When do "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" and "Tiny Bubbles" become worthwhile?

I went to visit my mother-in-law in the nursing him this morning. She is doing quite well, thanks for asking.

Visiting the home always gives me some reason to consider the process of aging and why we (or at least I) find it scary. When I was younger, I thought getting old was a frightening proposition since the process inevitably leads to death. Now, I'm not so sure; I think the real problem with aging is what it slowly takes from us.

For example, I understand people may have diverse tastes in music, but I believe most of us can agree that "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" and "Tiny Bubbles" are pretty horrible songs. The majority of us would prefer silence to having to listen to those tunes. Yet this morning at the nursing home, many old folks--people who in their lives enjoyed the likes of Harry James, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Chet Baker, Stang Getz, Xavier Cugat, Elvis Presley, Marvin Gaye, Chuck Berry, Bob Dylan, and The Beatles--were gathered around listening to a woman sing "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" and "Tiny Bubbles" in her very best community theater soprano.

I understand I am going to go to hell for being cruel; after all, this kind-hearted woman took her time to visit the nursing home and share her talents. I honestly respect that a great deal and am not criticizing her, except perhaps for her choice of music.

Instead, I want to explore why the older folks sitting in that room, people who must have had better musical tastes in their 20s, 30s and 40s when these songs were popular, suddenly find "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" and "Tiny Bubbles" so worthwhile. Is it because they honestly enjoyed these tunes all along? Or have they lost their ability to be critical of art? Or at this stage in their lives, does their enjoyment of music take a back seat to the simple pleasure of having a person show they care? Could the woman who was singing have held their rapt attention no matter what or how she was performing?

I make no claim (okay, maybe a little claim) that my taste in music is any better than anyone else's, but it's mine. I care about the music to which I listen, and I can't imagine not caring. Right now, if someone wanted me to listen to a chirpy, bouncing, warbling, high-pitched version of "Tiptoe Through the Tulips," I'd get up and leave the room. But in 30 years, will my tastes have deteriorated, my senses dulled, or my need for attention or entertainment have grown so great that "Tiptoe" becomes a listenable or even exciting tune?

That question frightens me more than a little, and perhaps it in some way reflects what we all worry about aging. It's one thing to lose our mobility and freedom, but quite another to lose our artistic judgment, sense of style, discriminating taste, sensibility, criticalness, and predilections. That's the difference between losing our physical and our mental fluidity. After we lose that, what's left of ourselves?