When people associated with your youth begin passing away, your mortality becomes more aware. People you watched perform in concert or on a field of athletics connect you with your sense of being. We see elderly people in their 80’s and 90’s pass on and we give thanks for their long lives. But when someone passes away who is in “your” time, you cannot help but be affected. These are voices never to be heard from again, faces never to be seen again except for those that history has preserved.
Recently, rock guitarist Ronnie Montrose passed away at the age of 64. Ironically, lyrics from one of my favorite songs on the self-titled album “Make it Last” are:
“Whether I’m twelve or whether I’m sixty-four
I spend my time like there ain’t gonna be no more.”
In many of my past posts and in my trilogy I have written about time and our place in it. It is fleeting; it cares not for your dreams and goals. We are merely dust in the wind. As music tastes change, and time passes, this band and that musician will most likely slip away from collective thought. Soon people my age will also drift away. I recall, like yesterday, when I was 21 and a newlywed. Now 31 years later, you gain a different perspective on what is and, more profoundly, what is not important.
