Golden Flashes Of The Past
It has been a while since I wrote anything more elaborate than my inconsistent signature on credit card slips. I am still a believer that if one has nothing profound or witty to say, one should rather listen attentively. The written word should be treated no differently.
Memories are a very special, alternative reality. They may manifest in the warm blush of fondness or lead us to recoil in biased horror. How one recalls the past is coloured by our subjectivity. Our memories could never be stroked with the brush of objectivity.
In my twenties, I recall many challenges but with an overall optimism that seems to prevail through my mind. The same cannot be said of my childhood and young life. There are very few pleasant memories, all viewed through the cruel lens of subjective bias.
There was a certain raw enthusiasm, a lust for life, and a general sense of expectancy in my twenties. After all, did we not have the great epic aspirations set by TV series such as “Dallas” & “Dynasty”? Ok, so the hair styles were larger than life (or elegance), the verve was bathed in Champagne, and the wealth was forever amassed.
I recall that more hours were spent on getting ready than were probably actually spent looking good. The clothes immaculate, the car polished, and all else that matters to a young socialite (on a budget). I recall fondly – although with some shaking of the head – how we would go home after work on a Friday to begin the prep work for a great weekend of social expectation and yearning.
For a while there was a night club – excuse me… THE night club – aptly named “Idols” and quite honestly, one just could not be seen there before midnight. It was quite acceptable to venture forth from idols at 6am but never to arrive before morning. 12pm was the magical hour when all the world suddenly arrived en masse, fresh as the morning dew over a fragrant meadow. It was as if the glitterati simply beamed in without so much as rumpled designer label.
I recall some of the fashion ideas I got into my head. For a while I wore braces with my jeans. Now I glance at my middle aged middle section and wonder how my waist was trim enough to be able to have carried it off.
Then in my latter twenties there was the formidable foursome. We went everywhere together. There was even a silly dance that got started – most unexpectedly – because a pop song brought to the mind of one of the foursome, most unintelligibly, the image of a maid sloshing about a mop. Much to our great amusement it actually caught on to some degree and soon complete nitwits were fashionably “mopping” the dance floor. If they only knew…
As I sit in bed in the early hours and write this (as was my fashion when I wrote more prolifically) I ask my myself the question; what is next? They say life begins at forty but I find it too early to tell.
Yip I still have a pair just like this but not the stomach to go with them! 
