The saying, “To everything there is a season”, is like me saying, “I’m so happy I discovered The Pixies at age 73.” Exactly. My old friend and mentor Dick Morrison would give me that sweet, gentle grin of his and say, “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.” Pixies. Seventy-three. Just right.
Sometimes I hang around people who have their own, different saying – “We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.” What a bunch of crap. I regret not being more kind, here and there, with this one and that one. I regret not saying “No” when “No” was the only answer that counted. I regret never getting a passport and traveling to Portugal and New Zealand and New Orleans. But, I don’t regret taking more than 73 years to find The Pixies.
This wild life of mine, now enriched and kick-started by the likes of “This Monkey’s Gone to Heaven”, “Wave of Mutilation”, and “Debaser.” My season of Pixies.
And not just that musical group. You should see the letter I wrote in a frenzy to Gavin last night! Talk about pixies. I cranked out a number of paragraphs which, if seen beyond the hipster eyes of Mr. O down there in Oakland, might get me commited. Well, it’s cool, I was commited when I wrote it. Humming Debaser.
Somewhere Dick M’s grinning – “I told you, kid,” he’s saying. “Right where you’re supposed to be.”