Reflections written on the 4th of July …. No drinking, no drugs. Just reflecting…

 

July 4th evening.

Here’s this old lady in a boho dress, matching pink crystal dangle earrings, sitting at a picnic bench all by herself, listening to a Beatles cover band playing in the park, all alone in my corner, singing along with every song, looking (and no doubt sounding) like a dork.

And, finally, after ALL these years, not caring.

Why did it take over 60 years to get to this place?

I’m not a pretty 70 year old. The willowy, fragile, blowing kind of older beauty groupie that could get away with singing with the band I’m not. This 70 year old is a bit scary if you ask me. There are big bags under my eyes, sagging skin, too many pounds — the whole kit n’ caboodle. 

But I’m one of those baby boomers whose life started with the Beatles. And whose life will most likely end with the Beatles.

It started many years ago with a state of mind not found in the world of 12-year-olds these days. A time when songs reflected the singers who projected themselves as innocent as they shared their hearts with innocent girls of the world.  The circle of love was pure, simple, and forever.

We didn’t know any better.

And that was okay.

I have tears in my eyes as I belt out the words to PS I Love You  and I’m Happy Just to Dance With You. At this very moment my heart hurts and I am short of breath. I am standing here by myself feeling 12 again. 

Now that there’s a break in the presentation I wonder why these days gone by mean so much to me. Why do I feel so much more of a reaction to the Beatle’s A Hard Day’s Night than I do to Purple Rain by Prince (or whatever popular song of the past 50 years comes to mind)?

Why did I come by myself?

At first I thought coming to this fun performance alone was a bad idea. Concerts are better shared with others.

Yet I am so glad I came alone. I travelled back in time, running all over the place, remembering duck taping empty album covers all over my bedroom walls and writing my first ever story about me and Paul McCartney and the Beatles concert I went to at Comiskey Park in Illinois when I was 12.

No one can hold a candle to memories like that.

And that’s why I came.