05.05.07
Posted in Uncategorized, babble, life's stories at 11:50 pm by Deb
Life is full of strange twists. I just recently saw the movie “Following Sean.” It’s about a filmaker’s reconnection with a young man who was the subject of an award winning film he made in college. Sean was a 4-year old living upstairs from Ralph Arleck in Haight Ashbury, San Francisco in the late 60s. The original film is a series of “interviews” with him. “Following Sean” is a look at how his life turned out many years later. There were many predictions made, by people who had seen the original film, about how Sean would turn out. As someone who raised her children in a very unorthodox environment, I was very anxious to see the film. I had mixed feelings about it and got into a very interesting conversation about it with my daughter. The next day, I still had our conversation on my mind all day. When I checked my e-mail, I found that someone had commented on my blog entry about living in the artist commune, Project One, in San Francisco. I also found an e-mail from an old friend who happened to live in a sister commune, Project Artaud, at around the same time. I hadn’t heard from him in a while and was a little struck by the serendipity of his timing. However, I was completely blown away by the comment which was from a woman who actually lived at Project One when she was 9-years old. I immediately wrote back to her and have been fascinated by her own struggles throughout her life as a result of her experiences. I told her that many of us who raised children during those wild times made mistakes and might do things differently today, but all in all loved our children and thought we made the right choices at the time. We were running from what we saw as an oppressive society and looking for more freedom, giving that freedom in turn to our children. A lot of good things came out of that time, and all of our experiences made us who we are today. I keep wondering why I’m having these connections with that time all of a sudden. What is the message here? Once again, I wanted to share it with X, but he’s not here to enjoy the irony of it all. Hopefully he’s chuckling about it wherever he ended up. I hope I can keep the connection with this woman. She is a wonderful artist. I’ve enjoyed our e-mail conversations so far and hope to have more.
Permalink
04.21.07
Posted in life's stories at 8:02 am by Deb
A few weeks after the Magic Kingdom, my first child was born. My due date was on my birthday. That night we had a small birthday party for me. Everyone sat around watching me for any signs of labor. It was, without a doubt, the strangest and most uncomfortable birthday I have ever had. I finally threw everyone out, though X’s sister stayed for the weekend. The next evening, my water broke. This was it! We were both convinced we were having a boy. She certainly surprised us! Still a traveler in my soul, I was planning to hitchhike to the hospital when the time came. When A heard about this, she insisted on driving me. 19 hours later, here was my daughter - a true beauty. Was I disappointed at not having a son? Not even for a moment. I loved her more than I thought was possible. We almost named her “Karma” being the hippies that we were. I decided that I didn’t want to saddle my child with a name that might be hard to live with somewhere other than California, and being a “gypsy”, I wasn’t sure where we might end up. X also reminded me what the word meant. Did we really want a child named Karma? Our friends at the time named their daughter “Honey Tree”. We settled on a mainstream name. I did, however, change the spelling of her middle name from Lee to Lea because of the numerology involved. Lee would have made her name a “4″. Since she was already a Virgo, I didn’t think a 4 was a great idea - attention to detail, critical, lots of the same characteristics. The Lea spelling made her name a 9 - a very powerful, out-going, take charge of your life number. Boy, did she ever take charge! (and has continued to do so…) Although she did have problems with kids in school for being raised so differently, no one ever teased her about her name. I couldn’t really do anything about the different lifestyle, though I did try to compromise some. Sorry Fyre, by the time you reached schoolage, you had already taken your first steps in the VW bus while driving down the road somewhere in Arkansas. And, you had already been to more Grateful Dead shows than most adults and hung out with street musicians, jugglers and artists. I couldn’t take that back and wouldn’t want to anyway. It helped make you the beautiful and unusual person you are now.
