One of them, one I remember from my childhood, one I listened to over and over and over again, one I loved deeply, was this:
I always sang along to that fading "I will remember Massachussetts" at the end of it, and Massachussetts was a magic place for me back then, just this weird long word with lots of double letters which might as well have been in Fairyland or on the Moon as far as the young me was concerned, growing up in a different culture, on a different continent.
But today... today, I will remember Massachusetts - not the one I finally did get to visit, all those years later, as an adult, but the one that was so magical to me back than, back when I lived in the world of my imagination and Massachussetts was a place of magic. Because Robin Gibb is dead.
And so it goes. It drifts away further and faster every year. The memories of my childhoon seem even to me as though I am talking about a differnet era, a different lifetime. And those who peopled the greater sphere of my life are starting to fall away. The writers I read when I first took flight in the worlds of fantasy, like Anne McCaffrey. The singers of my youth, like the Bee Gees (of whom now only one, Barry Gibb, remains - dear GOD I went and saw these guys in concert once, and even THAT now seems like a dream).
My hair is silver gray.
When did that happen?
When did I blink and find myself looking over my shoulder and childhood, and youth, and even the early adult years - when did I step into middle age, when did the world change around me?...