And if that doesn’t make you feel old enough, now we are actually in another set of Roaring 20s, or whatever adjective you’d like to choose. I’ve seen so many hundreds of yearbooks and thousands of pictures over the last 150 years, that it really chaps my hide when folks don’t even try to look era-specific. Don’t get me started on the mom’s hair in A Christmas Story.
Flappers had bobs. Not Crystal Gayle hair. Not Marcia Brady hair. Certainly not Chrissy Snow pigtails or a beehive. Sigh. Then again, it was just one night.
Now that businesses are opening up, folks are itching to get out of their houses and back to work. After seven weeks sans income, my husband returned to his job, carrying his mask and his hand sanitizer (which they are selling at 7-11 for $8 at about 3 oz!), making the arduous commute into Austin. Many young folks in Austin aren’t wearing masks at all, or much of anything, according to this picture taken at Lake Travis on Saturday. I guess they figured social distancing is just a suggestion.
My heart breaks to think of the healthcare workers on their feet for multiple shifts at a time, unable to eat or bathe, trying to cope with the trauma they witness as best they can, scared to carry unseen germs into their homes. My heart breaks for the victims who had no loving hand to hold during their final moments, no solace or comfort before they left their bodies forever, bodies destined to be shoved into makeshift coolers in New York. Perhaps it takes maturity, decades of learned compassion, prioritizing and realizing that this life is not about selfishness, and we all need each other to make it. Survival of the fittest is not the goal.
I get it. I want to be where the people are. I want to cavort again. But even though I’ve daily jogged and tried to stay positive, taking hot baths and reading scripture, ignoring endless negative articles thrown my way, I evidently could not tell my own body to chill. My muscles got so tight and restricted in my neck and chest last Sunday, that I could barely breathe for two days, and I wound up in an ambulance, headed to ER (the last place on earth you want to be during COVID). My temp was 98.0, and I had no cough at all, so they didn’t waste a virus test on me. They determined that the chest pain, SOB, and left arm numbness was not a heart attack, and sent me home. As they said, the job of ER is not to diagnose, but to “rule out.” That said, don’t be too hard on yourself if your body, your hormones, your emotions are so out of whack, no matter what you do for self -care. Dr. Phil said we are all in a fight or flight mode designed to last for several minutes, not several months, and we can’t control the way the body chooses to deal with it.
So I’ll stay home yet again, watching the cars roll down the street.
Yucca 47
Knowing that soon, I’ll be riding tandem bikes again.
’61 Round Up
And crossing streets with my peeps.
Watching films at the theater. Okay, I won’t do that because I hate seeing movies in public, listening to babies cry and patrons chew popcorn loudly. Guh-ross. But you can.
Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin’ town, that toddlin’ town … ♪♫♪ No wonder they were toddling! Rolling on rubber was like skating on clouds with Chicago roller skates. This ad hails from my March 1926 issue of Child Life. You can bet they had a WAY better March than we just did. What do you make of this lantern-bearing imp?
The stock market was years away from crashing, so Easter was going to be LIT. Who wouldn’t want kraft toys of bunnies and ducks that ROLLED, just like those boss Chicago skates?
Or this disturbing gender-ambiguous amputee? What fun!
Little boys evidently wore ties when they colored and crafted. Mother, look, I dressed like Papa!
But when coloring was done, it was time to pull out the old Lanky Tinker (Tom Tinker’s cousin).
Even slim-hipped WWII vets can’t make three a comfortable proposition in this booth. Reaching for his Coke, he’d knock a bottle over. How is the fellow in the middle supposed to move? Can he breathe with his pal’s pipe smoke literally four inches from his face?
Today we spotlight the students of WHHS in 1978. “Let us out! Let us out!” they shout to the hills.
Maybe you’re feeling like this girl right now. You can’t even.
Maybe you’re delirious with cabin fever, or you’re wearing the same shirt three days in a row, the one in desperate need of spot treatment with stain remover. Seriously, you need to Shout that out, girl.
No doubt about it, emotions are running high these days.
There might even be some name-calling going on.
But you can still make an effort to communicate with your spouse, maybe over a couple of Dr. Peppers.
Ladies, there’s no excuse not to don your “Foxy Lady” belt to entice him during quarantine.
Especially if he’s a super hunk.
And if he’s not feeling randy, you can always spend time with a good book.
Just remember: we’re in this together, and before long, we’ll all be hanging out again.
But for now, we’ll have to make do with drive-by waving.
Maria was a friend of Lavelle, owner of this yearbook, and fellow participant in Spanish Lab, where Maria is shown assessing a skirt below.
Evidently Lavelle’s classmates took their language skills seriously. Babs even included it in her yearbook greeting.
Stoddard Hall was where the senior girls lived; this was at Texas State College for Women, so there were no men. However, the next entry contradicts the prior, assuming she would indeed move to Stoddard.
I do hope they were able to meet up 50 years later, and party like it was 1999, as it would have been.
This final entry confirms that Lavelle did indeed intend to live in Stoddard, that she was a grand cooker of eggs, and a good listener as Phyllis “Phil-eyes” droned on incessantly about Jimmy. Muy bueno!
Perusing the pages of ancient yearbooks, I have seen many a Sadie Hawkins dance. But this 1946 event from North Texas State University takes the cake! What an eye for detail these kids had.
This image of a Kentucky Red Cross dental clinic in 1932 is particularly loathsome to me lately, as I had a crown put in nearly two weeks ago, and the pain remains excruciating. Who knew that even after decades of wearing a nightguard, the pressure of clenching could still fracture your teeth, and they would need crowns whose out of pocket cost was exactly the cost of your first TWO automobiles?
I Don't Get It 