There will be an answer, let it be...

I sit here tonight, John Ford's "Cheyenne Autumn" flickering from the television set, cooling myself in front of a box fan, wondering about endings.

I don't handle them well. But, that shouldn't be a shock, if you've ever pulled up a chair to listen to my ramblings. Maybe that's why this final Ford flick -- not a good one, really -- is holding my attention. The Cheyenne are trying to make their way home to Wyoming. Back to what they were promised. But, and we know this song all too well, their way of life is gone with the wind.

Movies are good when you're depressed. You can lose yourself in them. Laugh. Cry. Be marveled. Space out. Whatever you need.

I'm one of those rare people who actually likes to see movies in the theater alone. Keeps me focused. Unless, of course, your companion is a beautiful woman. Then you just pick any old thing. Save "Citizen Kane" for a solo flight.

So much of my world is changing, in rapid, seismic shifts, the way these things seem to go. I thought about Elvis yesterday, dead 32 years, watched him belt out "Unchained Melody" when he was so sick, singing from his soul, right until the end. My friend Dean says, "I don't know what's worse -- the fact that he's been dead 32 years or the fact that we're about that age."

But, what do you do? I guess you get up on your horse, pull your hat over your head, and ride off into the sunset. Thanks for the memories. Happy trails. Until we meet again.

April is supposed to be the cruelest month. But I can make a case for August.

Summer goes. Nixon resigns. Elvis dies. Good-bye "Heartland Series." And now Robinella.

Tonight, I'll watch Pappy Ford's elegy to the Cheyenne people in front of the fan while sipping on orange juice, all the while saying so long to a blissful part of my life.

There will be an answer, let it be...