Memories are strange things. Most change with time, even without our noticing. Some are not even ours.

Nearly 50 years ago, a friend of mine told me a story about driving through some small town with his girlfriend and her rambunctious, irrepressible, force-of-nature, younger sister.  It was after dark and the town was pretty quiet, but Little Sister cranked up the radio, blasting Tower of Power out to anyone within a 50-yard radius, stuck her head out the window and screamed "What is hip?" at the top of her lungs at anyone out on the street. My friend was amazed the local sheriff didn't pull them over.

I have no idea why that random memory of an event I wasn't even present at is still somewhere in my head.