Permalink
07.12.06
Posted in Uncategorized, life's stories at 11:38 pm by Deb
Okay, it may be cheating to use lyrics to one of my own co-written songs, but the song was inspired by this adventure. Before I get to the adventure though, I need to get to the lead in to the adventure. We were settling in to life in Santa Cruz, collecting an odd assortment of friends and acquaintances and starting to feel like a family, albeit a rather unique family, but family nonetheless. We had started out living communally with another couple in a house a little removed from the downtown area. One day a tiny puppy started following us home. This wee thing followed us down the sidewalk for a block, tumbled off the curb as we crossed the street and whined and cried when he couldn’t climb back up onto the sidewalk. We kept discouraging him, hoping he would go home, but soon realized he was hopelessly lost or abandoned. After checking with all the neighbors in the area, we took him home. Topaz was a very sweet pup of about 3 weeks. Shortly after this, our friends had to leave the state so we moved into an apartment about 3 blocks from the beach - and The Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, California’s oldest amusement park and a designated State Historic Landmark. Home to two National Historic Landmarks, a 1911 Looff Carousel and 1924 Giant Dipper roller coaster, it has been owned and operated by the Santa Cruz Seaside Company since 1915. The big draw for me was The Giant Dipper. I have always had a weakness for roller coasters, especially wooden ones, so I walked down to the beach everyday for at least one ride until the last 2 weeks of my pregnancy.
When we looked at the apartment, we asked about pets. The landlord told us we could have our dog if he was small. He certainly was - and also very young. We had no idea that he would turn out to be part St. Bernard and part Malamute. We moved in and, because it was so close to downtown, X started bringing home a motley assortment of characters for coffee, or a meal, or to stay the night. Pretty soon, these folks started showing up on their own, not waiting for an invitation, obviously knowing a good thing when they saw it. We had mostly travelers and homeless people of various ilks. X brought one guy home who had been given 6 doses of electroshock therapy by accident and had won some big lawsuit. He came with an entourage of people living off his unfortunate fortune. Topaz started barking before he even came into the driveway and never stopped until he was at least a block away. One of these couples that X had collected asked us to keep their two Great Dane puppies for an hour or two while they ran an errand. Two days and much damage later, we took them to the pound. The owners were furious when they returned the next day. We were creating the same situation we had run from in Connecticut, and I needed to get out!
Our friend A wanted to go on a mini-vacation to Southern California. I grew up watching the Mickey Mouse Club on TV and had always wanted to go to Disneyland.
M-I-C - See ya real soon!
K-E-Y - Why? Because we like you!
M-O-U-S-E!!
Woo-Hoo…Anaheim, here we come. We couldn’t find anyone to watch our dog for us (talk about Karma), so we packed him up and away we went. There was a kennel at Disneyland where you could board your dog for the day, so we did. We got good and high before we went in, but not so much that we couldn’t pass the “attitude inspectors” at the gate. At that time Disneyland was refusing entry to anyone who looked suspicious. I mean c’mon now, this was an All-American place. Besides, in 1970, some yippies tried to take over Tom Sawyer Island in an attempt to “liberate Minnie Mouse.” Surprisingly enough, we made it through. It could have had something to do with the fact that I was almost 8 1/2 months pregnant. Anyway, we got in and went on quite a few rides, including the Matterhorn, which was very disappointing. For one thing, they almost didn’t let me ride on it. I had to argue for a long time and finally signed a waiver releasing them of any responsibility if I were to go into premature labor. We decided to go into the Haunted House but … as we were riding the train past the kennels we were sure we could hear Topaz whining for us. And … our “inspiration” had worn off and our feet were firmly planted back on the ground. We picked up the dog at the kennel and headed off for the parking lot. We had heard that there were cameras and undercover people throughout the park, and didn’t want to take any risks. Our inspiration made two rounds between the three of us when we suddenly heard and saw two three-wheeled vehicles racing down the roadway. X threw our inspiration away, and we leaned against the car nonchalantly. One of the Disney cops got off his vehicle and said, “Okay, where is it?” X replied, “Where’s what, officer?” We all heard a voice on the two-way radio, “It’s under the blue Impala.” The officer leaned down, picked it up and said, “Hmm, still burning, too.” We were amazed. That parking lot was huge. You couldn’t see the end of it - like a big sea of cars. How did they see us? They started to harass us, so X got real cocky, mouthing off about the laws for Marijuana having been changed recently - until the officer informed us that the new law didn’t go into effect yet. X then got very nice and cooperative, giving them two more joints out of his pocket when they asked if we had any more and telling them that, “no, we hadn’t gotten it here, but had gotten from a guy named Stoney in Golden Gate Park.” Amazingly, they believed us, or maybe they were just bored. Anyway we got away with the large quantity in the trunk of the car and didn’t get locked up in the underground Disney jail. That’s right, at least at that time, Disneyland didn’t have to report to the Anaheim police, but had their own security compound (jail) and complex security system including camera on most of the light poles in the parking lot. The Disney cop finally said in a gruff way, “Okay, get out! And don’t come back for the rest of day.” “What, that’s it,” we didn’t say. X did ask how they knew we were out there getting high in their parking lot. The cop replied, “The Mouse is everywhere.” We went to Knott’s Berry Farm and returned to the enchanted kingdom the next day fully inspired and hit the Haunted House first thing. It was worth the wait.
