It was a below the calf, black, full skirted dress with big, pink roses and a zipper up the front. (It was my favorite dress for a few years, until I bought the red, backless, belted summer dress with the tropical black print.) I paid fifty cents for that dress, which was made in the 1950s. I wore it with heels and cowgirl boots and I wore it barefoot. I wore it in every season. I wore it to play in and I wore it to class. I think I slept in it on a few occasions. It was a lot of fun for fifty cents.
I bought that dress the year I also wore bib overalls with see-through shirts (also from the 50s, also less than a dollar) and climbing boots. I wore mens sweaters and mens white shirts with silk ties, tucked neatly into jeans, slipped over the top of cowgirl boots. I had long hair then, well past my waist, usually tied into a thick braid.
Those few years were commuted on a red Bridgestone MB1, one of the first mountain bikes made. I nearly wore out a Nikon FM and two pairs of EB ‘sticky sole’ rock climbing boots. I owned a 7 colour Powderhorn prototype tent that never went into production because they decided no one in their right mind would sleep in a 7 colour tent. I loved that tent but it was heavy.
Those were the years of espresso instead of sleep and of dozens of pots of red amaryllis on the dining room table. They were the years of outside kilns, and handmade books and running six miles a day. They were the years of finger tip pullups on door jams and of spending weekends in Boulder canyon. Those were the years when I hadn’t yet learned that every action has a reaction, even though some actions have a really remarkably, wonderfully, amazingly long time between their execution and their comeuppance.