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big holes) that our heart desired. There were two which had become my favorites, one in particular entitled ―El Bottlero‖, a lively number played out on class ware of some sort.

El Bottlero and its mates have now travelled with me through the intervening decades through no particular fault of their own. Obviously, as vinyl gave way to laser discs and then to bits and bytes, my plastic memory faded just like the real one. But last year I acquired the capacity to convert vinyl to bytes and I now carry with me, at all times, via my iPhone, a little piece of Club Jupiter. On long, lonely car trips I plug in my miracle phone and for a few brief moments I am transported back through time and space to a split second of my past when an adventuresome kid was vicariously discovering what really counts in life, the love of a family.

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