That summer of ‘68, I (Roger Cohen, Op-ed Writer for New York Times) was in a vast crowd in London’s sunlit Hyde Park listening to Pink Floyd’s free concert:
One inch of love is one inch of shadow
Love is the shadow that ripens the wine
Set the controls for the heart of the sun!
Right on! Anything seemed possible, even the strange, agreeable sensation of Sarah Sarsfield’s toes mingling with mine. Possibility was that year’s richest legacy, beyond every utopian illusion.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/29/opinion/29cohen.html
Let's see:
I was 29
Sissy was 27
Genny was born that year
Becca had not yet been born
Dig was many years from "go get the Paaaaper, Dig"
Wrigley was way off from following me around the house, jumping on my lap, as I worked at home, who loved me and acted like a dog in that way
Way, way off from Jan Weyant coming up from the side and gently putting her foot on mine at the Lexington Bridge Tournament, a silent acceptance into the echelons of duplicate bridge