Posted on

Everywhere I go I find a pal

Everywhere I go  I find a pal Everywhere I go  I find a pal

Peter Weinschenk, Editor, The Record-Review

It was 1967. I was an 11-year-old boy in a paisley shirt with a butch haircut.

That day I was hanging with my cousin Walter in his bedroom in a split-level home (which later burnt to the ground) in Baldwin, N.Y.

I looked up to Walter because he, being a little older than me, had a great record collection, including a large stack of ‘45s.

That afternoon, we listened to St. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles. The record was brand new.

One of the songs on the record is a jaunty, ragtime number called “When I’m Sixty Four” where a youthful Paul McCartney speculates on life as a graying duffer.

I distinctly remember at that time in that bedroom that it was unthinkable that I could ever be that old.

Well, I was wrong. I am 64 years old today.

It’s been quite a ride. I’ve lived through wars, riots, droughts, hurricanes, earthquakes, impeachments and, most recently, a pandemic.

That’s the price of living, I guess. You are part of history.

The fun thing, I think, is that my general approach to life hasn’t much changed since I was in high school. I still like making wisecracks. I am, possibly, a bit less sarcastic than I once was. I’ve mellowed.

I still think young. Thus I still look up to old people as a source of wisdom and experience. I still think they have something to teach me.

And, thus, here’s a dilemma that Paul McCartney never quite anticipated. I am 64 but I still wonder what it’s going to be like when I’m old.


Here’s a shaggy dog story that starts with COVID-19 and ends with June is Dairy Month.

Part of our family’s way of coping with the pandemic is to order food online and pick our groceries up in the store parking lot. We do this at five different grocery stores.

Everyone is trying to do the right thing with this pick-up protocol, but the system is not perfect. Often the item selected online is not the item you get in your grocery bag. You learn to roll with it.

Last week, my wife, Susan, ordered a whole bunch of thick, whipping cream. None of that showed up. Instead, we received a large tub of premium vanilla ice cream.

My wife was disappointed that her order was not correctly fulfilled, but I wasn’t. I now have a lovely chunk of ice cream to spoon through during the entire summer.

The COVID-19 pandemic is dreadful, but there are, if you look for them, bright spots. I, for example, get vanilla ice cream. That’s one way, I guess, to fight a virus.

Happy June is Dairy Month.