Life Is Such A Sweet Insanity.

Occasionally I’ll browse old yearbooks online. Usually I’m looking at the architecture of the 1930s and 1940s era education buildings, often in their Art Deco glory. I also like seeing the cultural differences between what was then and what was now. So much segregation. Disheartening.

I was browsing a random 1958 yearbook and noticed that one of the classmates in many of the photos had a full beard. In 1958 I believe this was very unusual. Clean shaven was the name of the game at that time in U.S. history and I’m curious as to why this young man decided to sport a full beard in high school long before the hippie movement. What was his deal? What were his aspirations?

This young man, we’ll call him Bill, is clean shaven in his senior portrait, so either mom or dad, or both, said, “you’re going to look respectable in your senior class photo, young man!”. Or perhaps he just decided to shave that day. But in all the other photos of Bill in this yearbook, and in the preceding year as well, he was sporting a full beard.

Looking at his senior portrait, Bill was a striking young man. According to his bio, he was also quite involved in school activities. He was well rounded, participating in both sporting and non-sporting activities.

I’m curious as to what motivated this rebellion exhibited by a full beard. Did he live the rest of his life as a rebellious type? Having graduated in 1958, he’s probably 80 years old by now.

Oh, and the clocks in this school were made by International Business Machines, commonly known as IBM.

Edit (10 minutes later): So I decided to Google this man and see if there’s anything online about him. I found his obituary dated 2017. The photo shown in the obit confirmed it was indeed the same man. He was very active in his community, served in the Marines, and had a lovely, thriving family. As some would say, he came from and raised good stock. He had a beard when he died as well. His might have not been the rebel I imagined him to be, but he lived a good, solid, productive life. RIP.

I’ve been shaving my head, for the most part, since shortly before my 30th birthday. This was not something I aspired doing for the majority of my adult life. Prior to age 29 I had a flattop or military style high and tight, in glorious red of all things, and I really liked having that hairstyle. But when it became apparent I didn’t have enough left on top to pull the haircut off anymore, I had the barber buzz it down to a buzz cut and then I ended up just shaving it. I wasn’t ready to be bald and to show the world who’s boss, I got rid of the future deserters before they deserted and left me completely bare on top. That’ll show them.

All of my male cousins have full heads of hair. My dad and my paternal uncle (my godfather) were both bald by 40, though, they worked a combover of sorts and made it work without looking ridiculous. They didn’t have the defined Male Pattern Baldness so much as they were just very thin on top. My paternal grandfather led the way with the very thin hair on top, my maternal grandfather had thin hair on top as well, though he managed to make it work. Me? I went bare on top and had the typical male pattern baldness by age 30.

I wasn’t ready for that. Luckily, my husband found my shaved head sexy and I just made it work. I’ve had more than one barber tell me I had the perfectly shaped head for a shaved head.

When I was growing up and working in the family business, there were two customers with shaved heads that came in on a regular basis. One was a social studies teacher at the local high school and he worked it, though his first name was Nester and I always found that creepy. The other was an old guy that sold things out of the back door of the barbershop across the street. He didn’t work it and I found him creepy too. I did not want to be one of those guys with a shaved head, but in order for me to embrace my baldness, I had to be bald bald and own it.

At age 52 I’m sick of shaving my head. I can literally do it with my eyes closed. I don’t use a mirror, I don’t do it in front of a sink, I just shave in the shower in a definitive pattern, all by feel, and I can get it done faster than my contemporaries can wash their hair.

I’m still sick of shaving my head.

So I’ve stopped. At age 52, if I let my sides and back grow in a little bit it’s clearly gray and by this point in my life I’m ready to embrace the gray. I’ve earned it. I might as well let it show a little bit.

My beard? Same thing, it’s still ginger and sugar but it’s much more sugar than ginger. I’m not ready for a gray beard yet, and the idea of coloring it doesn’t work for me, so I still have a clean shaven face but I’m letting the scruff grow in on the sides and back of my head. I’ll keep it buzzed close; I have all the equipment for it.

I’ve always liked the look Patrick Stewart or Rod Corddry (above) has sported. I find the look distinguished. I’m ready for that. That distinguished look gives me confidence and let’s me show my years proudly.

And I’m good with that.

It’s been 40 years but I can remember it as clear as if it was yesterday. It was Christmas season 1980. You walked in the front door of the grocery store P&C Foods. Gumball machines straight ahead. To left, a Rite Aid department store. To the right, you stepped on the “magic mat” and the door opened to the P&C Foods grocery store. There was an orange wall to the left and then five checkout counters. Shopping carts on the right. Grab a cart. I push, mom is behind me, my sister trails along. The electronic cash registers are clattering their receipt tape as we pass by, register five, four, three, two, one. Delores was always at register two, Betty was always at register one. Then came register six, an express lane that was never used. A short woman named Anita watched over everything from the courtesy desk that was elevated; the never used express lane was attached to that. The colorful globes indicating the checkout number had been removed and replaced with stickers on the front and side of the cash register. To the right, bird seed and big bags of dog food. Beyond the courtesy desk (which faced into the store, away from the entrance lane), on the left were a few plants and then a little alcove with three walls of bread. Make our way around the alcove, left turn, left turn, on the right were loaves of Italian bread in wax paper. They were marked 79 cents with a purple “BAKERY” price sticker. I loved that bread. Mom would get a loaf. Would Betty or Delores press the “BAKERY” key on the register? Delores usually did, Betty did not, she just hit “GROCERY”. It would be years before scanning would enter into the picture.

Before we turned out of the alcove and into produce (vegetables on the left, fruit on the right), there was a small section of free standing shelves. On those shelves, from top to bottom, Archway cookies!

During the holidays we’d get the Archway Cashew Nougat cookies. Little white cookie delights with pieces of cashews in them. I could eat a whole package myself; the package was a three-quarters height cardboard arrangement with cellophane over the top. How I loved those cookies. They beat the Girl Scouts by a mile.

This past weekend, my husband and I were breezing through Target (in a socially responsible manner) and I saw a small assortment of these Archway cookies on display. The packaging is different, the logo has been modernized, and neither Delores, Betty, nor Anita were at the checkouts. When we departed, we used register 12. There was a glad shield between us and the cashier, the printers did not clack out a receipt, and there was scanning.

The cookies taste similar, but not quite the same. The sweetness is different. It’s stronger than it used to be. The texture of the cookies is the same, but something is different with the balance. Maybe it’s high fructose syrup or something. I don’t want to look. I’m just happy I can taste things. It means our breezing through Target has not been detrimental to our health.

The P&C Foods was one of two chain grocery stores in our little village in Upstate New York, though by December 1980 the Acme Markets had departed the building on the north side of the village and had quickly been replaced by an independent chain called Super Duper. The owner of the new Super Duper in the old Acme building used to be the manager of the P&C. They had Archway cookies as well, but they were last, right before the registers. There were just four cash registers at the Super Duper and they were leftovers from when Acme had the space. They were large and brown and mechanical and made by National. Register three was replaced with an electronic FJay Cash Register shortly after Super Duper took over; the National from the late 1950s apparently had bit the dust. There was no bread alcove, just a wall of bread with no purple “BAKERY” price stickers.

But there were Archway cookies there as well. Better pick an extra package up for the holidays