As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate some surprising things. In my twenties, I finally “got” Shakespeare. How many people, like me, loathed him at first meeting, usually in high school? I guess there are some things you just have to be old enough to understand. And some people never do.
By my thirties, I suddenly found I had a feel for non-fiction reading. In my forties, I developed a taste for comparative religions and philosophy, then for apologetics. Now, in my fifties, I suddenly discover that some of the music styles of songsters more celebrated by my parents’ generation have started to speak to me with very strange poignancy. Again, I guess sometimes you just have to reach an age.
Lately, I’ve found myself strangely compelled by the work of Burt Bacharach.



.jpg)

.jpg)




.jpg)

.jpg)



.jpg)
.jpg)

.jpg)




.jpg)

.jpg)




.jpg)

.jpg)




.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)


.jpg)

.jpg)

.jpg)

