Yesterday, on the way home from the gym, the live version of the Eagles' "Hotel California" was played on the radio. Suddenly, I was 14 years old, and it was March 17, 1977. I listened to "Hotel California" several times on the day that my father died. Curiously, I wasn't saddened by that memory yesterday. In fact, I'm feeling more vibrant and alive this weekend than I have in months. 
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Curious memory
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