Here Comes My Girl


I have baffled onlookers for years, certainly decades. They would look, guesstimate what the outcome of the event was going to be and then stand there astounded it actually happened without a negative result, perhaps even patting themselves on the back for being there at the time by saying something like “Man, that dude is crazy, and I’m really thankful he’s on our side … “or some such juvenile clarity. ¶ It’s true … years ago I did some absolutely ridiculous things. Like what you ask? If you’re from the Beverly High School class of 1978 you’re probably thinking any number of things and could go on without even reading this post … there were a few stunts in high school that truly defied logic. For example – my chemistry teacher was also the high school cheerleading coach. Well when she found out Bonnie and I were somewhat of an item she was skeptical to even allow Bonnie to try out for the squad! ¶ Immediately after leaving the Garden City, and charting out the next adventure, the slate was clear, no guidelines and certainly no parents or Beverly’s finest to worry about (that’s right Timmy H.). ¶ So now I’m in Los Angeles, and this afternoon I found myself in a place called “The Treehouse” and yes there’s even a computer workstation where I can pen these thoughts. While sitting here in The Treehouse with the music at a most acceptable level I relish in a few simple facts … (1) I’m still alive, (2) My wife and I have been “an item” before The Blizzard of ’78, (3) I still listen to the same rock and roll music I was raised on with no changes to the playlist; Zeppelin, Springsteen, Tull, Black Sabbath, Aerosmith, The Stones, Skynyrd, Petty, The Who … so with nearly four decades away from Cabot and Rantoul Streets I now find myself jamming to Edgar Winter’s “Frankenstein” which takes me back to my buddy’s house on Essex Street which is a story that will wait for another day. ¶ While sitting here (in The Treehouse) I just now listened to Tom Petty’s “Here Comes My Girl” and it truly got me thinking about who this page is dedicated to; the one person who knows me better than I know myself and who was truly heard of and witnessed her own fair share of my unscripted theatrics. This girl and I, along with our two great, caring and loving daughters will be boarding a flight to Kona in ten days … I can promise you to be on my best behavior, but beforehand I want to share with you what Petty was saying in his 1980 pop song as it has been a fair number of posts since I’ve shared any requisite lyrics as they apply to our relationship in quite some time … Bonnie – thank you for always being in my corner, and here from The Treehouse I share with you and all of the “Bonnie’s Beautiful Boosters” a portion of the lyrics to “Here Comes My Girl”: You know sometimes, I don’t know why / But this old town seems so hopeless / Yeah, I ain’t really sure, but it seems I remember the good times / Were just a little bit more in focus / But when she puts her arms around me / I can somehow rise above it / Yeah, man when I got that little girl standin’ right by my side / You know, I can tell the whole world to shove it, hey! / Here comes my girl. Here comes my girl / Yeah, and she looks so right, she is all I need tonight / Every now and then I down to the end of the day / And I have to stop and ask myself why I’ve done it / It just seems so useless to have to work so hard / And nothin’ ever really seems to come from it / But when she looks me in the eye and says / “We’re gonna last forever” / And man, you know I can’t begin to doubt it / No, ‘cause it just feels so good and so free and so right / I know we ain’t never goin’ to change our minds about it … hey! / Here comes my girl, here comes my girl / Yeah, and she looks so right, she is all I need tonight (Watch her walk) … ¶ I’ll be flying into SFO on the 19th, and walking into the lounge at the Radisson to meet our special girl for a pre-game warm up drink, spend the night at the Radisson and then off to Kona the following morning. ¶ Live from The Treehouse!

Keeping her close …

Love,

Paul

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