875 © 1975 P&D Cavanaugh
Everybody’s worried about Big Brother
Looking over their shoulders checking one another
While old man Disney is frozen in ice
Making sure someday he gets his slice
And I say people beware because the Mouse is everywhere.
Yes, I say people beware because the Mouse is everywhere.
Well there’s Disney world and there’s Disneyland
And Epcot Center so big and grand
And one in Japan and one who knows where
With mansions in the sky and castles in the air
But I say people beware because the Mouse is everywhere.
Yes, I say people beware because the Mouse is everywhere.
Yes, he’s everywhere…watch out now.
Well there’s the Disney channel with Disney ads
Following fashions and all the latest fads
It’s a world of laughter, a world of fun
Reality’s gone. Imagination’s begun
And I say people beware, because the Mouse is everywhere.
Yes, I say people beware, because the Mouse is everywhere.
Yes, he’s everywhere…watch out now…why, because we like you!
Permalink
06.27.06
Posted in Uncategorized, life's stories at 9:59 pm by Deb
One of my favorite shows I saw while in the Bay area was a Bill Graham fund raiser for San Francisco schools. It was called SNACK Sunday (Students Need Activities Care and Kicks). The proceeds were meant to go toward a shortfall in San Francisco’s education budget for music, art, and sports, but the school board announced a day before the concert that it had “found” the necessary $2 million. It was an unbelievable and very bizarre line-up and went on all day long, from morning until night. Graham Central Station opened. “You know how hard it is to be funky at 10:30 Sunday mornin’?” Sly and the Family Stone, Neil Young then Dylan with (most of) The Band, Santana, Tower of Power, Starship, Earth, Wind and Fire, Tower of Power, Doobie Brothers, Santana, Joan Baez and more; billed as Jerry Garcia and friends, the Dead indeed showed up with Merle, Ned and Keith on keys. There was lots of mingling and jamming onstage and the show went on and on. What an amazing day! Some of the special guests between bands were Marlon Brando and Willie Mays. Willie Mays came out and said, “I’m Willie Mays and I think what you people are doin’ is great!” Bob Dylan closed the show with Neil Young, Rick Danko, Levon Helm and others. They did “Knockin’ on Heavens Door”, then got everyone who was left there on stage and tried to do “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” though no one could remember the words. After the first opening chorus, they all looked at each other to sing a verse, realized that it wasn’t happening, so they just did the chorus over and over again with great harmonies and instrumental leads in between. Tickets were $5.50 At the end of the show, we all just took over the streets around Golden Gate Park.
Permalink
Posted in Uncategorized, life's stories at 9:28 pm by Deb
Northern California in 1975 was a very interesting place to be. There were lots of refugees from Viet Nam landing on the west coast. Pretty quickly, we met a man who had relocated there and was a big dealer in “pot.” X quickly made contact through another fellow who I thought was rather sleazy, though I often thought that about many of the characters X brought around. After all, we had come all the way across the country to get away from the hardcore drug scene and were getting ready to raise a child. I didn’t want to jump right back into it all over again. I was getting better about asking X not to bring everyone home, but he still kept his contacts outside of our home. This guy only dealt in pounds, so X decided to start collecting some money from friends and buy one “communally.” He finally had all the money together and went to meet Contact A who would then take him to Contact B. The rest of us eagerly awaited his return. Pot was very cheap back then, but none of us had much money so a pound, even among a few friends, was a big but exciting investment. It had been a while since X and I were in that business, and this was a new area. I was a little nervous. Well, X met Contact A who told him that Contact B would leave a paper bag under the bridge, walk up the hill past X who would then pass him the money, then go down to pick up the bag. X didn’t really like this idea, but they wouldn’t do it any other way, so he agreed. Everything went as planned, and X picked up the bag and brought it home. He walked in the door, went to the kitchen, got out a knife and some plates, opened up the bag took the “pound” out and sliced up some delicious pound cake in equal portions for all who had contributed. At first, we all laughed about what a warped sense of humor X had. Then we realized it wasn’t a joke, swallowed hard, and tried hard to enjoy our share of the “pound.” Luckily, everyone was a good friend and realized that we couldn’t give them their money back even though X had set up the deal. He later went looking for the guy who pulled a gun on him, so he let it go as a valuable lesson learned. He was still only 19 years old at this time and I only a mere 21. We had a lot more lessons to learn and plenty of time ahead to learn them.
