Frank… I’ve never taken Frank Sinatra out of the box since I found him at an estate sale before the Pandemic Years™.
Since I haven’t been writing, I wasn’t pulling music from my K to R binder, though I know exactly where I left off. Because of the migraine vision, I haven’t done much at all since March 1. I appreciate your kind words, but I’m fine. Or I will be fine. I’m mostly frustrated. I have to figure out some way to work around the vision thing, like maybe very limited periods on the computer which will be used for writing only. No research. No scrolling social media. If I get two hours a day, I need them for writing. I couldn’t get scheduled for surgery until June 12. Three months make a season. My season of… adapting? Accepting? Accommodating? I don’t know.
Back to Frank. I didn’t go without music. When I made myself rest, eyes closed, remembering to breathe correctly, I listened to Frank Sinatra: The Best of the Columbia Years (a four-CD set), and Frank Sinatra: The Capitol Years (a three-CD set). At some point around the time of the Harvey flood, I lost the third CD in the Capitol set. I finally repurchased the entire collection and gave the two extra first and second CDs to Debby.
Thus ends my blogging time for the day. There isn’t a version of this song by anyone I don’t love, even though it always gives me a knot in my throat. It was written/published in 1938, so just before WW2, but it will forever make me think of lovers in the war years.