I decided to start this blog one evening while I was sitting on the deck of my suburban house in this overcrowded part of New Jersey. It was freezing cold, but I was looking for a little privacy. A full moon floated serenely across the sky (unaware of its impending colonization by the Bush administration) accompanied by the traffic noise from the nearby state highway. The minivan was in the garage for the night and from the family room, I could hear the TV through the closed sliding doors. Sometimes it is hard not to feel middle-aged melancholy.

My daughter tells me, "You are so lucky to have lived in the fifties!" Of course, her ideas of the fifties are based on multiple viewings of the deluxe DVD version of "Grease." She sees herself as Olivia Newton-John opposite the then-young John Travolta. Her enthusiasm only reminded me further of my decrepitude. Am I really that old? True, I actually do remember girls in poodle skirts (I had an amazing memory, despite being an infant) and seeing then-president Eisenhower on TV. Eisenhower was an avid golfer and my father, a Stevenson supporter and old-time socialist, used to compare Eisenhower's bald head to a golf ball. I wonder what's next for me. Giving an oral history to the Smithsonian?
3:03:01 PMcomment []  #