So, so, so busy this week. Finals at school, meetings and the weather is too cold.

But I couldn't let today go by without posting on the 25th anniversary of John Lennon's death.

I guess, for my generation, Lennon's death is our Kennedy's assasination. I will forever remember where I was when I heard Lennon had been shot. My friend Kurt and I used to walk to school together. I was a freshman and he was a senior. I would walk to his house, knock on the door and hopefully, Kurt would be ready to go. Kurt wasn't ready that morning. His mother let me in their kitchen and Dinky, the dashound, had to bark at my ankles. Waiting for five minutes or so, Kurt storms through the kitchen and flings open the door, rushing outside as if he hadn't even seen me standing there. He walked fast and with purpose, waiting for no one.

It was frigid cold outside and Kurt had no coat. I grab his coat, run up the street and start questioning him. My guess was that he has a fight with his girlfriend (again). Questions. Questions. Begging him to put on a coat. Dropping my books, stumbling up the street just to keep up with him. We are walking in the middle of the street and Kurt starts to cry. And then he stands still.

I am stunned at this display because of who Kurt was; goofy and kooky. I had never seen this kind of emotion from him and, it sort of scared me. I didn't get the details, but he said 'Someone shot him. John is dead.' We stood in the middle of the street and held each other. That was the last time Kurt spoke for 3 days.

Kurt was the biggest Beatle-head that I knew, save for my uncle who had introduced me to the fab four when I was just 5. Kurt, myself and our little group of friends were all into music and no matter which direction we were headed in, the Beatles were always at the root. It always came back to them. Learning chords, writing lyrics. Everything we knew about music in our small town started with the Beatles. We felt close to them, even though we didn't actually know them, and now things had changed. In just an instant.

It took me a little longer to feel it. On Sunday, when all the radio stations went silent to honor John, it finally hit me. And it hurt. It was shocking. It just felt black and numb.

................

So, we have all grown up now. I was just 13 when John died. Since then, I have purchased a Lennon piece at a show in Kansas City, where I met Yoko Ono as she debuted John's extensive art collection; I have worked directly under Ringo Starr (for his All Star Band at Farm Aid 4- he autographed my 45 of "she loves you"); and I have been fortunate enough to see Paul 3 times (90,93 &05); I have been to an art showing of Linda's photograhpy; I truly regret never seeing George in concert- I think he was the most sensitive of the four.

My connection to the Beatles remains and when I hear that music I am a kid again. I love to play those songs-love to sing them all. I wonder what John's place in the world would be today. Would he still make music? More art? What would he think of the state of the world today?

I don't think about "imagine" when I think of John. I think of "Instant Karma" and a cold day in December, holding a good friend.

Happy Christmas-War is over (if you want it)

We all shine on.........