Why do I love the 70's so much? I love it because people were so honest back then. Not brutally honest like they are today; vulnerable with a sweetness, almost childlike. There was a huge drug scene, but I don't really give much attention to that in my thoughts or in my writing because it was just part of the times. A lot of that drug use was a leftover from youth: people had grown up with it from the sixties and, like a child, were having to learn how to wean. I don't discount them for it, I just leave it in the background as part of the times. Anyway, in small town Kansas, it was pretty much invisible and just a hint of society.
I was just a little girl, but I do remember people sitting on their front porches enjoying life. Girls wore bell bottoms and had long hair, guys had long hair too, and sideburns. No one really went around saying things like "Groovy" all the time. The Beatles were still being played on the radio. Pop came in cans with peel tabs (which you could find all over the gravel roads of town) or in big glass bottles. One of my favorite things was to go to Old Man Khun's grocery store across from the library Mom worked at to get a bottle of soda out of the machine. Just a quarter for that treat! Then we'd go a few more storefronts down to the drugstore where there was a huge glass display of candy, and all sorts of curiosities to look at. The old wooden floors creaked when you walked through the store; pockets empty, wish list high.
I love the 70's because if I went back in time as I am now, I'd really be able to live it as an adult. I'd take up long conversations with every hippie around, and really dig into what they have going in on their mind. I'd want to see their houses and know what their love life was like. Not cell phone on the bed-stand, cable blasting in the corner love. Real, you and me, let's get it on love.
God, maybe I am just a freak. But oh well, these are my delights. I'd also want to go back to the fifties and also the pioneer times. I could really dig hanging out with a frontiersman, with handlebar mustache and oiled leather boots. He'd build the house with his own two hands, hunt for food, and I'd cook up some supper and wait for him to come home . . .
Why are you guys reading this stuff?! Hahahahahaha. Go on, go eat breakfast or something.