“We’re going to Mieka’s tomorrow, so I’m taking down our Christmas trees tonight,” I said. “Kevin is coming over to give me a hand.”
“Speaking of possibilities,” Jill said. Suddenly she looked impish. “Hey, here’s a plan. Let’s crack open a couple of cool ones and listen to Taylor’s tree one last time.”
“I don’t think I can take it,” I said.
“Sure you can,” Jill said. “It’s for auld lang syne.”
So my old friend and I went downstairs, opened two bottles of Great Western, and turned on Taylor’s tree. We drank a toast to absent loved ones, then we sat on the floor and listened to the world’s most painfully tuneless version of “The Way We Were.” Above us, Jerry Garcia, once the bard of Songs of Innocence and Experience, now an icon in a Day-Glo sunburst, beamed down warmth and hope on our cold and needy world.
