I was a teenage wallflower. I sat at dances, usually dateless, sometimes accompanied by my younger brother -- oh! the ignominy of going to a prom with one's brother -- that surely is enough to tell anyone that nostalgia for high school is nonexistent in my emotional kitbag.
I went, with some coercion, to a '50s-'60s dance for the Academy of Lifelong Learning yesterday afternoon. The "excusion down memory lane" was not a happy trip, although the pizza they served was good (but back in those days pizza had not made it Boondock, Indiana.
Several people, some of whom were couples married for over 50 years, danced up a storm, just the joyous body movements I always wished I knew how to make and had a partner to do it with. I watched with as much envy as ever. A couple of guys tried to get me to dance well with them, I could not. Still stiff and uncertain and locked in a time warp I would have loved to break out of but was firmly chained, never, probably, to be unlocked..
Wallflower-hood (even without the shyness about talking to all the other people wandering around) is just as lousy at 70-plus as it was at 17. And they didn't even play slow dances, not that there was anyone I wanted to slow dance with although that might have taken the edge off the dissatisfaction.
Lesson learned; but I'm a bit grumpy about it today.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!