Sitting on my bedroom dresser is an old 45 from 1973, perched on a picture-frame pedestal. Its center hole is filled with a clock, its big and little hands stretching across the grooved vinyl. The label reads: “TIME IN A BOTTLE,” JIM CROCE.

The talented Chester County resident would die that same year, making the words he sang on that tune so hauntingly poignant: “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do, is to save every day until eternity passes away, just to spend them with you.”