SWINGING 60'S STYLE- GROOVY

Listening to some "Solid Gold Oldies" as I toil in my garden, aka Little Versailles, a Herman Hermits song came on. All of a sudden a rush of memories vaulted through my mind. One jumped out at me, dickies. Nope, not the men's work gloves and clothing. Dickies in the "swinging 60's" were faux turtle necks that slipped over your head and just enough material left to cover the opening of a shirt or sweater. They were generally made of cotton with an array of colors. As stated, they were always worn under a shirt or sweater (especially) for that extra cool look. My mainstay were white and black dickies. Everyone wore them. They epitomized the British look of the time aside from the haircuts. You wore them everywhere and especially to the school Sock Hop to illustrate just how GROOVY you were.

Wlmot Mountain (sic)

Recently, Emily moved back home and around Christmas went skiing with a friend at Wilmot Mountain…..and I use the term “mountain” quite loosely….and was offered a job as a ski instructor. Well, this brought back a flood of memories of early ski trips to Wilmot and Alpine Valley in the late 60’s and early 70’s – long before we discovered that skiing could be done on anything but ice. Wilmot was a favorite weekend destination, but I have few recollections of daytime skiing and exclusive memories of nighttime skiing in subzero temps with a biting wind chill and long lift (ha!) lines. We went at night because we were cheap and the price dropped after 5 pm. We were, of course, well-fortified with hot spiced wine and beer.

Waiting in long lift lines for a 5 minute run was the bane of our existence. The rope tow offered a potentially shorter wait but ran the risk that someone would fall going up, and like a series of dominos, everyone behind him would stop and then fall over. We were well-dressed for chic Midwestern night skiing with blue jeans and navy pea-coats. After an hour, our jeans would become stiff with ice. Our ski boots were a late form of medieval torture with something called “flow foam” that was supposed to form around your feet as it warmed up but never did. Nirvana was taking off your ski boots and having blood return to your painful feet. New Years Eve was a particularly interesting time to ski Wilmot….and I recall seeing a drunken skier face down on the slope with his skis crossed behind him and he was laughing and saying “I can’t get up! I just can’t get up!”.

The long drive home down Wilmot Road to Route 12 to Barrington was filled with recounting tales of bravado and daring-do. Ahhhh, memories!

HITCHIN' ON - Rockford

Well, many families encounter at least one member who is the finicky eater/ food tester. I earned this title quite easily by being a guinea pig for a few concoctions devised by RJ and DJ. Remember the commercial that had the line" Let Mickey try it." Well, in the early 1950's, Mickey was KJ. Enough about how I developed the superior refined palate I enjoy today, but what I developed and that evolved to became the nuance of foodie compartmentalization- Hitchin' On.

At times, we were not always really sure what was set before us at dinner. In the plating process, items got lost in another. I still suspect, to this day, that this practice was to confuse the eater and distort what may actually have been in the food. I, for one, was taking no chances. Even at a young age, I refused to eat any food group on the plate that appeared to co mingle with any other- AKA "Hitchin On." Hey, even the juices from green beans oozing over into the mashed potatoes sent me into a tizz. I refused to eat. First, dad would rationalize that it all goes to the same place. Didn't help- only made matters worse thinking about that. Second, brute force. Sometimes successful, but usually a messy affair and lots of post effort clean up. Third, and the most effective- no TV- go to bed. This became time well spent examining the pros and cons of blending foods- now called FUSION. Your welcome....................................