That’s the chorus from an old Neil Young tune from the 1992 album Harvest Moon. A song oozing with soul. The lyrics of which deal with a man looking back on his life, thinking of his old buddies from over the years, and the places he’s lived, and how it’s one of those things in life where you just lose touch with people who you’ve spent time with, who have given you little bits and pieces of who you are, but somewhere along the line you grab a piece of paper and write them a note. It’s bone chilling and if I’m in the right or wrong sort of mood when I listen to it, I’ll shed a tear or two.

In my own life there’s dozens of people I would like to contact. Shit, after working in restaurants and living in four different cities over the last two decades, there’s so many.

I called my old buddy Sano yesterday while driving home from the supermarket. I hadn’t spoken to him in, boy, maybe 18 years? He and I lived together with my other good friend, Seanzo, a million years ago on Loomis Street in Burlington when we were a bunch of idiotic teenagers. He’s doing well. He works for himself buying up old barns and floor joists from tear downs and he builds furniture with the lumber. He built his own house out in Jeffersonville, VT. He’s been divorced twice. He’s got a son and a daughter. It’s hard to believe it took that long to call him. He and I never had a falling out. he had his troubles in life and I had mine. I moved away from where I grew up, he stayed.

He had to get off the phone because there was a forecast for snow and he had to get a bunch of wood inside to prepare. It was so strange to hear about the current and coming cold. I said to him, “Six months of winter, coming your way,” as I drove down Beverly Boulevard, 3,000 miles away, the sun shining, a trunk full of expensive groceries from Whole Foods. Part of me misses all of that, the cold weather coming, the warmth inside a cozy home when all outside is chaotic, when I could watch the snow from the window after a morning of shoveling, enjoying a hot cup of cocoa. I often say how weird it is that I live in L.A. and the crazy circuitous route I took to arrive here. I’ve got roots down here now and don’t see myself leaving anytime soon. On occasion I crave being back in Vermont where it’s more simple and people are nicer to one another but I’ve got it stuck in my head that it’s so hard to go home and even harder for each year you’re away.

I owe a lot of these phone calls to a lot of people out there.

One of these days
I’m gonna sit down and write a long letter
To all the good friends I’ve known
And I’m gonna try
And thank them all for the good times together
Though so apart we’ve grown

One of these days
I’m gonna sit down and write a long letter
To all the good friends I’ve known
One of these days, one of these days, one of these days
And it won’t be long (it won’t be long), it won’t be long (it won’t be long)

And I’m gonna thank
That old country fiddler
And all those rough boys
Who play that rock ‘n’ roll
I never tried to burn any bridges
Though I know I let some good things go

One of these days
I’m gonna sit down and write a long letter
To all the good friends I’ve known
One of these days, one of these days, one of these days
And it won’t be long (it won’t be long), it won’t be long (it won’t be long)

From down in L.A.
All the way to Nashville
New York City
To my Canadian prairie home
My friends are scattered
Like leaves from an old maple
Some are weak, some are strong

One of these days
I’m gonna sit down and write a long letter
To all the good friends I’ve known
One of these days, one of these days, one of these days
And it won’t be long (it won’t be long), it won’t be long (it won’t be long)

One of these days, one of these days, one of these days
And it won’t be long (it won’t be long), it won’t be long (it won’t be long)

One of these days, one of these days, one of these days
And it won’t be long (it won’t be long, it won’t be long)