I have made a commitment to three things: finding time for Blue Space (beach, sky), Green Space (earth, woods), and the responses I have to poets & writers. I seek to discover the art of being.
A couple of days ago I saw a meme on social media that said something about nothing is better for our spirits than driving in your car with the music loud and singing along.
I thought to myself, I haven’t done that in a while. I will sing along, but I don’t necessarily play it loudly.
Today changed that!
I was leaving Publix for my short drive home, and the song “Think I’m in Love With You” had just started on the Chris Stapleton station. I absolutely adore this performance, and I love when he plays it on the radio for us to enjoy. I found myself cranking it up and singing along, remembering the meme and thinking…DAMN RIGHT!
The song was long enough to get me home. It felt so good!
I don’t mean to overwhelm my readers with Chris, but this is one memorable performance. And it made me fall in love with Dua Lipa.
I never thought I’d agree with Howard Stern about much of anything.
But then I found this video, and it begins with Howard saying this is his favorite Willie Nelson song.
It’s mine as well. The song is called “Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground.” Chris slides into this song like putting on a pair of his favorite old boots.
And he isn’t even wearing his trademark hat!
A Chris performance and a Willie song equal an unbeatable combination I’m posting here tonight so I can revisit any time.
The first was December 15th. I was on my way to Crystal Bowl Meditation, had just turned on to A & W Bulb Road when an eagle, her white head brilliant in the sun, flew over the road ahead of me.
The second one was last Friday. I was driving up Summerlin, and an eagle with prey in his talons flew over the road ahead of me and into Lakes Park.
Today it was on Tamiami Trail as I was leaving my massage therapist. The eagle was just drifting around with the breezes above, not in any hurry to go anywhere, her white head and tail announcing her spirit.
In Native American Medicine, eagles represent Spirit. Their feathers are the most sacred.
Given this highly unusual chain of events in less than a month, I’m proclaiming Eagle Medicine as mine for 2025. I read about Eagle, and this part really spoke to me, given the year I’ve had:
Eagle represents a state of grace achieved through hard work, understanding, and a completion of the tests of initiation which result in the taking of personal power.
Eagle brings illumination. Look higher and love the shadow as well as the light. See the beauty in both, and you will take flight with Eagle.
Yesterday I wrote about my word of the year for 2024. Today I bring you my new one.
It came to me when reading a prayer poem with my Lectio Divina group. The text is called "When I'm grieving a goodbye" by Arianna Braithwaite Lehn. Here is the part that brought me the word:
When I'm asked to
open my hands and
release what I've held --
held tightly --
place your peace
between the fingers.
I couldn't stop thinking and writing about the word release.
What I have come to love about it is that it can be activated in any moment needed. I found myself already using it once I committed to it. It is now written on a magnet displayed on my refrigerator for me to see when I come in the room.
Today in my journal I made a list of release statements. There will certainly be more. But I'm off to a good start.
Here's to 2025 where I will...
Release fear of the future.
Release money concerns.
Release anxiety caused by inaction.
Release things that aren't coming back.
Release the need to know the future.
Release frustrations when they arise.
Release everything I can't control.
Release anger about stuff left behind I have to deal with.
Release wondering.
Release any frozen feeling -- release into the melting spirit of love, faith, and trust.
Release the need to know -- I don't know!
Release all the stuff here that does not serve me.
I leave you with "Here Comes the Sun," because I know "It's all right!"
It is late afternoon on New Year's Eve, and I meant to get this out sooner. It is mostly my journal entry from this morning. I had a wonderful day seeing A Complete Unknown and having lunch with a friend. Then I visited with my neighbor. Life is busy.
I have not shed many tears since Thanksgiving, although I did this morning when I realized I won't have Jim here at midnight to wish Happy New Year and a kiss. But, that's okay. I had a little cry and now I'm fine.
For many months of 2024 I prayed for this year to end more times than I can count. And now we are here, the waning hours. Finally.
What a year it has been.
Yesterday, I listened to my 2024 playlist, the one I started and continued to add on to throughout the year. I started with three songs, and continued to add (and sometimes subtract) as the year went on. The songs tell the story of my year; every up and down is represented.
It helped me know I definitely need a new playlist for 2025. I already know it will start with "Here Comes the Sun." I need a new collection to motivate, inspire, and calm me.
