Adios, More Of My Youth

 The last remaining member of the Allman Brothers died yesterday, Dickie Betts. Oh boy, did I love that group in junior and high school. He was 80, and now plays in that great Southern Rock Jam in the sky.

One of his songs is a favorite of mine: Blue Sky. I always thought it was simply a beautiful tune about walking in a pastoral setting -- I particularly enjoy the line about "Good 'ole Sunday morning...bells are ringing everywhere." I hear it in my head whenever I am on one of my Sunday constitutionals.

Turns out, the song was about his then girlfriend, a Canadian Indian woman named "Bluesky" who he later married. He decided to keep the song gender neutral to allow it to speak to our spirits, and not just a love song.

It also turns out the song, recorded in Miami at Criteria by the genius engineer Tom Dowd, was also the final recording with Duane Allman, before Duane's death in a motorcycle accident. Duane's death always brings me a dark chuckle because of a connection to a close friend. A fellow I'll call Jim, since that's his name, was a student in Macon, Georgia, where Duane was buried. It turns out that a right of passage was to smoke some weed at the grave site, and poor Jim and some friends were arrested doing it. Luckily, a local Southern lawyer, hired by Jim's Dad, saved his ass, and he went on to have a very successful life afterwards.

Anyway, I always go back to high school visits to the Planting Fields, a gorgeous estate opened to the public on the North Shore of Long Island. Someone always had a cassette or 8 track player, and the Allman Brothers, or Grateful Dead, or other music from that time was on as we played frisbee and enjoyed the sunshine and some of us partook in exactly the activitiy that got Jim arrested.

I saw the Allman Brothers, or a later iteration of them, once. They played at Peacock Park in the Grove during one of the festivals they used to have -- D1 was there -- just a toddler. We sat on a blanket and enjoyed the performance -- "I'm No Angel" had come out the year before, and the band was newly relevant again. D1 danced around and ate Cheerios, as I recall of that sunny day. Somehow the toddler is now a married mother of two.

Wifey and I were talking last night about aging -- how some do it much faster than others. I know 70 somethings far less spry than 90 somethings. Then again, plenty don't make it that far to get to age.

My Dad was 63 and 2 months when he left the planet. If the Big Man gets me to October this year, I'll have lived longer than he ever got to. Maybe I'll celebrate Halloween with vigor this year.

Meanwhile, I plan to continue with my twice weekly workouts, and daily long walks. I noticed during Wifey's exam by the detailed neurologist yesterday she struggled with things I can do easily -- and it's because of my workouts. I can balance pretty well now, on one foot! Hell, I could even dance, if I could dance.

So RIP, Dickie Betts. And here's to the future...with his music playing on Sonos or in the car now.