growing up, self-acceptance

Hippie Dippy Days

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The moment I first heard Jimi Hendrix (who was a warm-up act for The Monkees at Forest Hills Stadium), I knew without a doubt that I was NOT “experienced” – that, at the ripe old age of 15, I had never been “experienced” – but what a concept!!  The teenyboppers and their parents who had gone to the concert to see their dreamboats Micky, Davy, Peter and Mike were aghast, but I was enchanted by both the amazing music AND the multi-colored feathered tie-dyed attire, not to mention the attitude… WOW!!  I ran right out and bought the album the next day!

And I tried. I really tried. “Hippie” was something I desperately wanted to be, but somehow it wasn’t the best fit for me. For one thing, I had curly hair that refused to hang loose and free like the other girls – especially on humid days. For another, I was always too tightly wound to “turn on, tune in & drop out”. Hippie-dom didn’t feel natural to me.

I saw that Janis Joplin had unruly hair and thought, “well, maybe…”  And I sure loved her album cover! Everything R. Crumb, for that matter.

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I tried pot – even though it was totally illegal. And I found that I hated how it made me feel; instead of relaxing, I’d hallucinate scary scenarios, with the Devil trying to take my soul, or to have me committed to a psych ward. There was a dealer on campus whose visage haunts me to this day: he was tall, slim, sexy and intense, with an orange-ochre cowboy hat that matched his full beard. I only saw him once but knew immediately and without a doubt that he was sent from Satan, and that if I engaged with him at all, I would be irrevocably doomed to a life of sin and depravity, instead of a life of music and love. (Hippies can have a dark side, after all!)

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Picture a hat this color… and a matching beard… 

Still, I embroidered colored thread on my jeans. I bought love beads and wore peasant blouses. I sported a badge I’d purchased in Greenwich Village that read, “Save Water – Shower With a Friend”.  I hitchhiked up and down the east coast, as well as back and forth to classes. It was nerve-wracking as all get-out.  I did the best I could, but unlike many of my peers, I was never cut out to be a hippie.


I had a flashback recently; I’d been having trouble with insomnia and had heard that CBD oil could help me get a better night’s sleep – or even just a decently restful nap. So I bought a roll-on bottle that smelled nice (it had lavender oil added!), but did nothing for me. So I got a bottle of edible hemp oil – with an equal lack of success. The odor was kinda nasty and elicited nerve-wracking anxiety attacks and visions of that drug dealer from so many decades ago. (Even tho I’ve since learned that CBD and hemp oil are the modern-day equivalents to snake oil, in that any effect they produce is the result of the placebo effect. Hmmm.)

I guess once a non-hippie, always a non-hippie.

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Picture me half-empty.



Getting Past the First Chakra

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When I was younger, I was too involved in pursuing my music career (and love life!) to pay much attention to politics; I avoided it, actually – since I didn’t have a TV, chose to listen only to music on the radio, didn’t read newspapers regularly and didn’t care much for current events. I’d been broken-hearted by the 1968 election results and my time as a protester was very short…

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I marched against the war on Washington, DC, along with a million other students in November 1969 – but the Vietnam War didn’t end until “they” were ready to end it in 1973. 

and I didn’t vote until strongly encouraged by my husband in 1980.  Like many millions of Americans, even just a few years ago I could never have imagined that THIS clown would ever be even nominally the Leader of the Free World:


Every day I see that more people are turning off the news due to overload on our current political climate. Hallmark Channel viewership surge  While we want and need to know what’s going on in the world, #45 and his colleagues continue to demand our attention with a daily assault on our country. Nonstop crisis is overwhelming and we need to reclaim our consciousness from these bullies.

What I’ve been feeling this year is a lack of safety. I know I can’t return to the 1970s, just tuning out the news entirely, but I want to cut WAY back on my consumption of the sensationalism that pervades our culture right now.

With the shenanigans going on in our government, no one can afford to be completely uninformed, but I know I’ve got to feel safer to explore the higher chakras, so I’m going to resist the clickbait and start tuning out more often.

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politics, religion

I Am Spartacus! (I hope!?)


When I saw the news item about the next administration establishing a Muslim registry, I was aghast and thought, “well then, we ALL must register as Muslims! They can’t eliminate ALL of us!” And I would so like to think I’ll have the courage to do just that, should this registry of Muslims in the USA actually come to pass (tho I keep hoping that the Electoral College will do the right thing and elect the person who actually won the popular vote in last week’s election!)

screen-shot-2016-11-19-at-3-26-35-amI remember marching against the Vietnam war in November 1969 – standing with so many other people for hours, freezing my toes in stylish but totally inappropriate moccasins. I was ready, willing and able to hitchhike from Storrs, CT to Washington, D.C. because it was a stupid war that had already claimed the lives of my fellow students, with no end in sight – and it was the right thing to do. I took all kinds of chances those days – I was young and felt invincible!

My 17-year-old self would have had no problem signing up for this commitment to register as a Muslim, in protest. I was raised as an atheist (who got to enjoy all the “candy and dress-up holidays” like Halloween and Easter, as well as the “gift and feast holidays” like Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s), became intrigued by Christian Science and joined the Mother Church, and then got baptized as a Lutheran… at this point, I’m pretty much convinced nobody really cares what I believe or who/what I worship! (and since this is America, what business is it of theirs, anyway?)