This year my word was EMERGE. For a long time I did not know how it was manifesting. But now I can see I had to emerge out of a life that was unsustainable. I couldn't teach forever. Jim couldn't keep getting ill without it catching up to him.
It was not the way I had imagined the word "emerge" when I chose it. I thought I'd have more agency, more choice. Instead, it felt thrust upon me. Emerge, dammit!
I can't argue with the God that chose this for me. I am grateful for everything good that has come my way because of the repeated challenges.
A shift is happening now with the new year. My wound is close to healed. The holiday respite is over, and January will demand attention on things I've easily let slide. I have been wondering if I am ready.
The answer is yes.
I just pray 2025 lands gently. I have mighty helpers on my side, no matter what. That will never change.
*
The third song on my playlist was Jimmy Buffett's "Bubbles Up." I wrote about it earlier this year, but it deserves more attention. Apple Music says it is the song I listened to the most this year, and I know it is true. It was my constant go-to because of the message and Jimmy's voice. Neither can be beat.
I am holding the touchstone as I write and it brings me a lot of peace. I need it.
Based on my readings today, I took a “fall” — perhaps I took on too much or obsessed too much and it brought me here.
But the more likely explanation is I am not allowing myself self-compassion. My friend Kara reminded me yesterday during a well-timed phone call that I need to prioritize my own care.
I had been feeling so good, moving along, so positive. But then, as Albert Camus said:
…the perpetual impulse forward always falls back to gather new strength. The fall is brutal, but we set out again.
Jim’s memorial service buoyed me up for a long time. There was bound to be a fall. I appreciate what Camus has to say. Instead of feeling weak and like I can’t handle things, I know now is time for gathering strength. The fall helps me do that.
And then I am gifted with a daily reading from Regina Brett’s new book. Did you ever see a title more appropriate for my current life?
Her essay today was entitled “If it was supposed to be different it would be.”
Bam!
Regina tells of her brother-in-law who took a literal fall in a hotel shower while on vacation and became a quadriplegic. That’s heavy duty, but inspiring. He went on to live a fulfilled life, even published a book of poetry.
There is life after the fall. It’s just a little detour!
This, after all, is part of grieving and it won’t be the last time.
I got ahead of myself. I got to thinking too far in the future and trying to figure things out I had no business worrying about. Awareness — yes. Anxiety — no!
The touchstone in my hand continues to have a calming effect.
A big realization I had regarding how I got to the fall was that I ate all my meals alone last week, and that isn’t good for me. All other weeks, I got together at least one time with someone else. So that’s a warning flag! Fortunately, I have things lined up for this week.
I’m learning. Grounding back to remembering things have been, will be, and are exactly as they should be. If it was supposed to be different it would be.
Kacey Musgraves performed my favorite new song from her on the CMA Awards. It is called “The Architect” and I know I shared it before, but this is a sweet acoustic version. The song reminds me someone else is in charge (even as Kacey questions it.)
I cannot avoid the falls. There will surely be more as I navigate this new life. I need to keep doing the things that anchor me. Line up time with friends. Get a lot of rest. The best I can do is to be aware and listen well for guidance, because I know it is always there when I need it.
Every Monday late afternoon I participate in Lectio Divina, a contemplative prayer practice. The group of ladies I sit with (2 others with the name Helen) bring a lot of grace and insight into my life. I’m slowly getting to know them, and am grateful.
It was a rough election week, and I’ve done my best to guard myself from getting too involved in the chaos. I feel I’ve succeeded, as I haven’t had the anxiety and stress I’ve witnessed in others.
Our reading this past week was from a YouTube conversation between Adam Bucko and Mark Longhurst, the title “Letting Heartbreak Be Your Guide.” The segment we looked at was about being receptive to deep listening and wrestling with tough questions. It was definitely a very timely choice.
There was one sentence that really stood out to me:
The contemplation part is the receptivity and consent, and the action part is simply letting God live through us as much as possible, letting Christ live and love and protest through us.
Protest? How often do we hear that word when discovering the role of God in our lives? I am still contemplating this, especially as there are many planning their resistance to things that could happen in our country that are hateful and wrong.
It’s another reminder that we are all the voice of God in this world, and the intentions we have and the actions we take are important. Definitely something to contemplate on a daily basis.
On the way home, which is about a 3 minute drive, I heard this song by Maren Morris. It seemed to fit with my experience with the prayer group, and is a great message overall.
