by Jamie Uhler
While spring is so often a time of rebirth and regrowth, when my winter doldrums are finally thawed and the outdoors again become a viable option for biking and seeing friends that live beyond our small neighborhood epicenters. Such is urban life, where, in the words of Richard Hell, you sped your life living in a world ‘the size of a town’ when the colder months take hold. Parks and plants spring back to life just as people do, and while it’s hard to deny any of this, as I’ve aged I’ve grown to sped the longer sunlight days of early and mid May attempting to grasp my sudden improved mental health by also reflecting on the prolonged (actual and metaphysical) darkness of the winter that has just past. This seems to be not only because I’m growing older, but also the litany of traumas that have coincidentally crescendoed in May; it’s the reminder that a great friend of mine (ours) passed much too early that we’re celebrating over the next few days here, while also having the double whammy of Mother’s Day and my mother’s birthday usually falling just days apart this month as well. Then, if that wasn’t enough, it now seems so many of the generations that defined the media I love—movies, rock n’ roll, novels and painting—are reaching the ages where you can expect almost daily news of another beloved titan to have passed away. Its perhaps a nice reminder than when, like clockwork, an email from Sam Juliano appears in my inbox pledging a query if I’d like to take these thoughts and instead turn them into positive remembrances, highlighting something we lost with a continued communal spirit of positivity.
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