My friends and family online send me these "bucket lists" of questions. Sometimes I humor them, sometimes I ignore them. This one question made me think before I ignored the others and deleted the whole thing. There's about half a century in my head now. But damned if 3 years didn't stand out. 77, 78 and 89. Fantastic, magickal years. 77 and 78 were wondrous years of youth, health, hell-raising, party-heartying, concerts, friends and fun. 89 was the best year of my marriage and family. Things looked swell, things looked great. Hell yeah I'd give up this 21st Century Schizoid world in a heartbeat to have those 3 years to relive. This time, though, I'd do it better. Not sweat the small stuff, laugh even more, eat every moment with a small spoon, get away from the security guards and make some magic on Greg Lake's guitar. Yes, oh yes, I'd do it right with a second chance. And not care a tinker's fart that I wouldn't wake up alive after.