Due to the unfortunate timing of a bout of vertigo that precluded me from getting on the plane to fly to my 50th high school reunion, I found myself stuck at home and not able to move much without a lot of nauseating dizziness resulting. So I decided to watch a movie as a way to kill a few hours while sitting quietly. In some weird tribute to the reunion I’m missing, I watched Jersey Boys. They were the background sound of my teen years. And they were from Jersey and Italian. What more could I ask? I was fine right up until they started singing You’re Just Too Good To Be True. At that point, for some reason, I burst into tears remembering how many times I sang that song at the top of my lungs when no one was around and I was in the midst of my first major unrequited love storm – and seriously, is there any love more unrequited than your first one when you’re a teen? It brought me back to New Jersey and Philly and all those years of the sixties. Despite the sobbing, I’m going to say they were good years. I wallowed in the memories until my birds and dogs told me to get a grip and feed them. Nothing like cold reality to wipe away the tears of over sentimental pathos.