Today, as I logged onto my computer (something I’m trying to curtail during the holidays as much as possible — although unsuccessfully), I saw the NPR top news stories on my Google home page. President Gerald Ford died.
On Christmas day, when visiting my hubby’s family, my father-in-law told me that James Brown had died.
Now, these may not seem related on any typical level, but it’s one of those times when I realize that my past is crumbling. It’s literally disintegrating from age. The icons I grew up with are no more.
There are a host of people I consider my personal historic icons that have died prior to this particular holiday season. Roy Orbison, Elvis, Richard Nixon, Johnny Cash, John Lennon, Mother Teresa, George Burns, etc, etc.
The ones that seem to hit me hardest are the pop-culture crowd and the musicians and the politicians that I remember who were in office. At this point, I’ve already outlived (by my current age) Martin Luther King and John Lennon and I’m barreling down on the age that Elvis and JFK were when they died.
Kinda makes me feel under-accomplished.