Moonflower Moments

You are as old as you feel.  I have heard this expression most of my life.  I think the first time that I heard it was in a television commercial for Grape-Nuts cereal. The reference applied to how old one physically feels, but I am now experiencing a condition that I can only describe as mindset mentality. This is when you are at a certain chronological age, but picture yourself as being younger.  This regularly happens to me when I listen to music.

Growing up, I listened to records my older siblings played.  I really didn’t have a choice, but I was introduced to artists from Neil Sedaka to the Mamas and the Papas. Not only did I listen to these records, but I also memorized the lyrics. Sometimes, I would stand in front of the bedroom mirror and play an imaginary tambourine as I pretended to be Michele from the Mamas and the Papas and sang along to “California Dreamin.”  I lived through the “bubble gum” music of the sixties and adored groups like Herman’s Hermits, Paul Revere and the Raiders, and the Cowsills.  I remember when The Beatles performed on the Ed Sullivan Show, and parents everywhere thought that “the world was going to the dogs.”  At least that is what my father said.  As for me, I thought that they were awesome and immediately fell in love with Paul McCartney.

In the seventies, protest music filled the airwaves, and Woodstock championed a new form of musical expression.  I was in high school, but I wanted so badly to be part of this movement that protested war and championed rights for women and minorities. The haunting lyrics of “Put a Little Love in Your Heart” and “For What It’s Worth” are just as relevant today as they were when they were recorded. My son made a playlist for me on my 50th birthday, featuring songs that were popular each year from my birth in 1955 through 2005.  It began with “Earth Angel,” by The Penguins, and ended with “Breakaway,” by Kelly Clarkson.  Whenever I hear special songs from my past, I am transported back in time.  I still find myself trying to moonwalk across the kitchen like Michael Jackson when I hear the intro to “Billie Jean,” and remember my first slow dance at a junior high dance when I hear “Cherish” by the Association.  I was wearing a white, lacy mini dress with white fishnet stockings. I wondered if  I would ever find someone to love me as much as the lyrics in this song.  Spoiler alert, I did.  These songs have a special place in my heart, and when I hear them, I travel back to that time and place for a while. 

Recently, I sat in a crowded waiting room with my husband for his ophthalmologist’s appointment.   I was his designated driver because he was having his eyes dilated on a bright, sunny day.  When he was called back for his appointment, I started looking around the room.  Everyone I saw was a senior citizen, and most of them had their spouses with them.  They were the lucky ones.  Some had to depend on friends and neighbors to drive them, and others had to make that journey alone. A woman in a pink jogging suit with a matching sequined ball cap scrolled her cell phone, laughing at the reels she came across.  Like many in the room, she forgot to mute the volume.   This was the population I used to see as “old people,” and not worth my attention.  They could never relate to the popular music played on the radio stations or the clothes we wore in the seventies. 

A gentleman next to me began singing softly with Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young when “Teach Your Children Well” played on the music system in the waiting room.  Suddenly, I had an amazing epiphany: these “old people” were a part of the youth movement in the seventies.  The old guy next to me may even have been at Woodstock! As we continued to wait, “Escape” or the “Pina Colada Song” began to play. This song was popular when I was in college, hanging out at the beach with friends.  These were my people!  The universe had catapulted us from college days and the beach to this cold waiting room in an instant, and now our lives included long waits to determine what our prognosis might be and if we would need surgeries or another prescription. I think I will pull up a playlist on  Spotify for “that old time rock and roll,” and morph back to the past when I get home this afternoon. The lady in the sequined ball cap had a phone call as her name was called.  Her ringtone was Elvis singing, “It’s Now or Never.”