Growing old is a trade off. There's no doubt about it. It's really just trading one annoyance for another, but also one joy for another.
Then last night happened. My wrestle with existentialism. It all started when I couldn't sleep. Playing with my new smart phone, I learned how to pick up radio stations on it. Smart me. So, anyway, I was scanning stations and locking them in on the clever little push buttons so I could find them readily and I found 106.7 lite FM out of New York. Only guess what. Yea, Jim Morrison has to be turning over in his grave. The first song that came on was Light My Fire. Oh, my word! What was once cutting edge went on to be classic rock and is now considered lite?? What happened?
Jim Freaking Morrison and his uber deep poet rock anthem was sandwiched in between Percy Sledge and Whitney Houston. What?? To quote my favorite faux designer, is everyone here on crazy pills?
It's like all those rock stars that we idolized as neo-hippie freaks have mellowed in their graves and are now sending out these feel-good vibes to those of us that are enduring the effects of aging. Sending this transcendental message that we should just go with it. Lucky him. He broke on through to the other side before he heard his poetic insights blasphemed on an easy listening station.
I wonder what he would really think if he was still here. Would he be sipping sweet tea in a nursing home laughing at the ridiculousness of it all or would he be shaking his fists and threatening orderlies with his walker if they didn't change the station? My thoughts? I believe he's sitting under a tree in Paris scribbling mind-blowing verse in an old leather chapbook and grateful to be far from the madding crowd. In my mind, he never left.