Before I went to bed last night I set the clocks ahead an hour for Daylight Savings Time. Well, not all the clocks. Seems I forgot the most important one. My alarm clock. The one with the bright digital numbers that I can see through half-open eyelids in the middle of the night.
Contrary to my usual slow wake-up, I got out of bed this morning at 9:15, giving myself the exact amount of time to get ready for church. Sweetie and I discussed church attendance before falling asleep, so I was kind of surprised to see him reading/snoozing when I got out of the shower.
Uhm, I thought we were going to church, I said, coveting the pillow his head rested upon.
You're a little late, Sweetie answered.
What do you mean? Look at the clock.
You didn't re-set that one. No way we can make it to church in 3 minutes.
He had me there.
Instead of church we went downtown to an art/music festival. Neither of us knew what to expect. Certainly not the time machine ride back to the 60's. I've never seen so much tie-dyed clothing in one place. Girls covered their short shorts and tank tops with crocheted vests. Colorful flowing skirts made of cotton looked a lot more comfortable than my too-tight blue jeans. Lavender soap and patchouli scented candles mixed with smoke from electric cigarettes. Jewelry vendors sold macrame bracelets adorned with pieces of gemstones, lava balls or beads. Women tried on rings and bracelets, men kept walking. Babies in strollers and dogs on leashes rounded out the crowd. Tattoos were every bit as colorful as the clothing. Positive affirmations hung in trees, leaned against tables and shared space with the kids climbing on a giant gator next to the "don't climb on the gator" sign.
Sweetie and I started out together but soon parted ways. One of us stopped to look at bracelets, one discussed poetry with a non-profit vendor who works with juvenile offenders. You gotta admire someone who can go into a jail or homeless shelter and convince kids who have been hardened by life circumstances that poetry might be a way out of a hopeless situation. If not poetry then art made from old wooden pallets, or accessories made from old t-shirts.
Even though I grew up in the age of Aquarius, I kept my inner hippie from running wild. I remained clean shaven when my high school friend eschewed razors and could braid the hair under their arms. I sipped Singapore Slings in the Officer's club while kids my age got high on marijuana laced brownies. When they danced wild and free at Woodstock, I learned how to play bridge because that's what navy wives did. I got married in a church wearing white satin and lace. One of my hippie friends shared a tepee with a man she had no intention of marrying. As the sexual revolution, Vietnam War, Civil Rights movement and fight for women's liberation upset the status quo, I lived in a cocoon reminiscent of the 1950's.
I wonder sometimes what my life would have been like if I'd chosen the fork in the road that pointed towards a wild and uncharted future. To be honest, I don't think I would make a very good revolutionary. But when I looked around at those colorful clothes today, I could feel something inside of me trying to break loose. I wanted one of everything. Mostly I wanted to break out of my self-imposed stuffiness to dance barefoot in the grass with flowers in my hair.
Funny how springing forward had me looking back.
Don't forget to be awesome!