Sixty is the new 60. People keep telling me it's the new 40 but I've been 40 and, honey, this isn't it.
While getting old sure beats the alternative, you've still got to admit that the basic body warranty is up. Coverage expires because of: 1. Mileage or 2. Length of ownership. Of those two choices, I'll take mileage.
Such are the rewards of survival. I'm not as worried about the warranty as I once was. While various bits have become shaky and rattle and while I might need to remain in idle a little longer to warm up, I've acquired a better sense of direction, created a more focused route, intend to enjoy the road ahead without spending much time looking in the rearview mirror.
I might be close to running on empty but at least I'm running on all cylinders. I can still drive at night and I can turn the lights on bright.
As Peter Pan, Mary Martin delighted me in her televised pixie-glory until she sang "Never Never Land," upon which every adult in the room would begin to sob. I didn't understand as a child but I understand now. A song about discovering an unmapped place that offers "a treasure, more precious far than gold," can make even tough uncles weep. Once you have found your way there, past the second star to the right, in Never Land "you can never, never grow old."
Oof.
What other songs are on the Turning-60 Playlist? Is it Tony Bennett's "The Best Is Yet To Come" or The Animals' "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place"?
Is it Peggy Lee's "Is That All There Is?" or Aretha Franklin's "Respect"?
Is it Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive"? Or Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) The Reaper," with or without more cowbell?
Are those of my generation defined by "We're Not Gonna Take It" songs or by "Those Were The Days, My Friends" songs?
Am I "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena" (You'll see her all the time/just gettin' her kicks now/go, granny, go) who is the "terror of Colorado Boulevard" or am I the placid grandma from "When I'm 64" (You can knit a sweater by the fireside).
Or maybe it's a Broadway tune that'll be my showstopper. In "A Little Night Music" a servant girl insists that "a person should celebrate everything passing by." Knowing that no one individual can do everything, she nevertheless promises herself as many experiences as possible: "There's a lot I'll have missed but I'll not have been dead when I die."
Of course, there's always Ethel Merman belting out "Curtain up/light the lights/We got nothing to hit/ but the heights."
Until we're pushing up daisies, it might be good to remind ourselves daily that everything's coming up roses--for me and for you.
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Gina Barreca is an English professor at the University of Connecticut.
Editorial on 01/14/2017