One of those days, I suppose. I'm pretty sure that I've told you every story I have. Twice. Of course as they were being transformed into memories I had no idea that there was anything special happening.
Oh, there were a few, I guess. When Big Daddy called and asked me to go to lunch I almost died on the spot and I was well aware when Elvis was offering to teach me karate that it was not "everyday." Even half asleep, I knew that it was history when my mom woke me up to tell me that we had lost Buddy and Ritchie and the Big Bopper.
Most of the big events slid right past me, though. It didn't occur to me that Jimi or Janis might die soon. Duane, either. That changed those stories. Quickly.
Oh, sure, memories are being made. Folks are still dying, too. That never seems to go out of style. I'm not ever going to shake Roy's hand again, though. I hope there's a heaven, too, and I hope to see Mr. Tim there, like he said.
Memories and loss make for bittersweet dreams and sad tales. Love hard. Really hard.