Will you still need me, will you still feed me?

As part of the largest generation in U.S. history, I came of age with the Beach Boys, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones. During the "Summer of Love" (1967), I was living on the West Bank of the University of Minnesota, in an old house on 17th Avenue South, with my roommate Annie and a bunch of other people, one of whom would become my husband mid-way through that same summer. I was attending summer school at the University of Minnesota and working part-time at my father's architectural office in the Wesley Temple Building downtown.

One summer afternoon, our friend Chris Hammelly came into the living room, where several of us were sitting around on a cast-off dark green sofa and armchair. A slab of wood was suspended from a ceiling light fixture by four ropes, serving as a swinging coffee table. On the table were the typical college student's centerpiece of a Chianti bottle with a candle stuck in its neck, and a scattering of miscellaneous clutter. My guitar case and Bob's washtub bass were somewhere in the room.  Chris had a copy of the Beatles newest album, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

The album cover, with the Fab Four in neon-colored marching band uniforms, backdropped by an eclectic array of political and cultural celebrities, living and dead, impressed us. But to say that the music blew us away is an understatement. From the first chords, it was more than a pop culture hit; it was a fantasy world that surrounded us, included us, became us--but, more importantly WAS us. This group of British musicians had created something that resonated with our generation, with who we were, what we believed. The only other musician who had hit the same emotional identification with me had been my fellow native Minnesotan, Bob Dylan. He was a poet set to music.The Beatles were, in this Sgt. Pepper incarnation, an Experience.

From Lovely Rita to She's Leaving Home, to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, to A Day in the Life, the album was a declaration of British youth that resonated to us across the Atlantic. But the most surprising tune, set in the midst of fantasy and special effects, was a peppy, cheesy tune about the mundane, older years of a typical staid, British married couple, "Will you still need me, Will you still feed me, When I'm 64?"
Bob and I had known each other for a few short months and were about to say our vows at a Presbyterian chapel downtown. This song, like no other on the album, spoke to us, somewhat prophetically, of our future.

Forty-five years later, we are still together, both of us, like that fictional British couple, in our mid-60s. Life hasn't been easy, but it's been good. On our respective 64th birthdays, now past, I sang that song to Bob.

Perhaps in Great Britian, age 64 is a milestone, but in the U.S.A., the year of official transition to elderhood is usually 65, when we qualify for Medicare. It's the age when the powers that be have decided that all citizens, regardless of merit or pre-existing condition, are now entitled to guaranteed, subsidized medical care. In March, like most of my high school graduating class is doing during the year 2012, I made my last premium payment on medical insurance and signed up for Medicare. In my case, it's a Medicare Advantage Plan.

To mark this year of transition to Elderhood, I have decided to start a blog. In it I plan to journal to the next phase of my life. So far, it's been a rather active "retirement. " Time will tell what God has in store for me.