I have been struggling to put into words over the past couple of years my feelings about looking back, living now, and looking forward. Then, after the passing of David Crosby, someone posted everything I wish I had been able to say in one place. I honestly don’t remember when I saw it, but I copied it and will put it here…it says it all…(and concludes with a line from someone I also envy for his ability to put things into succinct phrasing and for his ability to be simultaneously on point and ironic. I’ve included some bold faced “additions” to more reflect my own position on the cradle-grave timeline…but they are just minor…Here Goes: I guess a good title for this would really be: If we’re lucky enough…

If we’re lucky enough, we get old.

Or, to my way of thinking, anyway, what used to be considered old. Like, in one’s seventies.

When we were young, we were indestructible. We’d work like hell all day, party like hell all night & go back & do it all again the very next day. We were strong. Our legs were like springs & our arms & backs were like steel.

We were slim & we were trim (only slim for a very short period..mostly chubby and anything but trim) & we had full heads of hair that wasn’t grey.

And the world was our oyster, just sitting there, waiting for us to pick it up & put it in our pockets.

Then, something happened.

We lost an older loved one or a close, much more mature, acquaintance. Or an elderly celebrity that we’d more or less grown up with. And, we were floored by the suddenness of it. Huh? How could that happen? But we somehow put it down to an aberration – an only-once-in-a-great-while thing.

And on we marched.

When we somehow found ourselves in our forties, maybe our fifties, those things happened again. And again. But, still, almost all of those who departed this plane were significantly older than we were. By then, we found that those occurrences were happening a little more often, seemingly a little sooner than the last.

By the time our sixties were upon us, a lot of those who were in the generation before ours began leaving us, one by one. But, still – it was an older generation. Not to worry.

But, now – as septuagenarians – those only a few years our seniors are disappearing. Those we grew up listening to & watching & who provided much of the backgrounds of our young lives.

Music-wise, last year, Charlie. This year, Christine. And Jeff. And, now, Crosby. Our lives’ soundtrack providers. And in each case, when I looked at how old they were when they passed, I can almost count on one hand the years between us.

I have no more relatives that are older than I (well, one – but she’s only two years older Actually that’s true I do have just one, and she’s a few years more than two years older). They’re all gone.

Does it bother me? Does it really bother me? Getting older? And staring what’s ahead in the face?

Nah. Not at all. [Still coming to grips with this line]

But I do look back at those earlier days &, just maybe, wished I’d have – what? – appreciated them more?

But that wasn’t possible.

Because we were young.

And we were indestructible.

And the world was our oyster.

And, I guess, with age comes a certain amount of wisdom.

And, I guess that whatever wisdom I have gained can be summed up by the advice of the late, great Warren Zevon:

“Enjoy every sandwich.”