Bowie, Berlin & Bobby Mac

I’m unsure what about an afternoon blue sky makes me think about a particular night in Berlin, an early spring evening when rain fell intermittently. N and I were doing one of the few things I had organized in advance – a 3 hour tour of the city’s sights which related to the years when David Bowie lived in Berlin beginning in 1976.

Although we had purchased tickets for a group tour, we ended up being the only attendees on this particular April day. Our guide was excellent, full of information and trading rock and roll trivia facts with N. We geeked out as we visited spaces where Bowie (and U2!) had recorded, slipped into the lobby of the building where he had once lived, and ate dinner at his favorite neighborhood restaurant.

It was a great few hours, despite how the weather had been at the onset of the tour, and one of the highlights of our time in Berlin. It wasn’t difficult to imagine how the energy of the city had influenced and inspired David Bowie’s music, along with those who followed in his footsteps. One of the best memories of the tour, however, had nothing to do with music. As we walked up the street towards Paris Bar and the neighborhood where Bowie had resided our eyes caught a sight that captivated us – the heart achingly mesmerizing wonder of a murmuration.

Like minded creatures swirling around one another in a display of cooperative unity unseen in the human world

It was fascinating to watch.

The luxury of being able to simply stand still and observe this marvel struck me. How lucky was I to be in the right place at the right time in this place thousands of miles from home?

My appreciation for my life and the joys, both large and small, it contains is boundless.

This week, the heady* fragrance of lilacs fills the air as I walk Jeter around town, something which occurs only on a mere handful of days of an upstate N.Y. spring. Bold brown bunnies pose in yards debating their options when confronted by the presence of my 85 lb Labrador – freeze or flee? The trees, with unfurled new leaves in the most vivid shades of green, have proven that life and its cycles goes on.

Spring comes again.

As I enjoy all of the sensations of this season of rebirth, my heart is heavy from the loss of a man who it seems has always been within the orbit of my Albany life, Bobby Mac. In recent years, I’ve seen him most frequently whenever I attended a fundraiser or social event – or when we met to transfer documents for him to prepare my taxes. But, our history precedes these grown up sort of occasions.

Decades ago, when I was an undergraduate working my way through college, something people used to be able to do. Bobby (along with Emilio and Steve and Marc) had his office conveniently located behind the restaurant where I was a server/hostess/bartender and family babysitter as circumstances demanded. Those were the days when wives called the business landline when they were trying to locate their husbands and, I can now confess, that there were times when I closed my eyes so I could tell callers that I, in all honesty, did not see whomever they might be looking for at the bar.

They were simpler times for sure.

On afternoons when the guys were seemingly hard at work and unable to make it over to the bar for an almost-end-of-the-day cocktail, I often responded to their call by loading up a tray with their usual array of drinks and walking them down the stairs, out our back door, and across the parking lot, to make a delivery. Naturally, it was through their back door.

In all honesty, I don’t think I used the front door to access that office more than a couple of times in 30+ years. Why would I? The back door was always unlocked and the guys never failed in expressing their appreciation. It was always my sincere pleasure to serve them.

A lot has changed since those days – there have been graduations, marriages and divorces, parenting responsibilities and career advances. What has remained consistent, however, is the sincere pleasure I invariably felt when I was in Bobby’s presence. He just radiated good vibes and positive energy. Always.

Although it must have happened, Bobby being human and all, I never saw him angry or heard him raise his voice. A wine glass, sure. His voice? Never.

You know what Bobby did do, though? He lived out loud. He loved his children and Karen, his friends, his work and his play. He took notice of the world and its beauty. He enthusiastically inhaled life’s moments. The years Bobby had were well lived ones and, while anyone who knew him wishes there had been more of them, and would have probably given some of their own precious time to have had Bobby on Earth with us for longer, the years he had were enjoyed.

It’s simply impossible to know the number of years any of us will have. While there are moments when I question how I am spending mine (should I be taking another trip when the front porches of my house really need work?) I know that life is just too damn short. The years that I’ll have the good health, money and opportunity to be able to go to the places which attract me, are limited. I need to do it while I can. And so, I’ll continue to travel as much as I possibly can, keeping my eyes up and breathing in all the beauty around me. For myself and for those no longer here.

That first glass this summer in Puglia is for you, Bobby Mac.

* Please note: heady is a word I reserve exclusively for lilacs.