Reminiscences about the dead are – at least demonstrably – more often than not rather like the funerals that preceded them; namely, fraught with anguish, despair and sadness. This, as I am certain you’ll agree, is not the preferred way to confront the “inevitable” notwithstanding the circumstances or consequences of the loss. What, I ask, is there to be gained by submerging oneself within a stew of sorrow?  I can’t but imagine how more inspiring a recollection would be if it were heightened instead by spirited bravado.

Musing upon the vagaries of death and dying reminds us to dwell upon the caprice of life and living. Perhaps it is an unnecessary distinction; or, at the very least, one without a difference. The point is this, contemplation of whatever transpires on this planet, whether in life or afterwards, should excite unqualified amusement. If nothing else it is a privilege afforded only the living. It is more significantly a facility especially among those of us who have been blessed to live what by normal standards is a “good, long life“.

Certainly old age is an unforgiving consequence of youth. There’s a quip that if you wish to succeed at old age you must start early. This echoes the sentiment that it is never too late to be positive and ambitious about life!

In spite of my own hype about the matter I ought to confess that historically I have not always been so unrepentantly enthusiastic about things. The contamination was however relatively inconsequential. There were no battles as a youth; the golf pro and I had “some words” during my summer holiday from undergraduate studies;  the practice of law was occasionally taxing; and, in matters romantic I have “been around the block“.

Having thus disposed of the alternative approaches, it remains to outline what I consider the “memorable” moments of life, those sometimes fleeting but beguiling thoughts. The signal events of life are often ephemeral but nonetheless unforgettable. At times my perception is but a sense, an incalculable assessment of sweeping white clouds against a blue sky. Nor is it worth the effort to insult the magic with mere words! At other times the acquaintance is incisive though never a word is spoken.

It Was a Very Good Year

When I was 17
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for small town girls
And soft summer nights
We’d hide from the lights
On the village green
When I was 17

When I was 21
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for city girls
Who lived up the stair
With all that perfumed hair
And it came undone
When I was 21

When I was 35
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls
Of independent means
We’d ride in limousines
Their chauffeurs would drive
When I was 35

But now the days are short
I’m in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine
From fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs
It poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year

Source: Musixmatch
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