I’m at physical therapy this afternoon for work on my creaky, cranky neck. I’ve been told that, comparatively, it’s about 10 years older than I am. Not an encouraging thought.
As Brittany the therapy assistant positions a heating pad across the back of my neck, I notice hip hop music is coming from a speaker in the ceiling. I must have glanced up because Brittany says, “Oh, I can change that to something more relaxing.”
I tell her it’s fine and lie back on the treatment table. She leaves the room, and I start to relax into the warmth of the heating pad. The music pauses, then restarts. But now it’s Frank Sinatra singing a big band version of “I Only Have Eyes For You,” followed by his take on “Our Love is Here to Stay.”
I think to myself, “This is my mother’s music.” Then I realize Brittany thinks I’m old enough to enjoy music from my mother’s era.
“Maybe I really do need to start dying my hair,” I tell myself.
Another song comes on. It’s something I recognize as fairly current, and I start to feel a little less ancient … until I hear the lyrics:
When your legs don’t work like they used to before
And I can’t sweep you off of your feet …
Really? Do I need another reminder that I’m over 60 and I’m going to physical therapy for an arthritic neck … and that I had to take “yoga for people 50 and over” (otherwise known, according to my physical therapist, as “yoga for stiff people”) because the beginning yoga is too hard for me?
On the bright side, though, my National Parks senior pass arrived in today’s mail. Now i can get into our national parks for free. So I guess there are some benefits to being 63.