The colors are what come back to me.
I could try like hell to remember who
I talked to or what they said, but in the
End it’s if they were green or blue,
Yellow or orange.
We all give off a wisdom that’s older
Than the rocks that make up the
Pavement of 119th Street. It’s a tossup –
Immerse yourself in the love that can’t
It’s 4:19 on a Monday afternoon in the middle of July. I had a full day of radio already and that means it was probably a pretty good day.
All radio days are good. Just some are better than others.
I woke up in bed this morning with my wife of 26 years next to me and then I took a shower and drove in a car down to the radio station on the campus of Purdue Northwest.
The three or four of you know how I joke on the air that if everyone else in the Region would forsake me and not listen to my show anymore that I’d still have enough family to keep it going.
That’s no joke. On one side, my German and Dutch people came to Hammond, a couple blocks from where I talk every morning, in 1871. They walked down here after the Chicago fire.
By the time 2017 is done, Alexis and I will have probably attended four bona fide rock concerts – and they all happened in the last 18 days.
Tom Petty once. Grateful Dead twice. James Taylor once. All four took place at Wrigley Field. Life is like that. One day you’re cleaning out your attic. The next thing you know you’re singing out loud with 30,000 other white people and one Mexican –
“How sweet it is to be loved by you.”