This winter, I’ve spent more time together with mom than in the past thirty years altogether. As her short term memory diminishes, she speaks in more and more vivid words about years of confusion and summers of starvation, the horrors of the forties and the fifties, but also about the spicy sixties – that is when yours truly was a naughty little girl.
Back then, eating raw, fresh and unrefined was a mark of the poor. They had to, in order to survive. As opposed to the sophisticated intelligentsia fed from the pinnacle of a booming industry.
My parents worked in shifts, alternatively, so one could be at home with me. However, there was a two-hours blind spot when I had to be left alone, totally alone or, few years later, with my infant sister. I always looked at the window, at ways of escape. Once I managed to climb all the way up, to open the window and ask the passersby to take me. One good neighbor noticed and she took me, put me in her own window, under supervision, so my daddy could see me, safely waiting for him while watching over the street.
Crazy sixties. Once I’ve spooned the ashes from the fireplace all over the room. My mom was so fascinated that she managed to remember this until today.
Eventually, they had to send me to a kindergarten, where I found it perfectly normal to patronize my peers, until the teacher tied me to a little chair. They are not allowed to do such things nowadays, are they?
Will skip the athletic seventies and the tight eighties (that I remember quite well) to speak about super shopping heroes, or heroines, like in some kind of adult fetish.
This because February is at the gates and winter clearance sales will fill the shelves.
Because you want to!