Was Burt perfect? Well, of course. Oh, you’re serious. No, of course not.
The moments I conjure now are perfect. The ones over the last years may also be tinged with sadness. Of course.
The ones from before his sad long illness are glimpses into a happy life. Often they are little things that are symbolic, symptomatic of a happiness we lived.
Sitting behind home plate or in the outfield or high in the new Yankee stadium, those were good times as were days in Central Park by the ballfields there. “Your dad was right,” I’d say, when we sat over by the 3rd base line, “third base is best.”
Sitting in a theater, waiting for the curtain to rise was as good a time as walking to the theater. Taking the light rail around Hoboken was as much fun as getting to Hoboken by ferry had been.
A walk in the park or one across town to no place in particular, those were good. They were all adventures, quiet little adventures.
It was all time spent together. And yes, all that had been, was perfect.
this is our life 