instead (going back in time about seven crushes to a Boise State student named Jade) and made a note to go on a Chicago quest when I got home. And so I have. Having loaded up with such classics as “You’re the Inspiration” and “Hard Habit to Break”, I will never be Chicago-less again.

And since a joy shared is a joy doubled, here’s a little blast from the past for you, too: