This is GREAT!!!! (When did technology get so sophisticated?!)

A girl from the "Prison Neighborhood"; that's who I am...was... I mean WAS!  If you weren't a part of that sub-culture, you have NO idea what it was like.  News reached us well after it had become "olds."  "Friends" were those other urchins who ran around Alden Square, dreaming up and executing secret schemes of torture, as well as milder forms of entertainment suitable for the ever-observant mothers.  Well, ever-observant is merely what we feared; how observant can a mother of seven, ten, or even thirteen children be?

With the exception of first cousins and Olive (whose role as "friend" remains obdurately suspicious to this day,) my first true friend from beyond the neighborhood didn't enter my life - or accept me into hers - until I was just entering high school.  (No! Your pity or my self-pity doesn't fit here; let me just say that ignorance is bliss.)   But, just imagine the instant expansion of my world!  Finally, there was a real connection with the larger world; new perspectives, personal narratives and adventures kept me in constant awe for four years.  In my mind I had become worldly, in step with "fast-paced" changes.  No matter that I still wrote by hand nearly every essay, on occasion renewing both my skills and finger strength as a speedy typist (on a circa-1945 Remington typewriter, I believe.)

And then, Fall Semester 1975 presented me with yet another expansion of my world.  I met a guy.  In a bar. (All legit, of course, because the drinking age was 18 at that time.)  With piercing dark eyes that I swear did not blink once, this Van Morrison look-alike studied me - or my friend Fanny (it was still unclear what his intentions were) for an uncomfortably long time.  At "last call" Van mustered the courage to approach our table and engage in oblique conversation, and offhandedly asked me to dance.  ME!  Supreme non-dancer of All Eternity!  Curious as to where this was all leading, I accepted.

Inasmuch as this is not about boy-meets-girl, promises of eternal-love-love-love, marriage, children (that story I'll save for another day), I gently steer you to the other dimension of this new juncture in my life.  Van - then a senior at Bridgewater State College, with an electronics background acquired from a voc-tech high school, introduced me (a freshman at BSC) to. . . headphones!  At the Student Union there was a room dedicated to SILENT music listening.  Van patiently showed me how to "borrow" a set of enormous headphones and select music.  And what was the first album I chose?  Of course, "Wavelength" by Van Morrison.  In a comfy chair I burrowed in, closed my eyes, and invited Van - Van Morrison, that is, not Van-the-boy-with-piercing-brown-eyes, - to fill my head.  Holy shit!  "Half a mile from the county fair and the rain came pouring down."  THIS IS GREAT!!! I WHEN DID TECHNOLOGY GET SO SOPHISTICATED?!  The room erupted - with laughter, of course, but also with a smattering of superior-know-it-all comments of disgust.  Van, as in Van-the-boy-with-piercing-brown-eyes, scored millions of points with me that day by lifting one earphone away from my head and explaining in all seriousness that, even though my voice might sound faint and small to me, it in fact, well. . . you can figure that one out.

I scarcely need to point out how technology persists in retarding my development.  I fearlessly persevere, however.  Today's mission?  To figure out the rudiments of search engine optimization.  What the heck are spiders?  Stay away from Spam.  URL is not, as it would seem, the initials for a university.  Backlinks?  JAVA?  Small suggestion to self:  engage playlist titled "Van Morrison," and stop typing keywords such as "widget," "domain," "crawler,"  "technology for emerging idiots."   I want to rock your gypsy soul, just like back in the days of old!   Now, THIS IS GREAT!!!!!

Sashay? Don't mind if I do

I have spent my whole life trying to understand what is meant by style.  The only way that I can express my relationship with it is to say simply that the notion persists in dodging me.  The word "fashion" makes my brow get all wrinkly and my mouth puckery; that word is even more frustrating than "style".  Would you believe that one of the ideas that I gave my daughters for a Christmas present was a color wheel, as if that somehow would help me when I'm standing in my closet any given morning, trying to put together an acceptable ensemble.

Be that as it may, every once in a great while I have a feeling (and it's not even that confident a feeling) that I've seized on the right combination.  This morning was one of those moments.  As I walked down the hallway to my classroom, I caught myself sashaying, and the realization made me smile stupidly.  Continuing to my door, my mental check came up with this:  I'm wearing a plaid, flannel oxford shirt, dress jeans and low-heel pumps.  Very uninspired look.  Hmmmmm. . .  Closer mental examination convinced me that it was the shoes.  Of COURSE it was the shoes!

I would be embarrassed to admit how many pairs of shoes I have ordered in the last year, ever searching for that perfect pair.  I finally had a winner and they made me feel GOOD!  Enough for me to sashay in an empty hallway early in the morning, the purposeful click of my heels echoing ahead of me.  Oh, I could feel good in my Tims walking down that same hallway, but I wouldn't have sashayed, and the next person could easily sashay in a pair of stilettos but I would have sawed off my feet by the time I arrived at my classroom if I were crazy enough to think that stilettos and I have any business working together.  So, at the end of the day, style will still artfully dodge me, but my toes will wiggle delightedly in my sensible Ros Hommerson's.