
Seventeen years ago, on Wednesday, August 12, 1992 Buddy introduced himself to me at The Desert Inn in Las Vegas. I had just been hired to perform there and he had seen me and wasted no time making his move. And now here we are celebrating at Club Trinidad (one of Sinatra's hangouts) in Palm Springs with a bunch of friends..sitting in with the band, and drinking martinis. Buddy was going through a horrible divorce then (the playboy bunny) and me..I don't know..I just wanted to sing. And here we are...still together...and good.
Our club is absolutely and completely gone. All at once I feel so free and happy, and then, want to weep with sorrow. Tonight when we passed it, coming from Trinidad, I couldn't bear it. The landscaping lights were still on, I have left them on till the end...and Sam the homeless man is still watering the plants...I must let them die?
But we have much to do, imagine having the luxury (necessity) to be able to (have to) sort through everything you have accumulated over the past 17 years or more? Now the decision is what to take to England, what is worth the storage or shipping and what must simply go. Why must I be so sentimental? What is that about? How can I be free when I must be tied by my heartstrings to all this old stuff? For example: What to do with the earring c

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