I can’t believe I had a crush on Blondie forty-five years ago.
Actually… it makes perfect sense.
The invitations to 60th birthday parties keep arriving, and suddenly 1981 feels close again. That was the year of sneaking beers into the basement and kissing sophomore girls. The year when fifteen felt like pressure, not promise.
The tide was high and the pressure was real, but we didn’t collapse. We kept hanging on.
Fifteen was an awkward age, all nerves and no instruction manual. I’m glad that I made it through. Not because it was easy, but because surviving it taught me something I still use. When the tide rises, you don’t panic, you hold your ground.
Sixty-eight days until Saint Patrick's Day. That isn't just a date to celebrate the Irish. That will be the day we have our first seven o'clock sunset. Sixty-eight days until Balcony cocktails at Happy Hour are in full force.
Happy Thursday Chalkheads.