Permalink
06.18.06
Posted in Uncategorized, life's stories at 9:04 pm by Deb
Well, there we were settling in to life in California aware that in a short 5 months or so we would be new parents. X had proposed to me before leaving San Francisco. We didn’t really want to marry, but my family was pretty upset about the whole situation. I had, after all, told them the news in a postcard. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I guess I thought they would be thrilled at having their young, unmarried daughter living all the way on the other side of the country expecting their first grandchild with an even younger man who they really didn’t like. Anyway, when I finally called home a week or two after the arrival of the postcard, my mother sputtered something about the mailman being able to read that I was not only pregnant but wasn’t planning to get married, and then sputtered something else about disowning me and hung up. X decided that it actually made the most sense to go ahead and please everyone, so he got down on one knee, laughed so hard that he fell over, got back up on that same knee, fell over again, tried the other knee and finally got the words out, haltingly and punctuated by laughter, “Will you marry me?” I immediately said, “NO!” I finally caved in and agreed. Now it was time to start planning the wedding. We went to a pawn shop and picked out my ring, then to St. Vincent DePaul to pick up a set of tails for X’s outfit. I found a pink Indian dress with blue embroidery. We invited everyone from the Estates, the commune within the commune at Project One (see May 12th & 16th). Now we had to decide on the date, find a minister, a place for the ceremony and the reception/party, and send out announcements. We picked April 5th - not much time for details.
We started looking for a minister and found the County Pastor, Rev. Whale. He was in his mid-70s and was thrilled to be asked. He had never done a wedding before. He mostly did last rites and counseling in prisons. He was so excited and kept calling to check in with us. He always mispronounced X’s name. It was Cavanaugh, pronounced with the accent on the 1st syllable, CA-van-augh. He always said, “ca-VA-nah” (like banana). No matter how many times we corrected him, he always got it wrong. It became a huge inside joke. We decided to get married on the beach where the San Lorenzo River met the Monterey Bay and the Monterey Bay met the Pacific Ocean. We also planned to get married at sunrise on the beach, forgetting that we were now on the west coast where the sun set on the beach. We settled on mid-morning. Sunset didn’t have the same feel for a wedding. We never thought to check out the site or get a permit. Who would stop us? Our reception/party was going to be at Bonnie Dune Beach, a nude beach at the foot of some cliffs. I also decided to change my name. I never liked my last name and had wanted to change it anyway. I liked this one, and it was very convenient.
The night before the wedding, our friends all arrived and helped cook the food. We partied most of the night, and woke up in the morning to torrential rain. Rev. Whale called bright and early to try to talk us into “canceling” the wedding, to which X replied, “Just be there! The rain will stop. I have faith.” We all left for the beach in the still pouring rain, but as we pulled up at the chosen spot, the sky cleared and the sun came out. Rev. Whale and his wife were there right behind us. As we walked up to the beach entrance, which was through the amusement park, we found the gates locked. Oh no, what should we do now? X had a brilliant idea. He suggested we hike down the Railroad tracks and slide down the dune. Rev. and Mrs. Whale were game, so off we went. The Rev. kept making jokes about marrying us on the Roller Coaster, which I would have loved and never even blinked an eye as we slide he and his wife down the dune to the water’s edge. Since it had been raining so hard, we were the only ones on the beach, except for some seagulls. I will try to scan and post a picture later. A friend played beautiful flute music during the ceremony bringing more birds in even closer. At the end of the ceremony, Rev. Whale declared, “And now I’d like to present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Ca-Va-na (pronounced like banana). He looked very puzzled as everyone laughed loud and long. As soon as we reached the cars, the sky opened up again, so the party was at our apartment. We had way too much food, way too many refreshments of a wide variety, and everyone passed out by noon only to wake back up and party again in cycles until after dark. We couldn’t afford a honeymoon, and the only furniture we had was a bed, two lamps and some crates, so a friend loaned us his stereo for the weekend.