Yesterday we had a celebration of Jim’s life, and I could not be happier with how things went. The turnout was great, and it was wonderful to have my incredible support system all together in one room.
In the morning I was working on finalizing the slideshow I planned to use. Family members and friends from out of state had sent their memories, and I had them on the slides ready to share. I had my teacher friends each assigned to read one of them, and it worked beautifully.
Anyway, while working on it and listening to a station on Apple Music, a song sung by Josh Grobin came on: “Where You Are.” The lyrics hit me so hard I began to cry. And in that moment, I felt Jim behind me and he wrapped his arms around me, much like the photo above. It was such a calming presence, I stopped sobbing. I knew he was there more intensely than anytime since he’s passed. I realized later I had heard the song before, it’s been around for a while. But yesterday it was brand new and played just so I could connect with Jim in a profound way.
I told my friend Kara about it, and she insisted Jim sent me the song. I tend to agree with her. Because now when I listen (and cry) I immediately feel his arms around me. It is a beautiful gift I will cherish for a long time to come.
Today I wrote the final pages of a journal I started June 12th.
This represents the toughest part of my entire life to date. I can’t imagine things will ever be this challenging again, but I’m not tempting the universe to prove me wrong. Really.
Here are some of the final words I wrote:
I’m glad many things are getting settled. Im glad Jim is not struggling and suffering anymore. I’m glad I 100% supported him and have no regrets at all.
I was with him every step of the way.
And now it’s a new life. So far, so good.
Jim—I love you forever and ever
And you will always be with me.
Then I put on “Helen Sadler’s Station” on my Apple Music and the first song that came up was Rodney Crowell’s “Making Memories of Us.”
I cried and cried…a pure combination of sadness at the loss and the happiness of the memories.
Tomorrow begins a new journey to record. 🌻
(Keith Urban’s live version of the song is perfect!)
There is nothing I would like better than to say that healing is coming along quite well and I’m going to be up and at ‘em and no time at all.
But nothing can be farther from the truth.
What happened with me was very serious. The open wound I have now saps a lot of my energy. I know everyone wants me to be stronger and more capable of doing things than I currently am. I can sense it in the way they ask questions. I’m not upset with anybody because I think I’d be thinking the same thing. I’d wanna know that my friend or family member was OK.
And I am OK. But there is still a very long way to go.
There is a song that really speaks to how I feel. Mavis Staples sings it, and I posting it here and I hope you will listen. It will give you insight into how I feel. It reveals my current truth. I have also posted the lyrics below.
There's a sorrow in the wind Blowing down the road I've been I can hear it cry when shadows steal the sun But I cannot look back now I've come too far to turn around And there's still a race ahead that I must run
I'm only halfway home I've gotta journey on To where I'll find, I'll find the things that I have lost I've come a long, long road But still have got some miles to go I've got a wide, wide river to cross
I have stumbled, I have strayed You can trace the tracks I made All across the memories my heart recalls But I'm still a refugee won't you say a prayer for me? 'Cause sometimes even the strongest soldier falls
I'm only halfway home I've gotta journey on To where I'll find, find the things that I have lost I've come a long, long road but still I've got some miles to go I've got a wide, wide river to cross
I'm only halfway home I've gotta journey on To where I'll find, find the things that I have lost I've come a long, long road but still I've got some miles to go I've got a wide, wide river to cross I've got a wide, wide river to cross I've got a wide, wide river to cross
Today is my niece Cheryl’s 40th birthday. She is a writer, and so I sent her this song to celebrate her day and entry into a new decade of life.
I’ve always felt this song an inspiring message about our lives, how we write them day to day. It’s one of my personal favorites from the first decade of this century.
But as I watched the lyrics go by on the video, especially Staring at the blank page before you, I felt without the ability to write my own life again. With all the drama this year, I feel like someone has stolen the pen from me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get it back.
Every time I think, Now I’m moving forward, something arrives to set me back. And not just one step, but several. As if health issues weren’t enough, being away from Jim is even worse.
I know I am writing here, and certainly this is a way I’m writing my life. I sometimes wonder why I can’t have just a teeny bit of control on how things go…why does everything have to be so difficult?
