WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

As April 14th dawns, approximately 20 million+ other celebrants here on Planet Earth will mark the first day of another 365-day journey around the sun. Today I’ll stray a bit from my usual nature treks to take another stroll down memory lane.

While I don’t do an annual birthday post as a general rule, I have been pondering about turning 67 and, while age 67 is hardly a milestone birthday, the year 2023 marks the 50th anniversary of embarking on a slew of “firsts” never to be surpassed in these past five decades.

There have been a plethora of pictures marking my journey from newborn to adulthood. Being an only child, plus having parents who were eager to capture poses with their respective cameras, contributed to multiple photo albums and scrapbooks. Between my father with his Leica 35mm camera, (which he brought with him from Germany), to my mother with her Baby Brownie box camera, a wealth of images from days that I was way too young to remember, to memorable life events, all found their way into those albums. When I was deemed responsible enough to own and take care of a camera, Mom passed her beloved Baby Brownie on to me. I found a photo on Etsy – this is exactly how I remember that 1940s-era camera.

I was told if I didn’t waste pictures or make too many boo-boos, my parents would pay for developing the film. This early foray into photography was followed by a Polaroid Swinger, a video camera, then a Kodak Pocket Camera, which was my faithful companion until the film drawer cover loosened, so I bought my first digital camera in 2010.

If I were to look back at my 7th birthday, I got a very unwelcome birthday present … it was a trip to the eye doctor to pick up my first pair of eyeglasses. As I looked in the mirror that night, all I saw was a childish face marred by those ugly, pinky-brown, cat-eye frames. I remember that I cried and was likely told to “smarten up” by Mom, who was always the disciplinarian, my father shirking that responsibility in favor of calling me his princess, (in the early years anyway). Here I was posing at Disneyland.

And now a little look-back about that wondrous year 1973.

Flash forward a decade and even now I recognize that at age 17 I could identify with Janis Ian who bemoaned being 17 years old and lacking a valentine. If you’re old enough, you may remember that painful line (“To those of us who knew the pain, of valentines that never came”) – here’s that song if you want to give it a listen.

Ah well, I never received a valentine from any high school boys; worse yet, I didn’t get invited to the prom, which was on my birthday, April 14, 1973. How sad is that? Well, it was teenage angst at the time, but 50 years later, looking back, really and truly, how important was going to the prom on my birthday anyway? Very low importance, so score one for Mom, the realist in the family, who told me “years from now you’ll look back and wonder why you agonized over such a trivial thing.”

Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlour was the cherry on the 17th birthday sundae.

Both parents were strict in my upbringing and didn’t tolerate teenage angst and drama, so I was a tad miffed that the only consolation and counsel I got from Mom was a 70s version of “suck it up Buttercup” so I stayed mum over my misery about the prom. Of our gang of six (my five closest girlfriends and me) we had three prom attendees and three of us girls staying home and shampooing our hair on prom night.

However, unbeknownst to me, Mom and Rosemary, one of those friends, had organized a surprise birthday party for me for the night before, Friday the 13th, at Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlour, a venue where we six often went on weekend nights to enjoy such sinful treats as a Tin Roof Sundae or a Matinee Idol in a vintage Roarin’ 20s setting.

So that evening, me, a/k/a “The “Birthday Girl” was presented with one of Farrell’s specialties called a “Zoo” which was brought to the table with much fanfare, i.e. a siren and clanging bells as the two wait staff circled around Farrell’s toting a huge metal bowl on a wooden tray, then making a big deal out of its presentation to the honoree. Here is a photo I found to illustrate.

This ice cream extravaganza was truly a sight to behold. I could simply retype this recitation of the ingredients that comprised the “Farrell’s World Famous Zoo” but I’ll show you this screenshot instead.

Here are some photos when I received it, flanked by family and friends… yes, I shared.

Turning 17 kicked off my memorable 1973.

My first vacation when I traveled solo.