We were so burned out the next day, that we had the biggest fight we had ever had so far. We were on our way to a free jazz concert in a little school auditorium and ended up screaming at each other out on the sidewalk. We paused long enough to hear the concert then started up again on the way to the grocery store. There was a group of activists organizing Home Care workers outside the store. We were so heated up and unthinking, we ended up joining this organization, not realizing what it even was we were joining. I guess it should have been a warning of what was to come.
Permalink
06.17.06
Posted in Uncategorized, life's stories at 7:52 am by Deb
Santa Cruz was filled with all kinds of characters. One homeless man, who we called “God”, stood in various places around the city talking to the angels and preaching to no one in particular. He would stand in front of the big plate glass window at the local supermarket and “rant”. He would yell at all of us walking by about listening to the angels because they were trying to help us and didn’t we hear them? Then he would talk to the angels and tell them that he was trying to get us to listen, but what could he do about it? He would get so frustrated that eventually he would just be incomprehensible and mostly spitting. I guess you could say he was “spitting mad”. He also used to stare straight into the sun. he never went blind in all the time we knew him or knew of him. He told us he had learned how to do it from a spiritual leader. People would stop and stare at him as he did it. Sometimes he was very lucid and other times, he was completely unaware of his surroundings. He would sometimes hang out with us in San Lorenzo Park having normal conversations. Other times, he had no idea who we were. Many years later, some young “yahoos” started going through the park beating up “Trolls” for kicks. They called the homeless people “Trolls” because they slept under the bridge at night. Things got very out of hand, and they started beating them to death. Unfortunately, “God” was one of the unlucky ones who was killed. The killers were caught and convicted, but only served 10 years. I guess the homeless were considered insignificant as the town grew. As far as I was concerned, they added to the character.
There was another man who taught me about the wild foods in town. I already had an interest in plants and herbs, but hadn’t really foraged. He first showed me where the rosemary, sage and wild onion grew, then we moved on to other wild foods. I liked this guy a lot. His story was that he had been a nuclear physicist, making very good money with a wife and family. One day he had an awakening and quit his job. Apparently, his wife freaked out and had him committed for a while, where they did all sorts of intervention that basically fried his brain. His wife eventually left him taking all his money and property, his children had no contact with him, and he was left homeless and confused. I could tell the guy was still brilliant, but couldn’t access it consistently anymore. He lived completely off the land and tried to teach anyone who was interested how to do the same. He was one of the gentlest and most knowledgeable men I had ever met. He taught with a patience and expectation of your complete intelligence that is rare. He was my favorite of all the “characters” there.
Permalink
06.09.06
Posted in Uncategorized, life's stories at 2:41 pm by Deb
So here we were on the road again. This time we were in a vehicle and were actually looking for a place to settle down. Our friends wanted to find a house with us somewhere on the northern California coast, but where? We cruised around up and down the coast looking at different communities and ended up in Santa Cruz. This was the place for us. Our friends didn’t want to rush into anything, so we headed out to Big Sur. We camped for a couple of nights but, having been warned by the Rangers about wild boars and being soaked by the rain, decided to move on. We camped another night in the redwoods and were awakened in the middle of the night by grunting and snorting sounds. I was convinced it was the wild boars. I kept trying to get X to go out and see. He wisely refused. I didn’t sleep all night. In the morning, we asked the Park Ranger about it. He laughed and told us that it was probably raccoons. The boars weren’t in that area, but raccoons make horrible and scary sounds when they’re rooting around at night. I felt very foolish, but relieved and even more anxious to be settled. I’d had enough of transience for a while. That day, on the road, our friends’ car broke down. They decided that without a car, they didn’t really want to stay in California after all. Their families sent them airfare, and they took off. We went back to Santa Cruz, which was then the murder capital of the world though we didn’t know that at the time. We did notice that there was an awful lot of missing person posters up all over town. Pretty early on we found out that the nearby mountains had become a stronghold for various cults. Rumors ran rampant about child sacrifices, weird ceremonies involving young women, cannibalism, etc. I decided I just wouldn’t walk around alone at night and probably not go camping in those mountains any time soon. I had to admit, there were some pretty creepy people in town. There were also some of the coolest people I had ever met. Soon after we arrived, I found out that one of my older cousins was living there. I went looking for him, but missed him by a couple of days. Not long after that, X and I were walking in downtown Santa Cruz, which was a pedestrian mall, and heard a very unique raspy voice, then the sound of a harmonica. There was a man we had picked up hitchhiking in the late fall, just before we took off on the road. We had put him up for the night and given him gloves and a hat. He wasn’t really dressed for the weather and hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. It was the least we could do. Suddenly, there he was. He recognized us at once. We jammed on the street a little while, then we moved along. We never saw him again. Another day, I turned a corner, and there was Arlo Guthrie playing on the street. What a wonderful place. I was home.
