Golden Age

I don’t have golden ages flagged out for revisiting. There are no go places where the the music that’s playing is straight from the Warren Zevon play list. Maybe Excitable Boy. There is caution tape, big signs saying stay out and flashing neon signs reminding you to stay on the path. Going off the path will land you in the swamp of my past life.

I do not look back through a golden haze to ideal moments and years. It’s more like looking back at old battle sites that were never cleared adequately of the wreckage. Here and there are active munitions; don’t get off the safe path. Old relationships not worth an afterlife litter the way. Dreadful road trips to obscure coffeehouses and bars I performed in, where I was lucky to get out alive from crunch underfoot.

Thinking about it, I can almost hear “Charlie”, my old travel guitar, chiming from where he hangs on a nice, safe dining room wall. Lots of the dings in his finish came from those “good old Golden Days.”

Travel back in time to the old days? No thanks…just cancel my ticket. I have a loving wife, four kids, two cats, and a dog. I’m good!