Our senior class trip for Spring Break 1973 was the Bahamas. Our family took a three-day cruise to the Bahama Islands the year before, so friends of the family (Alfonsa and Werner) that lived in Puerto Rico, in conjunction with a three-year work assignment, invited me to spend Easter break with them. Alfonsa was born and raised in Spain, so there was no language barrier and we spent a wonderful week visiting El Yunque Tropical Rainforest, El Morro Castle and snorkeling or sunbathing at Dorado Beach. It would be my first trip solo, but in later years taking trips by flying solo, then hooking up with a tour group, was how I traveled over the next decade. These are a few of my favorite pics from Puerto Rico.

My first walk for a charitable cause.

I’ve written before about participating in my first walk to raise money for charity. Who knew it would become the precursor for the walks for charity I’ve participated in the last five years? Nowadays, it is simply a 5k walk, but back in the Spring of 1973, it was a whopping 17-mile walk! I even got a certificate proving I completed the event, the official stamp being a bare foot and tootsies. I’ll bet I had big-time blisters and shin splints after this endeavor!

The March of Dimes 17-Mile Walk-a-thon 1973 was held at Belle Isle in Detroit, Michigan. I walked with Paula Crowe, a high school classmate from my journalism class. Bob Seger, Michigan’s home-grown rock-and-roll legend, was just bursting onto the scene after appearing in local gigs at nearby high schools; he led us walkers. This annual walk to raise money for moms and babies is now called “The March for Babies” and I am participating virtually in their 2023 event in a venue of my choice to commemorate this 50th anniversary.

My first mortarboard and scroll.

I was the youngest of 613 students in our graduating class, having just turned 17 two months earlier.

High school graduation night, June 13, 1973, was stinking-hot and since we queued up in alphabetical order, “S” for a surname meant a long wait until I crossed the stage to receive my diploma. So I unzipped my gown, then the zipper stuck when it was time to take that ceremonial stroll. Whew! Half a dozen fellow “S” students helped restore decorum to walk across the stage. Edie Sumner and I were bringing up the rear here, tassels duly flipped over to the left side and holding our diplomas which were not sheepskin, nor scrolls, but actually in a leatherette folder. (So much for steeped in tradition.)

My first REAL job.

My first “real” job, not dusting Mrs. Moss’ collectibles every Saturday for a quarter, or raking leaves in the ‘hood for a quarter for each yard, (I definitely undersold myself), was in June 1973. I had secured what I believed was a part-time job at Kentucky Fried Chicken. After a two-week stint at KFC, which work hours were arranged around graduation festivities, the manager forgot I would never be a full-time employee due to college commitments and told me my KFC days were over. That was a blessing since I found a job at Carter’s Hamburgers, where I happily “slung hash” until college graduation.

I liked the manager and his wife – Erdie and Anne were like grandparents to me.

That job helped me overcome my shyness and I enjoyed interacting with the customers. For years after I left, I’d see a customer at the mall or the grocery store and could still rattle off their favorite meal.

My first car.

A VW Super Beetle in Biscay Blue became my wheels when I began college in Fall of ‘73. My parents bought me a new car, the premise being “we want you to have a safe car to drive, so we won’t worry about you.”

However, the night I brought it home from the dealership and parked it in the driveway, it rolled backward into the street, leaving a trail of red liquid dribbling down the driveway. A tow truck fetched it and deposited the little gem back at the dealership before they closed that evening. Suffice it to say it was a lemon with a capital “L” from day one, but yes, it was as cute as a bug’s ear and I later “dolled it up” with white pinstripes and proudly had my HFCC sticker on the back window.

My father eventually took it over and in 1977, I got an AMC Pacer, another lemon.

My first year in college.

I loved my years at Henry Ford Community College beginning in the Fall of ’73. Here it was not necessary to be in a clique or be the most-popular kid to join student government or the newspaper staff and I enjoyed being immersed in those extracurricular activities as well as the National Model United Nations delegation … I aimed to not only further my education, but enjoy the experiences as well.

What a year 1973 was and thinking about these past five decades makes me feel old. I’ll (finally) conclude this long post by saying what keeps me young is walking over 1,000 miles a year, blogging and interacting with all of you.

[Note: All pics are my own, except the Baby Brownie from Etsy and VW Bug from Pinterest; the black-and-white rendering of Carter’s was done by local artist Sean Manual, from whom I received permission to use his photo in an earlier blog post.] Also, take a peek at the stats on who shares your birthday here.