Forty-two years ago this December I was home transferring my Beatles albums from LP’s onto tapes, listening to them as I went.

Something I had never done before and would never do again.

Three hours into the project, I got a call.  John Lennon had been shot.  Scot and I (before Charles, Scot) joined the throng swaying back and forth with candles outside the Dakota.  “All we are sayyyyy-ing.  Is give peace a chance.”

But really?  The one time in my life I was so focused on the Beatles is when this happened?


I had never followed the Royal Family or cared about any of that stuff (no offense) until this summer, when I happened upon The Crown.

It is so brilliantly done, and relives so much history through a different perspective, I was entranced by every episode, getting to know the Queen and her family in the most remarkable way.

Having begun in June, I finished the fortieth and final hour (until Season Five airs in November) just after midnight Wednesday.

Thirteen hours later . . .

Really?


R.I.P., Your Majesty.

At least we still have Elton John.

 

 

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