Permalink
Posted in Uncategorized, life's stories at 2:03 pm by Deb
Before we could actually take off, we needed to make a little money to travel with. I had applied for and was getting WIC and Food Stamps because I was pregnant, but would be leaving my stable address and might lose them for a while. X started working the night shift at an all night coffee shop on Market St. Yikes! The guy he replaced left because he had been shot on the job. It was a little bit creepy. We were used to some pretty hard-core people, but this was too much. He didn’t last long. We went back to busking. (See May 26th) We stood out there day after day making barely enough to buy X cigarettes and coffee, though, in addition to money, we often got food stamps, food and pot. As a matter of fact, one day a boy, about 9 or 10-years old, dropped a joint in our case. it was a little heartbreaking. One day we were singing our hearts out when a younger middle-aged man came by, set up right next to us and started banging on his guitar and yelling out songs. It was so bad it hurt. We were pissed because he had invaded our spot. There are all kinds of unwritten rules about busking that cover invasions like that and also hogging a spot if someone is waiting. We hadn’t been there very long at all, and he certainly hadn’t waited at all. He just walked right up and started doing his thing right in the middle of one of our songs. Anyway, X started getting revved up to go say something to him when we noticed how much money he was getting. This guy was a musical nightmare, but he had already made more money than we had made all week. There was a lesson in this. The next morning, we took off for Market St. to work for the day. It was overcast and gloomy, but we wanted to make some money and get out of the city. Before long it started raining. We ducked into a corner doorway to stay dry. All of a sudden, X started singing “Wild Thing” at the top of his lungs, rasping it out, banging away on his guitar and jumping out of the doorway at people as they walked by. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open as person after person dug into their pockets and dropped not just change, but dollar bills into the case and rushed away, looking back over their shoulders to make sure he wasn’t following them. I went off to find a little market. On my way back, a street person asking for spare change accosted me. Normally, I don’t feel accosted by these requests, but this guy was really pushy. When I insisted I didn’t have any spare change, he told me that if all I had was big bills, he could change them for me and pulled out a huge wad of money to show me. After asking him to give me some of it, as I really had no money, I hurried back to X, deciding that I had had enough of the big city and wanted to get out. When we got back home that afternoon, my tax refund was waiting for me. This was our ticket out. I was starting to feel an urge to settle down and think about our impending family.
Permalink
05.26.06
Posted in Uncategorized, life's stories at 3:43 pm by Deb
Meanwhile, X and I had been exploring the city. We went to Golden Gate Park and Haight Ashbury, looked up the old Grateful Dead house at 710 Ashbury St. and caught some free concerts including a great day long one with Jefferson Starship, Sons of Champlin, Digga Rhythm Band with various members of the Grateful Dead and more. We were also making what money we could busking. During our wanderings one afternoon, we stumbled upon the Mars Hotel.
It actually looked exactly like the picture on the album cover except that it was in the city of San Francisco and not on Mars. We were so excited. We immediately sent postcards to all of our deadhead friends telling them about our unexpected and very thrilling find. Well, remember the hotel in Lincoln, Nebraska that got demolished years later? A few weeks later, some friends arrived from Connecticut and, of course, the first thing they wanted to see was the Mars Hotel. We took them there right away, but it had been demolished a few days before. We were so disappointed, and our friends naturally thought we had made the whole thing up. We wondered ourselves. Our brains were often a little foggy, but we ran into other hippies who confirmed it’s location. Our credibility was restored and our reputations soared. The collector was still pressuring me to sell my unborn child or her non-existent twin, the commune within the commune was getting tired of us crashing on their couches, and we were having a baby. Time to move on to greener pastures. Our friends had a vehicle and wanderlust. We packed up once again and headed up and down the California coast.
Permalink
« Previous entries ·