I used to sit on the porch with my Oldman. He’d have a cigarette in his mouth, a glass of Liebfraumilch nearby, and Dick Buckley’s jazz program playing softly on the radio.
We did that for years. At first, I sipped lemonade. As time passed, I joined him with a glass of sweet German wine.
Last night, George sat beside me on the balcony while jazz records spun on the turntable. I don’t know if he will look back one day and smile at the memory of Frank Sinatra or Bill Evans playing in the background.... him with his lemonade, me with my martini, but I hope he does.
As the sun slipped below the horizon, I was transported to the sunsets long ago on Lombard Avenue. After George left, Sinatra’s voice came in smooth and steady: “It was a very good year.” Count Basie’s band backed him up like old friends.
I’ve grown up with that song. I was seventeen. I was twenty-one. I was thirty-five. And now, I suppose, I’m living in the autumn of my year.
That song will outlive us. It will be adopted and reinterpreted by the generations that follow. Because it happened fast.... it always does. One day you're the kid with lemonade; the next, you're the man with the martini. And another father and son are listening to records together.
Sooner than later, 2025 will be a very good year.
Even when life hands us stupid, frustrating, heartbreaking moments.... just look back.
Count it anyway.
It was still a good year.
Years are numbered. Children turn into senior citizens in the blink of an eye. Radio legends sign off for the last time. But through it all... it was a very good year.
The Cubs took game two of the Crosstown Classic. They’ve got a shot at a sweep today unless the Sox play spoiler. My eyes, though, are on the Pacers. They are just two series away from becoming the only team in history to win both an ABA and an NBA title. Hicks vs. Knicks in the new millennium.
Yesterday started with laundry and ended with a martini. Today is Lionel Richie Day: easy… easy like Sunday morning.
Let the sun smile on you today. Be astonished.
Watch the world move — listen to the buzz of life — taste something that stirs a distant memory.
Bring on the bottom of May and may it be full of gusto.
