Now that makes me feel old.
Well, my granddaughter wanted to know what’s a hippie, because she was supposed to dress up as one for camp. (!)
Our daughter told her they used to dress like this and your saba and savta were hippies.
Hmmmm. No we were not. Everyone dressed like that in those days; we didn’t know any better. But we were much too much of intellectuals (I don’t know how to get that grammatically correct, which is of course, ironic with what I just wrote) to be that free, man.
And anyway, our youngest son and daughter-in-law dress like that now and they aren’t hippies, are they? And they do indeed know better.
Yesterday, I needed to light the oven at shul, this monster commercial Vulcan oven, and so I called the board member in charge of house for help. He turned on the gas, opened up the oven, taking it apart just a little, and pulled out this contraption that he had put together to hold a match to reach the ignition point. I admired it and he admitted that he had put it together after seeing a plumber (maybe an electrician?) with such a contraption. Basically, it was a piece of plastic tube with a clip on the end to hold the match. His teenage kids said to him, “Dad, that’s a roach clip!”
Now the funny part is that this man is a straight and narrow as they possibly come. He knew what one was but couldn’t even give any retort besides, “No, it isn’t.”
I’ll skip the bellbottoms, thank you. It’s too hot for flowing skirts in the middle of summer. Love isn’t free and easy, ever. I’m too tired to dance now, even in the kitchen.
But I’ll be singing a whole lot of those songs for a long time, G-d willing.
Because it really is all about the music.