Here’s another of my Forecaster columns:
My high school buddies printed that adjective under my senior picture in our 1967 yearbook. I more or less knew what it meant, something like zippy or peppy, which fit since I’d been a cheerleader for four years. Even last year at age 68, I popped out of my seat at a party and began to boogie the instant I heard the first notes of Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl,” also from 1967.
My mother, then 91, watched me hop until right after “laughing and a-running, hey, hey, skipping and a-jumping,” then pursed her lips, pointed her finger and scolded, “Susan, SIT. Quiet down!”
She flashed me what I’ve dubbed “the look” – those tight eyes and pulled-in cheeks – and I bopped out of her sight. Later, since I live with buoyant spirit, I looked up “effervescent:” bubbling, vibrant, sparkling.