the last of the fifties

We were not gearing up for hippie times; we were still clutched in the last grasp of Queen Victoria. Although Betty Friedan must have been putting the finishing touches on The Feminine Mystique, not one word of that news, as far as I know, had leaked inside the redbrick wall that surrounded the campus. This was the cusp of the sixties, the last of the fifties. Marriage still was the first order of business; any career ideas could be tucked around the edges. Though we were walking up to the verge of change, the college still remained in the holding pattern.

. . . When I returned to graduate school as an adult, I could no longer remember why I’d had trouble in college courses. By then I’d caught on to cause and effect, the basic idea that one sometimes does one thing in order to be able to do another.

Under Magnolia by Frances Mayes

under magnolia




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