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75 and Sunny – Ryan Montbleau

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75 AND SUNNY – Ryan Montbleau

I’d had a bad night. I mean a night so bad, I thought I was king of the world. And I drank ‘til daylight. I mean I never stopped once until my hands finally fell. And I fought my daytime self with a mighty dose of, “Hey, look at night time me!” And I never do win that battle, but I fight it over and over and over and over, it seems.

And I saw an old man smiling on a park bench feeding the pigeons. And my head was spinning, and as my young body ached I wished for an old man’s vision. And I watched the way he moved–slow, serene and lucky to be alive. And I thought to myself, “I’m never gonna make it that far with too many more nights like last night.”

And I’d rather be 75 and sunny than acting like I’m 17 and freezing again. I’d rather be up early in the morning than up late at night erasing memories of where I’ve been. Or to be through at 52 someday stone-faced and bleary-eyed. You’d better believe I’m living for the moment but my moment’s growing bigger by and by.

And I’ve got a best friend. She don’t drink or smoke like I’ve been known to. She’s got religion. She’s a one-woman dynamo and shines a light in every room she goes to. She says the light that’s there won’t go nowhere, no way. She don’t spend every second smiling, but she’s learning something exciting every day.

She’d rather be 75 and sunny than 29 with a chance of showers all the time. She’d rather be old as dirt than new as any $9 bottle of wine. Or to be thawed at 35, mama, stoned with her back to the wind. You better believe she’s living for the moment but her moment is the whole damn thing.

And I see these spin kids, double wide-eyed rolling and rolling and tumbling. They’re roaming in inches, taking the high dive approach and screaming towards the water. Their hearts race a million miles as they buy another smile from a jar. Their bodies are screaming for the water and, you know, I just hope they can make it that far.

I hope they’re 75 and sunny, not 29 with a chance of flurries all the time. I hope we’re all old as dirt, not new as every $25 trip that we could try. Or to be thawed at 35, mama, stoned with our backs to the wind. You’d better believe I’m living for the moment, but my moment, son, is the whole damn thing.

And I say I’d rather be 75, oh, how nice, oh, how easy for me to say. I’ve never broken a bone in my life, let alone had my heart or a hip replaced. And I keep this furious pace, and I still feel so good and strong. And I still get tempted for a taste, just a taste to keep me going, going, going, going, gone.

But I’ve got a notion that everything I’ve leaned been coming ‘round. And my devotion to the new thing and the next thing and the hip thing is slowing down. And I’ve got a light in here, won’t go nowhere, no way. And I don’t spend every second smiling and I ain’t trying, but I’m excited for every day, every day.

‘Cause I’d rather be 75 and sunny than 29 with a chance of showers all the time. I’d rather be old and in the way than this year’s new kid running for my life. Or to be thawed at 35, mama, stone-faced and bleary-eyed. You better believe I’m living for the moment, but my moment… You better believe I’m living for the moment, but these moments… You better believe I’m living for the moment, but my moment’s growing bigger by and by…by and by.