So it’s been fifty years since The Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan show.  I don’t know how to measure the time that’s gone by – money, material gains, people, girlfriends, children, places, experiences?  I keep trying to make some sense of fifty years.  As though I could tie a bow around the years and say, This, this is what it was and what it meant.

I can’t empty fifty years of anything and spread it out for examination.  I don’t know why I’m being chased by the fifty year anniversary.  I keep thinking that it’s not a big deal and to many people the fifty year marker is not at all noteworthy.

I like to date things when I buy them, especially if I know and hope that they will be a part of my life for a long time.  Guitars, tools, things like that which have lasting value and has their value increase as the years go by.  Here we go now, I think I’m on to something.  I’d like to think that I am like one of those things that increase in value as I get older.  I’m looking for the value and worth as a man my age.  People are valuable but as they get older they should be be seen as such.  Having more worth and instead we seem to look at old people and say – Gee, I hope I never end up like that.  Playing with bands as I do I am often surrounded by people with players, men and women, in their 70’s and 80’s.  I sat with a friend at a funeral last week who is 92 years old.  He’s pretty spry.  He knows what’s up and what’s coming.  He’s no dummy.  We saw many older people at the funeral whose best days were well behind them physically yet they kept pushing on ( and driving – help us !) seemingly oblivious to what I saw as their obvious frailties.

So this is what this fifty year mania is about.  Not about The Beatles but about me getting older.  I can still keep up when I want to but  I know how to choose my spots anymore.  I keep wondering when old age will hit me and leave me debilitated.  Does it just happen one day or is it a gradual, creeping thing?

Yeah, well when we were all young punks we thought our parents were old and on the way out, that they couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be young and that was just too bad for them because we were going to be so very different.  I used to think that 65 was a death sentence.  Now I feel like I’m just getting started.

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