Dying Happy, With Elvis, Who Should Have

ELVIS PRESLEY had a great voice, great looks, and a pretty good job driving a truck, all at the tender age of eighteen. He could have kept all of it, for a long, long time, and been quite happy. Maybe he should have. Throw in a good wife, two point three kids, dog, cat, white picket fence, and you're good to go. A perfect formula for a perfectly happy life in Tupelo, Mississippi. If ever there were an example of why you don't want to be rich and famous, its Elvis. Rich and famous ruined Elvis, or perhaps, he allowed it to ruin him, needlessly. But don't they all, or at least most of them? Elvis, on January 8, 2015, should have been celebrating his eighty-aith birthday, white haired, with a lap full of great grand kids. You can sing to your heart's content damned near anywhere you want. Doesn't have to be in front of fifty thousand people, or in a fancy recording studio surrounded b y "advisors" and flunkies. And, when it gets right down to it, if its the right person, a single sex partner is, after all, quite enough. My mother died on January 8, and, serendipitously, Elvis died during the month of august, in 1977, on my mother's birthday. She was born in 1920, and from the mid nineteen fifties on, love Elvis. Thus, at her funeral, Love Me Tender, et al... But Elvis should still be alive, should have been informed of my mother's funeral, and his asociation with it, with a smile Or, so it seems to me. Mom died happy. I wish Elvis had.