SENIORS HAVE THEIR OWN GENERATION GAP.

Though I'm not officially a senior citizen, I'm seeing a definite split in the ranks of people at social clubs. The New Horizons club here in Radway is a good example of what I see as a split between the Depression kids and the boomers.

We have quite a few people at the club who are in their eighties. When they were children, there were no transistor radios and rock music. Most of the older members lived on farms and quite a few of them still do.

Us "junior seniors" grew up in homes with TV, our own transistor radios, and rock music. Many of us were raised in towns and cities. Even our education was different, in certain ways, from that of the Depression generation. They learned practical subjects while my generation were taught what elite educators thought was a break from stodgy old traditions. What the educators called "New Math" never did make sense to me.

The split in opinions of what makes for good entertainment also shows up during our outings. The older folks can relate to the old standards while we younger members go for the rock 'n' roll we grew up with. Outings to exhibits and similar amusements also need to be to places where tired seniors can rest often. Many of us boomers can go much further and stay up longer.

The matter of leadership is also a thorny issue. A fair number of the elected officials are in their eighties. I've heard grumblings among the membership that younger talent isn't allowed to take over positions which older folks are soon to relinquish. Sooner or later, we younger members will have to take over. We'll need mentors to help us do things properly. Unfortunately for the smooth running of the club, certain older folks cling to their coveted positions.

I can't help wondering what things will be like when I'm in my eighties. Will I be forced to listen to groups performing songs by Duran Duran or Culture Club? Will I be dreading outings to performances by rappers and bands playing stuff from the nineties or later? Whatever happens, I hope the New Horizons leadership thirty years from now will choose entertainment which we all can relate to.

Music played a huge role in my life. My first two books at the Bruce Atchison's books page attest to my love of rock and electronic compositions. I also relate how the older generation rebuked me for my love of rock music in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. My first two paperbacks are featured at the Bruce Atchison's books page while the latest is at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's books.

I NEVER THOUGHT I'D HEAR SENIORS SINGING BEATLES SONGS

"How can you listen to that horrible racket?" elderly people often asked me when I was a boy. The British invasion was in full swing when I fell in love with rock music but my teachers and supervisors felt aghast that I would actually love that "evil-sounding racket." Fortunately, things have changed and baby boomers are now the seniors of society.

In an effort to get to know more local people, I joined Radway's New Horizon's Seniors Club. Surprisingly, they let me join even though I'm not technically at retirement age. During the two years that I've been a member, I made some great friends and went to some wonderful events.

The latest excursion we went on was to see a play called The British Invasion at the Jubilations Dinner Theatre, located in West Edmonton Mall. I was afraid that most of the members wouldn't enjoy it. I was pleasantly surprised when all the comments about the play were positive.

The British Invasion portrayed what would have happened if Ed Sullivan's daughter had booked not only The Beatles but Herman's Hermits, The Rolling Stones, and other British bands by flirting with their members before hand. The comedy showed how some of the band members discovered her trick.

Between back stage scenes, actors played the songs of the various acts live and in the outfits of the sixties groups. Many people asked as the dinner was served during the intermissions if the cast were lip-synching to a recorded backing track. They couldn't believe that the music was played live.

The food was wonderful as well, Everybody remarked how delicious it was. Moreover, the dinner menu printed in the brochures at each table had hilarious sixties-oriented titles. For example, there were entrees like  "All You Need Is Beef," "Don't Let the Chicken Catch You Crying," ""It's Only Fish & Chips But I Like It," and Sgt. Pepper's Vegetarian Pasty."

The dessert items had similar humorous titles. For example, the menu displayed such treats as "You Say Good-bye, Black Forest Cake" and "I Say Hello, Sticky Toffee Cake." We all had a good laugh at these memory-evoking titles.

Near the end of the show, anybody with a birthday during the following two or three days was asked to come on stage. In character, Peter Noon and Ringo Starr interviewed the patrons. Then the actors playing The Beatles sang "Birthday" in honour of them. Each birthday person also received a five-inch by seven-inch post card of the cast.

The fun continued as our bus driver drove us home. As we chatted excitedly about how good the show was, Jeanette fired up her smart phone and played several Beatles songs. To my delight, most of the folks joined in. I knew most of the lyrics to "She Loves You" and "I Want To Hold Your Hand" so I sang loudly.

Rock music played a large part in my childhood and adult years. I wrote about the sixties tunes in Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School. It and my debut memoir can be found on my Bruce Atchison's Books page. How I Was Razed, available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers, shows how my love of rock music was criticized as wicked by the house church members. I now know that music is just a tool like anything else and can be used for righteous or wicked ends.

THE EVOCATIVE SCENT OF COAL SMOKE.

Why do certain scents bring back strong memories? I'm told it's because part of our brain associates smells with events. Scientists suppose it's a hold-over from our primitive ancestors. To me, it's a way to effectively catalogue experiences.

One of my favourite scent/memory pairings is the faint odour of coal smoke and the memory of an old friend's shack. Scotty, as everybody called him, was a bachelor who lived on some undeveloped land in my home town of Fort Saskatchewan. Being elderly, he was like a foster grandfather to my sister and me.

We grew so fond of this kindly gentleman that we helped him with his chores. One of those was hauling coal in from his shed. Diane and I often squabbled over who would get to do the coveted chore.

On some winter afternoons, Diane and I visited Scotty on our way home from school. His stove, the only source of heat, radiated a welcoming warmth as we squatted next to it. Watching the flames and glowing embers through its air vents gave me a feeling of contentment that a forced air furnace never could.

As I wrote in Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), our beloved old friend passed away during a stormy winter night in 1964. His door blew open as he slept and ended his time on earth. I felt deeply saddened when Mom and Dad broke the news to me. Having never known either of my grandfathers, Scotty was the only senior adult who I related to then.

One of the houses here in Radway has a coal furnace, The scent of the smoke on the winter wind fills me with nostalgic memories as I walk to the post office and back home. My mind fills with images of my old friend, his cosy shack, and the winter afternoons Diane and I spent there.