It occurred to me today that when Our Generation is dead, music like the Beatles will be played on the PA in nursing homes, just the way Glenn Miller is played for today's old people.  I even commented to 13-year-old Em that when we're gone, the Beatles will go the way of Glenn Miller.

"You're wrong," sez she.  "A lot of people love the Beatles, and they're not all old."

I suppose that's true -- and I should be glad I passed the flag along to my kids and other kids who now love the stuff we grew up listening to.  "But it won't be the same," I responded.  "It will be like me loving Bix, even though I'm too young to ever have heard his music first-hand."  So I guess what got me isn't that the Beatles will die -- obviously, they won't -- but that I won't be around forever to listen to their music.

And realizing that the important thing isn't the fame and fortune, which has by now long passed me by, but the PASSING ON -- the handing off of whatever I have to offer from living this life for over 50 years.  I won't be as bold to say that it's wisdom.  I doubt there's a wise bone in my body.  Experience, perhaps.  Perception.  Seeing things through my eyes.  Forget the best-seller, TV appearances, column in the New York Times.  I just want people in the future to know I existed, to feel things I felt -- to know I didn't live in vain.

So go ahead and play my music in the nursing home.  That's OK.  As long as someone is listening.