I am going to be 36, the age my mom was when I was 13. I remember her being this age and sometimes feel that I'm imitating her, borrowing her voice and way of talking, her handwriting and her style. But I also keep in mind that I'm now double the years she was when she married my dad. So maybe I'm actually becoming my grandmother. I'm not sure.
Looking at these pictures of 1973, most of them not mine, is a blast from someone's past. The art and home furnishings are terrific. Or are they terrifying?
Picture from a Swedish magazine Husmodern 33/1973
Inside of a 1973 BMW
Datsun (I had one of these...)
Me and my dad, plus me in my crib with the plastic bumpers
So, what do you think? 1973 is the year of awesome, right?