There were Beatle artifacts squirreled away all over our house: record albums stuffed in shelves in the family room; CDs piled in the living room; Beatles videos hidden away in the basement; and a box of memorabilia in the attic I had not looked at in 20 years. These things should be excavated and catalogued, I thought to myself. Maybe some of them are really worth something. Then I had a brilliant idea.

"You could make me a database," I said to my programmer husband. "Let's catalog my Beatles stuff."

We sat at the computer and I told my husband the categories I wanted in my database: Beatle records, Beatle books, Beatle videos and Beatle memorabilia. Then, in preparation for the data entry, I set about the dusty unearthing.

First, I opened the box from the attic. Yellow newspaper articles spilled out. I read about the day the Beatles landed in New York for the first time, the movie premieres in London and in Chicago, and the concert tours all over the world.

I sifted through the buried treasure of a former civilization characterized by masses of screaming kids. To look at the pictures you'd think they were taken not at a rock concert, but at a funeral, in a culture where most of the mourners were 13 year-old girls.

I hadn't seen these clippings for two decades. But I knew every word of these articles, every line, every anecdote, and every chapter in the Beatle history book. It was like reading a fairy tale I learned in childhood. Only instead of the story of Jack and the Beanstalk or Rumpelstiltskin, it was the legend of John, Paul, George and Ringo.

I wish I could use my useless storehouse of information to make a Beatle-related living. How about a Beatle 900 line? Got a question about the Beatles? You want to know what Ringo wore around his neck in Hamburg? A St. Christopher's medal. What did John wear around his neck? A toilet seat. That will be two dollars please. Which credit card will you be using?

Or perhaps I could start a Beatle college. In Beatles 101, I would teach how John met Paul, and when Ringo joined the band. By the time the students were enrolled in Beatles 201, they would be learning such important facts as the names of their country estates in England, and how many times they recorded "Why Don't We Do It In The Road."

My truly dedicated students in Beatles 400 would debate in class. Was it Paul alone, or John and Paul together, who wrote "Yellow Submarine?" Which Beatle song was written in the shortest amount of time. Was it really "She's a Woman?"

When we first talked about cataloging my treasures, I had visions of discovering a rare Beatle souvenir, perhaps a complete set of Beatles bubble gum cards, or a lunch box from 1966. But as I sorted through the layers of faded newsprint, broken Beatle lockets, and dog-eared fan magazines, I realized there were no truly valuable finds here. Only memories.

Next, I dredged up the videos from the basement. It wasn't, I realized to my dismay, a complete collection there either. There were lots of videos I didn't have, but I knew were out there.

To my surprise, soon I stood in front of my husband, car keys in hand, saying, "I need to do some errands. I'll be back soon".

My feet propelled me to the garage. I got in my car, and drove to a video store. As I carried my new Beatles videos to the checkout counter, I wondered if there was such a thing as Beatles Anonymous. Perhaps my husband was wondering the same thing. Maybe he was signing me up at this very moment.

When I got home, and found my husband meeting with a client, not turning me in, I rushed to add the tapes to the mountain of memorabilia.

I sat in the middle, happily surrounded by the finds from my Beatles dig. Here's a Sergeant Pepper poster from the Official Beatle Fan Club. That would look great framed. Here are concert programs, and ticket stubs from all their Chicago concerts. Here are souvenirs from my trip to London in 1969. the summer after senior year in high school.

That summer, my parents took me to Europe. It was the summer the Beatles were making Abbey Road. Along with the visits to Buckingham Palace and to see the Horse Guards, I took a cab ride past the studio. I didn't get out.

I wish I had. I wish I had been an Apple Scruff. Why didn't I stay in London, drop out of school, move into some cheap, crowded hippie flat, get some miserable, illegal waitress job, and spend every spare minute waiting for the Beatles?

It's funny how things look from 30 years away. Of course I did come back and go to college, but, oddly enough, my college textbooks don't hold the same interest for me as these faded photos. I don't even have most of those books anymore. Ask me what years Socrates, or Hegel or Kierkegarrd lived (I majored in Philosophy) and I'll laugh in your face. But ask me the birthdays of the four Beatles and I will tell you still.

Then I spotted the most recent addition to my Beatle archives, the article about the Chicago Beatlefest. What paradise! Three days of Beatles. An entire ballroom of people like me, who for some reason can't get them out of their system, who have to gather and celebrate it, introduce their children to it, live it again.

I am forty-four years old and going to Beatlefest. At least now that blow dryers have invented, it won't take so long to straighten my hair.