I used to think it was all in my attitude; I just needed to find the “right” words and phrases to keep me centered. Truth is, I'm exhausted from the effort that takes. How hard I have to think about every move. How isolated I am here in my own home. It’s become impossible to think about anything but my own need in this exact moment.
It all feels so limiting. So out of reach. So NOT like how I live my life.
I hope by getting these words down, I have written myself to a better place. After all, writing is about finding our truth.
My friend Kara gave me a book that is helping me with the emotional state I’m in. It’s part self-help, part humor, part coloring book. It’s full of great reminders for me.
Today I was reading along and came to a page about dandelions. The author, Jenny Lawson, explains how she always thought she was a dandelion, and certainly this resonates from me. Back in my National Writing Project days we had a saying: Don’t be afraid of the lawnmower. We even got dandelion shirts.
Lawson describes the dandelion process, how just when it is given up for dead “it explodes into an elaborate globe of spiderweb seedlings so fragile that a wind or a wish sends it to pieces.”
She continues:
But the falling apart isn’t the end.
It depends on the falling apart.
Its fragility lets it be carried to new places, to paint more gold in the cracks.
I always thought I’d like to be a dandelion.
But I think, in a way, I already am.
I feel each day I’m facing my fragility anew. Every day there seems to be a new level of falling apart. I rated my mood today as “okay” and said I felt sad, fatigued, grieving, and powerless.
Yup. Fragile.
I woke with the intention of setting small goals and reaching them. I allowed myself to lie in bed yesterday afternoon, watching television, reading, and napping. Taking care of myself is a necessity, not a privilege.
I want to start feeling the falling apart as a more positive experience than I have been thinking it is. There have been so many adjustments this week, and there will be many more coming. My friend Annmarie said the other day that maybe being strong isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. (Not a direct quote!) Perhaps I’m forcing strength in an unnatural way for this situation.
Maybe I just need to trust the process of the dandelion. Let myself have bright yellow moments, break through the cracks moments, blow it all away to a new life moments.
I’ve had a lot of each this past week, now that I think about it. It’s easy to remember the frustrations, but it’s okay to remember there were good moments, too.
And I’m reminded of a song by the Rolling Stones:
Dandelion don’t tell no lies
Dandelion will make you wise
Tell me if she laughs or cries
Blow away, dandelion
[Fun fact: Keith Richards has a daughter named Dandelion.]
This band seems to be popping up a lot lately. I saw a list of the top six classic rock bands, and I agreed with all of them, but Floyd. I saw an elderly woman (anyone older than me is elderly haha) wearing a Pink Floyd shirt. And then yesterday I heard a song of theirs called “Fearless” on the radio.
My friends and I never listened to Floyd. It always felt like background music for people that liked to get seriously high. To me, the band has no personality. You think of The Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin, and they exude personality. The members make an impression.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t pick Roger Waters out of a line-up and I don’t even know the other band members’ names.
Am I to assume that people still listening to a Floyd still like to get seriously high?
The only memory I hold of listening to Pink Floyd was in the spring of 1975. I was going to a computer school, and we had to write codes, type them on punch cards, and run them through a computer that was so large it filled a room. The school only had one computer, so when the end of the quarter came, everyone was vying for computer time to be sure their program ran efficiently. It was our “final.”
Our young teacher, Gary, decided we should spend a Friday night in the gloomy building downtown Cleveland so we had total access to the computer ourselves. We weren’t required to come, but he made it like a party. Lots of snacks. And a record player.
Gary was always competing with the other teachers to prove we were the smartest.
Someone had brought a Pink Floyd album, and that is the only time I listened to Dark Side of the Moon in its entirety. It really fit with being on the second floor of a grungy building at 2 o’clock in the morning, Euclid Avenue below being fairly devoid of traffic, and the streetlights shining through dirty windows. (In the 1970s, no one went to Cleveland at night.) In that atmosphere, I thought the music as pretty good. However, I never bothered to listen again, not even when it was rumored you could put it on and watch The Wizard of Oz and it was a perfect soundtrack.
So yeah, all these years later I still do not get the allure. I do, however, like the cover. It’s pretty darn cool.
I grew up in an era of political violence. I was all of 8-years-old when John Kennedy was assassinated that Friday in Dallas. The entire country was in shock, and I remember well the days that followed, the additional murder of Lee Harvey Oswald, the adult conversations, the televised funeral. Dark, dark days.
It was quiet for a while, but then came Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy in rapid succession. I was a 7th grader then, but it still made no sense.
