Vintage Me

IMG_3264There are times when my memory gets jogged but for the life of me I cannot reconstruct the details.

My sister noticed this newspaper photo on our vintage hometown Facebook page.  Yes, I am officially one of the vintage people now I guess!  The article mentioned “centennial year”‘ so clue number one, it’s 1967.  This morning I rummaged around until I unearthed my five high school yearbooks.  I knew there had to be an excellent reason for hanging on to them all these years.  Leafing through the 1967 edition in an attempt to put names to these faces, this turned up.

filename-1Centennial year must have been a popular time for not listing identities of grade twelve students who went on bus trips.  I recognize myself, back row, third from the left.  I can name a dozen more.  Batting 500 so far.  But here’s the mysteries.

If thirty-four students attended, where (and who) are the other eleven?  Bathroom breaks?  Lost?  Smoking behind the bus?

Why was looking at furniture considered educational?  Maybe it was, but who made that decision? And thrust it upon us?

Did we voluntarily agree to this excursion? Seventeen and eighteen year olds in 1967 be like hey, let’s hop a bus to TO and check out carpeting and new age dining room sets.  Yeah!  I don’t know. And on a Saturday too.  Very curious.

Was that thing I’m wearing a precursor to my furry grey winter coat that a few years later W would say resembled a dirty polar bear?  Like he had seen a great number of dirty polar bears in his lifetime up to that point?   It’s not a very flattering look, but then when you consider everyone else is wearing similar versions of the same boxy big collared giant buttons style, I guess in respect to small town centennial year Canadian winter fashion, I fit right in.

Did we dine at the Westminster Hotel, or the Town and Country Restaurant?  Or was the restaurant IN the hotel?  What did we eat?  I had a friend once who ordered lobster and then couldn’t figure out how to eat it and was too embarrassed to ask, so she shoved the whole thing in to her purse and took it home.  Like that would fool our waiter into thinking we were so sophisticated.   But I’m pretty sure that happened on a different trip altogether.

I don’t think any of us furniture voyeurs went on to become famous designers, but many of us made it to the vintage stage of life, Fifty One Years Later.  Sheesh.  That’s either remarkable or depressing, I can’t decide which.

So many details about this trip elude me completely.  My brain is no longer able to recall the things that happened or the things we saw, or who I sat with on the bus or why not one of us is wearing a hat in January.

Chances are good that my mind registered very little of it all in the first place, having been known in high school for a lot of zoned out day dreaming. The little poem written about our 12B class includes the line …”while Linda is thinking of whom we can’t guess…”.  Understood to mean also “or of what or where or when or even why”. Mystery woman.  Or vacuum head.  Could go either way.

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How to Make Your Eyes Look Like Eyes

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Or like deep, daring, slightly hypnotic black holes in your face. Your choice.

I wonder what Revlon thought they looked like before she put all that shit on them?

I’m certainly not anti makeup, don’t get me wrong.  Artfully applied it can bring out your best features and play down whatever you think your flaws are.  When I first started experimenting with eyeliner and mascara, and yes that would have been in and around 1964 when this ad came out, I confidently believed a heavy hand and bold strokes were the way to go.  God forbid anyone should guess what I looked like with my face washed.

My mother was pretty tolerant although she did suggest that sometimes less is more.  Then apparently even she got used to my new face.  Once I came down to dinner with no make up on at all and she wondered if I was sick.

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Happy first day of Spring everyone.

Sharing My World 53

From "Vintage Life" on Facebook

From “Vintage Life” on Facebook

Hello Thursday my old friend,

I’ve come to post on you again….

Oookay…..Now that’s out of my head and in to yours I can get on with it.

SHARE YOUR WORLD – 2016 WEEK 10

What would you ask for if a genie granted you three wishes?

Here’s  the thing with genies.  Their brains don’t function the same as ours do.  This makes wishing a dangerous thing.  Wishes backfire.

Ever hear the one about the guy who wished he were married to a much younger woman and POOF!  The genie made him a hundred years old?  That’s what I’m talking about.  Wishes should come with legal advice and three pages of terms and conditions, and still there’s no guarantee the genie will get it right.

So I would be cautious and sceptical and out of luck it there’s a time limit.  I often wish for hard things I’m going through in my life to be over with, and then hope I won’t get run over by a bus for it to come true.  I would like not to worry about stuff, but sometimes worry is a subtle warning, or a gentle push in the right direction.  And then there’s happiness.  Impossible to appreciate unless you’ve known sadness.  Good health and prosperity might be nice but I’d have to explore the loopholes, and hold back my last wish to be able to reverse the first two in case they were disappointing.

See why I never get anything done??

What experiences are most meaningful to you?

Learning experiences.  I suppose that encompasses every experience I’ve ever had, although some of them were more enlightening than others. With other people or on your own, there’s worlds to be discovered. Even our dream experiences teach us something.  Last night in my sleep I was driving a big cumbersome vehicle with a standard transmission, slowly rolling backwards into pitch black night, pumping the clutch instead of the brake.  Finally got my feet untangled and got stopped without hitting anything.  I felt relieved and quite confident that I could find first gear and climb back up.  But we will never know for sure because the stress of it all woke me up.  This week my life has felt like its rolling backwards into oblivion.  But it’s probably not.  My dream self knows this I guess.

As a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Well about three bazillion grown ups asked me that question and would not accept “I don’t know” for an answer.  So I made shit up.  The fact is, I STILL DON’T KNOW.

Complete this sentence: The best day of my life was….

…..staring back at me from the future.  The best is yet to come.  If you don’t believe that, why are you still here?

Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

It is really, really hard for me to be grateful for all the medical attention I’m getting these days because I hate it.  The CT scan showed the bothersome inflammation in my neck has increased in size and that means a referral to yet another specialist and more needle biopsies.  They seem determined to find something and I live in constant fear that they will.  Maybe I’ll ask the genie to make me a hypochondriac so I can get a kick out of all this messing around.

This weekend the northern relatives will be here.  Some are going to watch the Oilers play the Coyotes, and the rest of us more sane ones will maybe go to a movie.

This is the weekend we spring ahead an hour, and that means Spring is getting closer.  That reminds me, I forgot to stock up on allergy meds today while I was out.  So I will simply be grateful for having a reason to go out again in the sunshine tomorrow.

Hope you’re having a fabulous week!

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