Finding vintage from the 1980s

      Our nephews often stop by to visit, grab some snack food, drink a Pepsi or just sit on the couch to talk. They are always welcome.
       The other day I sent my oldest nephew a text inviting him to join me on a garage sale hunting excursion at Lake Ponderosa on Memorial Day weekend.
      He stopped by that evening and said he would not be able to go for some reason. I went last year and snatched up some nice finds, including a Disney doll house from the 1960s – 1970s with some original furniture. I don’t collect doll houses, but the price was right.
      Anyway, our oldest nephew loves to talk about his goats or share the latest on the  Johnny Deep and Amber Heard trial or some other hot news topic of the day.
         Somehow the topic of vintage came up and he was talking about the 1980s now being vintage. 
           My goodness, I’m thinking, the 1980s are now vintage?
          Maybe he is right. I did buy my first new car 38-years ago, a 1984 Chevrolet Cavalier hatchback with a 2.5 liter engine, front wheel drive and a five speed transmission. I loved that car and about drove the wheels off of it.
         I sold it in 1992 and used the money to buy four chairs for my oak kitchen table and pay the deposit and first month’s rent on my duplex apartment in Ashland, Mo. when I returned to college at the University of Missouri-Columbia.
         I purchased my second and last new vehicle in 1989, a Chevrolet S-10 pickup. I drove it for 21 years and 260,000 plus miles before selling it in 2010. That was a good old truck, or city truck as Debbie often says.
       And to take this vintage thing a step further, earlier that day I turned on the radio and they were playing hits from the 1980s all day. The song playing was “Long Train Running,” by the Dobbie Brothers. Such an appropriate song for modern times.
     It just happens that my first rock concert was the Dobbie Brothers at the Tulsa Assembly Center in April 1979. My concert ticket was $6.
      It’s scary to realize that I’ve been out of high school for 44-years, the class of 1978, and that my 50thclass reunion is in six years. It was just the other day that I was in kindergarten and graduating high school, let alone going to class reunions.
    I love to go antiquing and buying old post cards. I understand that a postcard from 1940s is old, not the 1980s.
       People and things do get old and how we communicate changes almost daily.
       When I was in school there were no computers, cell phones, texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Tik Tok or ordering and paying on-line. However, I did enjoy the comforts of an electric typewriter and talking to friends and family in “real time” person.
      We didn’t have seat belts in cars until the 1980s and I can remember our dial telephone on the wall with a long cord that reached the bathroom. And wearing a helmet while riding a bicycle wasn’t even considered. 
        Of all the social media, Facebook is my favorite. I enjoy posting a funny of the day and sharing highlights of my life while reconnecting with school chums and family. I still don’t understand Twitter and I have never posted on Instagram. I prefer to call people on the phone.
       I don’t have Snapchat or Tik Tok accounts and have no plans to download the social media services anytime soon.
         I do a lot of texting, but thanks to autocorrect, my texts are often a mess. I don’t know how many times I’ve told the wrong person I loved them, thinking I was texting Debbie.
      The other day I was trying to send some photos to a person via text and somehow, thanks to autocorrect, typed the wrong address and they ended up in France. The fellow wrote and said I sent them to him by mistake.
      My dad loved to visit and no one was a stranger to him. I still like that better than social media. Maybe I will make a new friend while out garage sale hunting. I’m sure I will find something vintage from the 1980s. 
     Have a great week and always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.