In just a few days, I’ll hit the Big Eight-Six. Now that’s a scary one. I never minded the start of other decades of my life, but closing in on the Big Nine-O? Can that be? Will I make it? Hey, I was 19 just a blink ago, the age when my life really began, the age at which I am still happily stuck.

Nah. I’m not worried about all that. I’m still here and everything’s working OK, just a whole lot slower, so no need for me to fret about the encroaching 86. What I am concerned about however, are the long ago and long forgotten things that are too frequently surfacing in my brain like bursting bubbles from somewhere away, and then blasting out of my mouth with absolutely no warning. I’m sure there are good, sound reasons for these happenings, but they’re so weird, and what’s weirder, these “bubbles” seem to be gradually narrowing to only one category; old, old radio jingles from when I used to listen to the radio absolutely all the time as a kid. No ear buds. No tiny square gizmo in my pocket that’s also a camera. Just a big old wooden radio in my bedroom with a glowing, yellow dial.

I faithfully listened to all the offered radio dramas whenever possible, and of course music, and back in those ancient times, music had a strong melody and a story to tell in words that could be understood, and feelings to give. I loved it all, and like many of us of the octogenarian persuasion, I can still sing all the lyrics and tunes to all the “pop” musical compositions written from around 1920 and on to around 1960.

 Part of the fun of radio back then were the commercials. There was no TV yet, so the ad people had to come up with some jazzy memorable tunes to make customers, who couldn’t see the product on a TV screen, go out and buy what they were hawking. But here’s the troubling part for me; the tunes and lyrics. I’m waking up with them, they’re surfacing at embarrassing moments and they fly into my brain in the middle of conversations with people who I hope don’t realize they’re conversing with someone whose brain is being overtaken by aliens from 1940s commercial radio.

For example, I awoke a couple of weeks ago and as I staggered to the loo, I began singing, not lustily but loudly enough, the old Rheingold beer commercial. Wanna hear it? OK, I’ll sing it now; “My beer is Rheingold the dry beer/Think of Rheingold whenever you buy beer/It’s not bitter, not sweet/Extra dry flavored treat/Won’t you try extra dry Rheingold beer?” Howzat? I don’t drink beer and I think Rheingold doesn’t exist anymore, or if it does, I never see it around here although in truth I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to beer displays. But that morning and throughout the day, I simply could not stop singing that ditty.

Next came the Pepsi Cola jingle; “Pepsi Cola hits the spot/Twelve ounce bottles, that’s a lot/Twice as much for a nickel too/Pepsi Cola is the drink for you! NickelNickelNickelNickleNickel.” Yep folks, twelve full ounce bottles for a nickel! Candy bars were also a nickel. A person could get seriously sugared up and unbelievably hyper for ten measly cents. Life was really, really good back then.

Then came into my head the sexist commercial tune for the washing machine detergent, “Rinso White.” That hit while I was picking up a granddaughter from school and she had the decency to look away as I sang it. It was a short but punchy tune: “Rinso White!/Rinso Bright!/Happy little wash day song!” That’s it, or the longer version; “Rinso white, whiter than new/Rinso bright, brighter than new/Happy little wash day song!” The happy Little Woman could happily sing that happy little ditty while happily washing her family’s dirty clothes. Life was just so good back then.

About a week later the Lifebuoy soap commercial popped out of my face and those lyrics were “Singin’ in the bathtub/Singin’ for joy/Livin’ the Life of Lifebuoy/Can’t help singin’/ ‘Cause I know/That Lifebuoy really stops B. O.” although a very deep bass male voice, like a foghorn sounding on a foggy night sang out the “BEEEE-yo” part. Embarrassing sort of, but very effective since everyone bought the stuff back then because to have BO was a serious social gaffe. Kinda like it is today although back then, the Lifebuoy soap people were breaking new ground.

Tonight driving home, I suddenly began to sing the Cream of Wheat jingle; “Cream of Wheat is so good to eat/We can have it every day/You sing a song, and it makes you strong/And it makes you shout HURRAY! / It’s good for growing babies/And grownups too, to eat/For all your family’s breakfast/You can’t beat Cream of Wheat!!” Anyone out there remember that on the radio?

Why do these old tunes (and there are many more folks, but I’ll stop here) suddenly bubble up into my 86-nearly-90-year-old brain, when they haven’t been heard for maybe 65 or more years? Should I be worried? Is it a sign? Of what? Lucifer coming to call? A worm in my brain? Brain rot? Should I seek professional help? Are there pills for this? It’s getting worse. Scary. I gotta go now. But wait, before I go, don’t ever forget folks that a little dab’ll do ya.

LC Van Savage is a Brunswick writer.