My wife took a picture of my feet today, shod of course. I will post the picture. Now what's so great about a picture or my feet? Absolutely nothing, except the shoes I happen to have been wearing are kind of a throwback to another era, an era where the memories for me are nothing but happy memories. Those years, of course, are the forties and early fifties.

I write frequently about the forties in fiction and in essay form because it makes me feel good, and why not since I'm a recreational writer and don't have to pound computer keys for a living. In this case the reckless slogan of the sixties is apropos, 'IF IT FEELS GOOD, DO IT'.

Seeing those shoes reminds me of swing music, jitterbugging, the WWII homefront, characters in the movies of the time epitomized by Van Johnson and June Allison, Rosie the riveter, the movies SWING SHIFT, THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES, and SINCE YOU WENT AWAY.

The years of the forties were growing up years for me, and contrary to most popular recollections of those times, were good and happy years for me, and times were certainly changing and would continue to do so through the sixties, when times became ugly after the assassinations of the sixties.

But if I become too somber all I have to do is grab these shoes from the closet and like Alladin's lamp, POOF, I'm back in the forties.