In between all of that had been the rise of the hippie culture and the Summer of Love (1967). These things caught my attention and has never let me go. It was in the music and culture. It was part of everything. I still believe in the values I grabbed onto at age 12, and I don't see any reason to give them up. They define me now, even at age 68.
Now there has been an act of political violence once again. The target is someone I disagree with on every level. But to me violence is violence and is not warranted. It solves nothing.
I still believe love does solve everything. This is not airy-fairy because love is HARD.
Today I was reminded of a song that was out during the summer of 1969 -- "Get Together' by The Youngbloods. It begins:
Love is but a song we sing
Fear the way we die
You can make the mountains sing
Or make the angels cry...
[Listen to full song here.The boy on the bicycle in the video reminds me so much of my little brother it was freaky!]
After the era of violence and unrest in the 1960s, we ended up with a "reset" of sorts. The Youngbloods' song was the anthem for what we needed to do. That summer we had the long-awaited moon landing and three days of peace and love at Woodstock. I was entering high school.
Everything felt possible.
This country needs a reset. The sooner the better. We have never been so far off. We are running on fear and threats of violence and whats-in-it-for-me.
Worst of all, some people are united by hate. How is that a way to live? How does that contribute anything positive to the American Experiment?
In the second verse of the song, we hear:
Some may come and some may go
We will surely pass
When the one* that left us here
Comes for us at last
We are but a moment's sunlight
Fading in the grass
Life is fleeting. I'm feeling that more than ever these days. When will we get it together? Time is so short.
It is worth our time and effort to make a change.
The final verse says:
Listen
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It's there at your command
I believe love is possible.
I believe peace is possible.
I believe living the values of America is possible.
I believe the power is within us
At our command.
And I will never stop believing.
*The writer of the song, Chester Powell, had written the word WIND, not ONE. It was a Buddhist concept of the opposing states we live in: pleasure/pain, loss/gain, praise/blame, disrepute/fame. However, Jesse Colin Young, the leader of the Youngbloods, was Christian so he changed the lyric. You see opposing concepts in love/fear in the song.
The only thing I wanted to listen to today was James Taylor's Hourglass album from 1997. As I listened, I journaled about what was arising in me.
By the second song the tears were flowing. The chorus of "Enough to Be On Your Way" hits me every time:
It's enough to be on your way
It's enough just to cover ground
It's enough to be moving on
Home--build it behind your eyes
Carry it in your heart
Safe among your own.
What I love about this song is that it seems to be about anything you need it to be. Something about it reaches deep inside me, even now, 27 years later. It was the summer I was waiting to have surgery for what they told me was ovarian cancer, and the whole world felt lit up and healing was within reach. Albums like this one and Sarah MacLachlan's Surfacing helped me through those July days. In fact, I even had Jim bring a CD player to the hospital so I could listen in my room. The power in the music was what I needed at that time, and has been with me ever since. I want to highlight a few of the songs here.
"Enough to Be On Your Way" has one of the best lyrics I have ever heard. The song is a narrative about a friend who went missing out west with some Buddhists. The story is both abstract and concrete. My favorite lines from the song come at the end:
He woke me up on a Sunday
An hour before the sun
It had me watchin' the headlights
Out on Highway Five, Nine, One
'Till I stepped into my trousers
'Till I pulled my big boots on
I walked out on the mesa
And I stumbled on this song
I just love the imagery of James walking out on the mesa at dawn and finding this song. It is beyond beautiful. Listen here:
I always feel that summer led me to the revelation in November that I wanted to become a teacher. It was like preparing the ground for me.
Likewise, I feel the same this summer -- the health situation with Jim and myself -- is leading me somewhere I cannot see. I sense the end of my career as a public school teacher even though in many ways I'd love to have one final year. It may or may not happen.
Another song that was a favorite is called "Another Day," with lyrics:
Another day
Another chance that we may finally find our way
The sun has begun to melt all our fears away
Another day
Overcoming fear is definitely a theme in this album, as I am just recognizing now. I can see why it was so relevant to me with the cancer scare hanging over me back then.
The song "Up from Your Life" acknowledges that we may often find it hard to get out of our own way. I distinctly remember a moment of my life with this song. It was in the fall when I was falling into depression, and had spent the early hours sunk in my own gloom. I finally pulled myself out of the house to go for a walk in the woods. I started the car and the cassette began to play:
So much for your moment of prayer,
God's not at home
there is no there, there...
