Nostalgia wraps one in a comfortable blanket like a mother would.

Each of us has our by-gone comforts. Or maybe I notice them now that I have 30-plus years of days to look back on.

Vinyl LPs are current favorite of mine. I used to play Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours on Sundays, but the landlord spilled a houseplant on my copy. Now, I’m back to Blue Train.

When that record starts turning, the pulse of the pitch meter lights up and the strains of John Coltrane’s title track slide through the speakers to fill the early afternoon air. It plays the perfect companion to a little yoga or reading.

Later in the afternoon, Coltrane becomes Jimi Hendrix’s Crash Landing — a total burner of an album. Chores get done. Then, it’s the honky-funk of Talking Heads or the crooning of Elvis Costello.

The drag of the needle soothes my cynic self. Yeah, I have an iPod. Ask anyone; I listen to music all the time. But a turntable has more ritual to it than an anywhere, handheld e-gizmo. A turntable gently demands that you stay with it. “Relax, read a book, and listen to some blues,” it says. At other times, more insistently: “That Kinks album isn’t going to play itself.”

I don’t mind really, because it knows.

So, take some time today to grab your nostalgia, pull it up around your shoulders and let it warm the cares of the world away. But don’t forget tomorrow’s another (possibly crappy) day.

Nostalgia wraps one in a comfortable blanket like a mother would.

Each of us has our by-gone comforts. Or maybe I notice them now that I have 30-plus years of days to look back on.

Vinyl LPs are current favorite of mine. I used to play Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours on Sundays, but the landlord spilled a houseplant on my copy. Now, I’m back to Blue Train.

When that record starts turning, the pulse of the pitch meter lights up and the strains of John Coltrane’s title track slide through the speakers to fill the early afternoon air. It plays the perfect companion to a little yoga or reading.

Later in the afternoon, Coltrane becomes Jimi Hendrix’s Crash Landing - a total burner of an album. Chores get done. Then, it’s the honky-funk of Talking Heads or the crooning of Elvis Costello.

The drag of the needle soothes my cynic self. Yeah, I have an iPod. Ask anyone; I listen to music all the time. But a turntable has more ritual to it than an anywhere, handheld e-gizmo. A turntable gently demands that you stay with it. “Relax, read a book, and listen to some blues,” it says. At other times, more insistently: “That Kinks album isn’t going to play itself.”

I don’t mind really, because it knows.

So, take some time today to grab your nostalgia, pull it up around your shoulders and let it warm the cares of the world away. But don’t forget tomorrow’s another (possibly crappy) day.