Born in the 60's

 I turn 50 this year.  Lot's of things were born in 1969.  Sesame Street, Woodstock, the Stonewall Riots, men walking on the moon, Belikan Beer (Hey Belize!  I see your Go Slow selves out there!).  So many things turn 50 this year.  Including me.   Any time there is a season of momentous change and innovation, inevitably, the times preceding it are rife with unrest and disequilibrium.  I give you, 1968.

My friend Jennifer is a super-smart writer and she contributed to my current read: 1968: Today's Authors Explore a Year of Rebellion, Revolution, and Change. 

It is an anthology of non-fiction stories revolving around the climate of rebellion and unrest and revolution and, ultimately, change that made up 1968.  I'm eager to read her work.  I'm eager to read all the work.  Am I eager to turn 50?  Well, I suppose that is yet to be seen.  I might be up for some rebellion, some revolution, and certainly some change.

When All You Have is a Paper Placemat

Save the waitresses, I am the only woman in the whole restaurant. The counter, the booths, the tables are all occupied by old men. A few sit by themselves, absorbed in their newspapers and eggs. Most of them, though, sit in groups of three or four. They talk about the things of those who aren't old enough to be elderly but for whom youth is faint. From the corner booth, I hear snippets of wives, of diabetes, of boyhood fistfights. Bravado is gone and these men, in their knit beanies, remember being afraid to fight but doing it anyway. The tenderness with which they treat one another is wrapped in a crunchy layer of ribbing and is beautiful.

For that one, serene coffee shop moment, I see these men as the they boys they once were, that they still are, behind their grey beards and their glasses and the careful chewing of toast.