A "celebration" of the 60's

Today it occurred to me that I have two 60's to "celebrate". The first one is the 1960's era. As a boomer born in Dec. 1951, I spent the ages of 9 through 18 in that roiling decade. Most notably for me was the nationwide anger and inability to have civil conversations across the divide*

*over sex, drugs, rock and roll, world view, the meaning patriotism, and the Viet Nam war. Oh, and of course men's hair length.

 

Tree like walls

As my clever readers will have sussed out: by "celebrate" I mean celebrate the end of. My principal coping mechanism for surviving such an angry society was a tortoise like retreat into my shell. I lost myself in my room (which Dad had helped me transform into a sort of tree house, with soft green flooring and rich medium brown cork walls). There was no furniture in this oasis except a small caned rocking chair of unknown heritage which could not bear weight. I slept on a rug which Dad helped me shop for in a rug store, where I tested several by lying down on them. He truly supported me through my teens, which were not so much DIFFICULT (for him) as Puzzling (to both of us). He designed and built a walnut fold down drawing surface mounted on one wall (OK, there was also a stool) and a matching built-in walnut book and music cabinet. I checked out art prints from the Portland library for visual interest. (see note below regarding my possessions) In this period I was obsessed with art and the 1966 horrific flood in Venice prompted me to "consider" joining the art rescue effort. Except for required school attendance (I loathed H.S.) I spent nearly all my time in my room reading, drawing, and listening to music. Blessedly, during those years we spent weekends at our co-owned beach house in Neskowin. Without that haven, I might have had no outside life. Here is a safe link (Neskowin House) to this amazing house we owned until we kids scattered to college and/or jobs. I loved that sanctuary from daily life which held many artistic flourishes (Dad's works) and a tiny two bunk bedroom that was my hide-hole.

Note on my teen age possessions in my tree house "bed" room. This was the #2 house Mom and Dad designed and had built (#1 for lessons learned). All the rooms had recessed storage, so I had a large closet and a bank of drawers with overhead shelves. All of which I kept neat, organized, and under-filled! I have always been me, sadly.

And now for the second 60's: mine. I have my final 60's birthday in three days. Great! This decade has certainly been difficult. My dad died when I was 61, then I shared the next 4 years with just my difficult parent, until her death at 91 (I was 65). The next four years of my life were under the Orange Kool-aid Presidency (I need not elaborate here). And similar to the 60's era, half of  MY 60's have been marked by another great divide**

**over science (and almost all other reality), as well as whether we are Americans with any shared culture, values or desire to remain a functioning democracy. At least there is not a hot bed of discord regarding men's hair length (who has the time?)

So there you have my two-sixt-ies. in a nut shell. And they were both similarly nutty, and like nuts in one's diet, best consumed in moderation (a choice I rarely make).