(re-run) “I was born to be wild, but only till about 9:00 p.m.” That’s a post going around on Facebook from a site called Women over 50. It wouldn’t be so funny if it weren’t so true. I’ve never been a napper, unless you count sleeping through the 10:00 news. I’ve been watching the news… Continue reading Nap Time, or Born to be Wild?
I’ve never been a napper, unless you count sleeping through the 10:00 news. I’ve been watching the news all my adult life. I like to know what is going on. Now that I am older, I can’t stay awake till 11:00 p.m., my bedtime, without a little nap. I don’t plan it; it just happens.… Continue reading Nap Time
In 1969 Max Yasgur’s pig farm in upstate New York sounded like the place to be for three days and three nights. Frank had been delivering the Woodstock tickets for weeks on Long Island at his job as a summer letter carrier for the U.S. Post office. He and the other summer carriers knew it… Continue reading Work or Woodstock?
When I was sixteen, I saved up my babysitting money and went downtown to Cottage Grove Avenue in Des Moines, where there was a head shop filled with incense, hanging beads, roach clips, black light posters and tie dye. Although I wasn’t a pothead (I didn’t smoke cigarettes either), I enjoyed the ambience of the… Continue reading Pennies from Heaven
My right ear was plugged up, and I had a two hour rehearsal in front of me. I grabbed my chorus bag, my iced tea, some recycle bags and my jacket and headed out the door. I’ll stop at CVS on the way and pick up some Sudafed, so I can hear tonight. When I… Continue reading Breaking Bad in Blackhawk
Scott answered a personal ad in the Contra Costa Times for a woman looking for a date. People used to run personal ads in newspapers to acquire dates, the same way they advertised open houses and garage sales. This was long ago, before the internet and before online dating. An ad was a commercial, a… Continue reading Escape
She was an architect from Huntsville, Alabama. He was a car salesman from Scottsboro, just forty-one miles away. He was kind of cute, medium height with sandy brown hair. His name was Chick, short for Charles. They’d met at a wedding because the groom was late (another story). After a fun night of dancing at… Continue reading Chick and Velvet