The most meaningful thing I did yesterday was watch 1970’s prime-time television. Two episodes of Rockford Files. Two episodes of Quincy. I’m beginning to understand what space aliens might feel like when they start digging up artifacts of our culture in a millennium or so.
I sort of remember the 1970s. I was six when I left ’em behind. Even then, I remember thinking how weird people dressed. I remember ugly couches and hideous wall paper. Unfortunately the 1980s’ over-reaction to the 1970s wasn’t exactly awesome.
I found myself watching those shows, and spending more time staring at the backgrounds – looking at the cars on the road, the architecture, the signage on the streets, and the people in the distance. They didn’t use seat belts and the cars couldn’t handle worth a shit in car chases because they had shitty suspension.
I remember long road trips with my parents in our 1974 Plymouth Fury. Big boat of a car. So big, I used to believe people lived inside the dash board, and they played music whenever Dad pushed a button on the radio. I remember crawling into the back window sill and going to sleep, while my brother splayed across the backseat. A quick look at the speedometer and the needle was hovering around 70 mph.
Not a care in the world.
Probably that was the best part of the 1970s. Nothing bad ever happened to me and I can’t remember a single thing that ever upset me – nothing worth remembering anyway.
Someday, 2014 will be thirty years away. I wonder how I’ll look back upon these times. I’ve got a load on my mind right now, but how much of it will stick? How many of those worries and deep thoughts, and random slights I feel, will make it into the future with me?
I seem to have developed a deep interest in my past. It’s certainly a theme that bubbles up in this blog from time to time. I don’t know how healthy that is, but it has to be somewhat good to think about.
Perhaps it’s time for a change in routine? Maybe I’ll dedicate some thoughts to my future. See how close I can come to realizing some dreams.
In the meantime, it feels like a good time to look at where I came from – where my family came from. I wonder if my mother, grandmother or great grandmother ever sat down and wondered where they’d wind up in thirty years time?
There’s got to be some lessons worth mining from that past.