Milli Gilbaugh

I belong to three organizations that are made up of some very talented and creative people. In all three instances, I feel flattered to be accepted as an equal and I have great respect for the opinions they share about the things we create, both individually and as a group. One group (the one with the broadest scope) consists of professional women writers, artists and composers of music. As a writer and artist, I feel pretty much at home among the others, even though their talents often seem unattainable compared to the things that I am able to come up with.

I’ve always thought it interesting that things without names seem to be somehow more fascinating, mysterious, or just plain scary than things that have names. Names serve a variety of functions: some are descriptive, such as, waterfall, fireplace, sweet corn, football field. Those give us an image of the thing and explain its use. Most names, of course are simply nouns that provide basic information but can cover a wide range of similar ideas. These are things like teacher, vehicle, building, toy and moisture.

As I was surfing my way through the dearth of summer television choices one Saturday evening not long ago, I came upon an old black and white Lawrence Welk program that had been taped in the 1960s. A wholesome-looking young couple was dancing and singing a love song about how nice it was to be holding each other close, feeling safe and cherished, while they danced. And, for some reason, that song took me right back to the late 1940s and early 1950s when I was a daydreaming, romantic teenager myself.

In the 1940s, when I was in elementary school, we looked forward to that final day of classes with more than a small bit of trepidation. The reason for this anxiety was the question of whether or not we had passed. Would we be going on to the next grade level, or would we be forced to face the shame of having failed and being required to repeat this entire school year? We would know the answer to that fearful question by the end of this short, final day of school, but for now there were other matters to take care of.

My dad taught me not to buy anything unless I have the money to pay for it, so I seldom use a credit card. Without it, I can get hardly anything online. Does that mean that I’m not entitled to them? Has some law been passed that requires me to have a credit card in order to maintain my rights as a citizen? There are several things that aren’t available to people who don’t have credit cards, such as tickets, rental cars, ordering flowers or making motel reservations over the telephone.