We all want to be in good health.
Ever since I was old enough to live on my own, my place of residence has always been at distance from the remainder of my family. I didn’t dislike them and we (mostly) got along well. It’s just that — I don’t know — I guess I’m the one from my clan who was most inclined to strike out for new horizons.
I’m actually not very adventurous. So it came as no small shock to my parents when, after graduating college, I threw what few possessions I could call my own into my 1973 Mazda RX2 and drove across the 115 degree Nevada desert — without air conditioning — to establish myself as the afternoon drive DJ for KEYY AM in Orem, Utah. I held no particular desire to live in the Beehive State; it just happened to be where I landed my first gig. Upon arrival, they immediately demoted me to the all-night slot and fired me six weeks later.
Welcome to radio.
After that, I “played the hits” and spun classic vinyl throughout the west, eventually lighting on the Northcoast of California 30 years ago. I guess that qualifies me as “a resident,” and short of our airport, I love almost everything about this area and call it “home.” My family however still resides elsewhere.
In the past, it was always me, who at the end of a too-short visit, hugged my mother farewell, loaded suitcases into the car, and resumed my far-flung life, never successfully suppressing the wetness in my eyes.
The baton passes.