From the ridiculous to the sublime:  As I type this, I’m listening to a Tony Bennet at 90 CD — a compilation of beautiful songs of yesterday. It’s so hard for me to understand why anyone would not prefer these to contemporary pop. But I’m from the Big Band era when musical groups had straight-forward designations like The Glenn Miller Orchestra, The Jimmy Dorsey Band, Artie Shaw and His Orchestra — or, occasionally, a more adventurous names like Kay Kyser and His College of Musical Knowledge or Les Brown and His Band of Renown — as compared to today’s Car Seat Headrest, Impotent Sea Snakes, Machine Gun Fellatio, Cattle Decapitation … and dozens of other horrific names that have absolutely nothing to do with music. But, then, neither do the raucous noises these groups produce.  

It’s no surprise that these so-called musicians are also wildly unkempt and weirdly dressed (or undressed) compared to their big band predecessors who were a treat for the eyes, as well as the ears. I still remember what a thrill it was for me as a young teenager to sit in a theater and see the lush curtains part to reveal a submerged platform rising to stage level, bearing seventeen perfectly-coiffed, elegantly and identically dressed (maybe in red blazers) musicians, producing heart-stirring music from their gleaming brass instruments.

That was ages ago.  Back when I was able to get through an entire day without consulting Tech Support or Google, and when a  “.” was a period, not a “dot.”

Speaking of periods, not too long ago it was unspeakable to speak of them — especially in mixed company.  And a woman was not supposed to go swimming at “that time of the month” — or even wash her hair, according to Grandma.  

But that was way back when we papered the walls of our homes, instead of painting them.  Oh, the agony of trying to picture what a room would look like, with only a 10” x 12” sheet in an unwieldy wallpaper sample book as a visual guide.  

Back then, Amazon was just the name of a river in South America, or a tribe of very tall women, and not the source of everything your heart desires which can be delivered to your doorstep — or even to your car — within hours.

There is no need to go into a store to buy anything today, including clothes.  And if you do, don’t expect a salesperson to help you as in the old days, by bringing alternate sizes or styles to you in a fitting room.  Unless you brought a friend to provide these services, you’re on your own. You have to put some clothes back on to venture out of the fitting room and conduct your own search for other items.  Not a salesperson in sight — except at the registers to collect your money.

I must admit there are many things from my youth that I don’t miss, though, like those impossible-to-keep-straight seams on stockings, which were impossible to keep.  Actually, I don’t miss stockings.

I also would not want to see a reincarnation of cars without power steering (have you ever tried to parallel park one of those?) or electric turn signals (those out-the-window hand signals were a horror, especially in a rainstorm or blizzard.  And don’t forget — we had to turn down those non-electric windows by hand while fighting the elements.

But I digress.  All these reminiscences are a story for another time.  Oh, wait! I think I already wrote that one. Or did I?

I remember when I had a much better memory — and when I could sleep through the night.

©2018 Rose Madeline Mula for SeniorWomen.com

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