I tell myself I should just sign up and be counted as someone who won’t allow this Muslim registry thing to happen without a fight. But then I think back on the most recent election cycle; how divisive and ugly it got and continues to be – how I didn’t see a single bumper sticker for either party on any vehicles, and only a few lawn signs anywhere – how even now, 10 days later, no one seems to want to reveal their own political leanings until they know how the other person voted.

So even though I live in a very safe, quiet neighborhood, I feel more vulnerable now than I felt living by myself in NYC in the 70s, walking home in the dark from a gig, getting ogled and catcalled by strangers, slapping away creepy hands on the subway. I feel targeted, even though I’m gray-haired and overweight, that I could be pussy-grabbed or worse by some newly emboldened jerk. I’m concerned that hateful acts may happen to me and my loved ones should no one else stand up and cry out, “I’m Spartacus!

But I’m even more afraid to live in fear, in a country dominated by racism, sexism and xenophobia. Guess it’s time to take a refresher course at Model Mugging!

music biz


This gig sounded ideal – I’d get to play electric bass in a rock band!  And earn lots of tips from being a chambermaid all summer at a Lake George resort! Sure – the pay was lousy – 7 days/week at $35/week plus $5 for each performance (plus room and board), but think of those tip$!!  I couldn’t wait to get there!


Unfortunately, UConn was on a slightly different calendar schedule than a lot of other colleges, so by the time my dad dropped off me and my 2 suitcases, electric bass and home-made amp for the summer at Lake George, nearly all the staff had paired up with one another. No matter – I wasn’t there for romance. My plan was to have fun making music and to earn enough money to pay for my first year on campus without resorting to student loans.


Blue Water Manor was every bit as beautiful as depicted in the brochure; rustic and serene.  All the usual vacation-by-the-water activities were available to guests, and every night there was live entertainment in the main lodge:


my rock band 2 nights/week, the other band I played in 2 other nights/week, a variety show night with magicians, country music and standup comedy, a talent show night featuring the guests, and every Saturday was an abbreviated production of WEST SIDE STORY. Every busboy, waiter, lifeguard, sous chef, etc. performed as entertainers, in addition to their “regular” jobs.

Our guitarist-leader was good! The lead singer was charismatic and along with the drummer, they had all decided on the repertoire before I’d arrived: lots of Beatles, Rolling Stones and a few rock groups that were new to me at the time: (Led Zeppelin?) I’d heard Creedence Clearwater Revival and Three Dog Night on the radio but I’d never tried playing anything but their hit singles, and of course, no one had sheet music or even chord charts so I just had to take the band’s word for it on how those songs went; there was a lot of “Born To Be Wild”, “In A Gadda Da Vida”, “White Rabbit” and “Dazed & Confused” on rock-band nights.  The other band provided dance music for the teenagers’ parents; songs like “Volare”, “Strangers In The Night” and “Besame Mucho”. I’d had limited experience playing electric bass with anyone but the records I owned, so it was challenging but also a lot of fun.

A word on wardrobe: I’d brought jeans and tee shirts and had sewn up half a dozen cute cotton dresses for my chambermaid duties –

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kinda like the short sleeve dress on the left here…

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or I think it might even have been THIS EXACT pattern!?

– never considering what DIRTY work cleaning guest rooms might be. My first week was spent readying the cabins down the road from the actual resort – and they were filthy!  Locked up since the previous summer, they hadn’t been touched in many months, they smelled atrocious and there were dead bugs everywhere!  I wanted to be a trouper but I got so grossed out by cabin after cabin of spiderwebs and dead mosquitoes. Still, I hung in for the promise of those huge tip$!  Then I began cleaning up after current guests, some of whom REALLY knew how to “party”!! (You haven’t lived until you’ve scrubbed up after folks who’ve managed to get sick ALL over the place!)  At that point, I was ready to give my notice – even though I was enjoying rehearsing and performing with the bands. Fortunately the guy they’d hired to run the dishwasher had just quit, so they shifted me to the kitchen – no cobwebs there!

The dishwasher position melted my calluses every day and then I’d build them back up playing or rehearsing with the band every night. I felt a little left-out when all the romantic couples were canoodling but I was mostly okay with it, since I’d taught myself to enjoy beer, which was half-price for employees (half of 35¢ per glass of Rheingold meant I could get a little buzz on every afternoon AND every night after work!)  In mid-July a bartender took me for a moonlight canoe trip out on Lake George, but there were so many mosquitoes biting, it put a definite damper on anything romantic. Towards the end of July one of the waiters took an interest in me – I remember necking with him while Neil Armstrong was taking “a giant leap for mankind” on the TV.

But shortly afterward, I had to face the fact that I wasn’t earning nearly enough to pay for college by being a dishwasher/bass player, so I gave my notice and headed back home on the bus. I remember being in tears, feeling like a hopeless failure at age 17, standing at the top of Dauntless Lane with my 2 suitcases, bass and amp, having called my sisters to help me schlep my stuff back to our garden apartment, since I could barely walk 5 steps carrying it all by myself. After 6 weeks at Blue Water Manor, I’d managed to save $150 – there I was, in mid-summer, without a job! What to do?

The next morning I saw a classified ad; the White Tower was looking for a waitress, so I hopped on the bus downtown, applied, got the job, (they supplied the uniform!)

– and… presto!  Tip$!!  For the next 6 weeks I flirted with the cute bus drivers, waited tables full time, sold my electric bass and homemade amp and then went off to college.