Though I hate to see you surrender,
you need to surrender,
we must find you a way to
Look up from your life
Up from your life
Look up from your life
I remember sitting in the garage laughing at myself for holding on to my own sadness instead of realizing what was available in the moment. I was way too caught up in myself! It was like James was poking fun at me. I heard the message loud and clear.
And today it was the same. These are the words that tumbled out of me while I listened:
There is light
There is a way
Fear has no place
Expect the unexpected
Give a listen to this very special song. Branford Marsalis on the sax is stunning!
So those were the songs from 1997 that had me in their grip. So why did I need to listen today?
To discover this one: "Up Er Mei." This is another one that has a lot of abstraction, and today that spoke fully to me. I will need to spend more time with these lyrics to see what they hold for me, so I am adding it to my Emerge Playlist for 2024. By the way, Mount Er Mei is a mountain in China and is the location of a Buddhist temple build in 1st century CE. (Link below) I never even bothered to look this up until today.
Anyway, back to the lyrics:
We were walking in paradise, never did tumble.
Blind in the Buddha land, looking for trouble
We had been told of a place far beyond this vale of tears
We could never have guessed, we were already blessed
There we were, where we are,
in the garden
in the garden.
Seems like words to hang onto! I'll keep you posted if I discover anything new.
I am grateful for all the friends who reached out this weekend. Thank you X a million.
I am grateful we are starting to get a handle on what we will do in case of a hurricane. That has been a relief.
I am grateful Jim woke up feeling better. The last few days were rough from the chemo, but he seems to have recovered. 😊
I am grateful my energy has returned and I’m getting things done around here. I’m taking it easy on myself, and am committed to doing things at a pace that works for me.
Along with that thought, I have decided to abandon reading One Hundred Years of Solitude. There are just too many other books I think I will enjoy more. Going to get on with that! Grateful for so many books!
Seven years ago today is when I had one of my favorite concert experiences in a Tennessee cave called The Bluegrass Underground. I am grateful for the times Jim and I had traveling to places that matter to us. Nothing will ever take away those memories.
It started quite by accident. The movie Footloose is on Netflix, and since I had never seen it, I decided to watch. It took me back to the time when nearly every song on the soundtrack was a big hit, there was no internet or compact discs in our world. Boomboxes with cassettes were prominent in the movie.
Then June 4 came, and I heard it was the anniversary of the release of the album Born in the U.S.A. byBruce Springsteen. That was all it took. 1984 had a hold on me!
It was my first summer living with Jim at his house in Macedonia, Ohio, halfway between Cleveland and Akron. The home had three quarters of an acre of land and an above ground swimming pool. It was a great place for entertaining.
The Springsteen album was our standard background music. The house was a split level, and we could put the stereo speakers in the windows and blast it outside. I know there was plenty of other music we played, but this album is the one I remember best.
This essay isn’t about the album so much as remembering the people and a couple of events the summer I was turning 29. I dug out a few pictures I have that represent summer weekends at our home, and a couple other related items.
First, check out my office at Freeman Manufacturing where I was the credit and collections manager. The picture was rather dark and taken with a crappy camera, so I adjusted as best I could. I got a real kick out of the seeing the computer. What a lunky box!
I had a couple of friends at work —Jeannie and Arlene—and one Saturday they came and hung out at the pool.
On the 4th of July we had a pool party for friends. It was mostly people from our work places with others sprinkled in. The weather wasn’t super, but the pool volleyball happened anyway.
On my 29th birthday, my friends from work took me to a bar/restaurant called Pickle Bills which was on the Cuyahoga River in the Flats, an up and coming entertainment area. At the time, singing telegrams were popular, and my friends paid to have some Tarzan guy come and sing to me and tell jokes. It was crazy fun, although frankly, he was a tad creepy. (Jim and I had celebrated over the weekend because he played golf on Mondays.)
To finish off this little walk down memory lane, I’m including a video of the Springsteen song from the 1984 album that has stood the test of time with me. I won’t say the summer days of 1984 were exactly “glory days,” but they did represent a certain time in my life where I was enjoying the results of decisions I had made a couple years earlier. Everything felt new and exciting, and so in that aspect, there was a touch of glory!
