WEEKEND: IT WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR
I suppose I’m sentimental, more so now than earlier in my life. But I think it was always there, just didn’t always have a way to get out. I struggled with the expression of emotions, still do in fact. It was unfortunate, some times more than others. Even when I understood what was going on in my heard and heart, I made it difficult for others to see what was there.
Perhaps that’s some of what motivates my writing now. I do appreciate the meaningful expression of emotions whenever I see it in others. The video link below is to one of those magic moments, the perfect expression of emotions felt by a man as he grows up and grows older (never OLD). It is a song by Frank Sinatra, It Was a Very Good Year.
It’s a unique song in many ways. The range of feelings is remarkable, covering quite literally a whole lifetime. Even the structure is different. There is no chorus, only four verses, connected by an instrumental bridge by the string section. Quite beautiful.
I see it as inspiration for my stories, in a way. Although I don’t see the requisite happily ever after in those words, it does reflect a man content with his life, and his choices made along the way.
But it speaks of a succession of relationships and women. Good relationships, even better women, but never “the one.” That’s where the inspiration from these remarkable lyrics departs from my own desire to tell stories.
Enjoy a pro at work, Frank Sinatra singing at perhaps the prime of his career. Regardless of your opinion of him as a man, Frank was master of his art. That is clear, as is the sentiment behind the song. Yeah, I guess I am sentimental after all.
It Was a Very Good Year
When I was seventeen
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for small town girls
And soft summer nights
We'd hide from the lights
On the village green
When I was seventeen
When I was twenty-one
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for city girls
Who lived up the stair
With all that perfumed hair
And it came undone
When I was twenty-one
When I was thirty-five
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls
Of independent means
We'd ride in limousines
Their chauffeurs would drive
When I was thirty-five
But now the days are short
I'm in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine
From fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs
And it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year