The perfect summer.

Summertime and the livin’ is easy.

That’s what the song says.

Truth be told, this summer has been a heat-filled bit of drudgery. As I’ve written, it’s hot mostly everywhere.

Then I saw this little scene.

A nascent picture that almost brought me back to the days of my youth. A time when summers didn’t seem so hot. When summers seemed to be an endless time of sand lot baseball, trading baseball cards, and a little later, hanging out and listening to music with friends.

Like everything, change inserted it’s pointy little head. I grew up. Moved away. Worked. Made millions of pictures. Did whatever it is I did. Now, I’m here.

Sheesh. I can file for Medicare today. August 1, 2018. You can do it three months before your big retirement birthday. Then, there’s retirement. Turns out that if you want maximum social security benefits, people born when I was, must wait until their 66th birthday. But, you can start a year early and only lose a few dollars a month.

Or not.

Artists, in general, never really retire. We can’t. We aren’t made that way. We might cut back. We might hustle a little less, but we don’t stop. That would probably kill most of us.

Obviously deadline and dates have brought me to this discussion. On the other hand, a lot of us are talking about it. A guy who helped me with the more musical part of my career just traveled home to see his 91-year-old mother in Connecticut. He’s on a journey through his past. He’s not liking it. At least, he is finding some of the things of his youth. Carvel soft ice cream. Thin pizzas that are only made on the East Coast. White clam sauce over pasta.

I’ll leave this here. For now.

The picture. I looked up. There it was. Funny how that happens. I brightened it up. I added some color. I made it into a summer’s day long ago.  If I look hard enough I can see a baseball flying over those bushes. You can look too. Maybe your youthful summer will appear.

 

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