low tech

42_o_42_000020914_3692_20“Do what you want to do.

And go where you’re going to.

Think for yourself cause I won’t be there with you.”

Beatles

 

1967

A group of hippies hang out during the Monterey Pop Festival.

Turn on tune in drop out.

So many friends never got back from there, that mad, crazy time.

what even brought me to it, still wondering…

Took hold of us             and then it was over.

there’s some unforgettable music
every decade has that

We were so special

My friends back home wished they had come.

YES!

the intrigue

try anything…freak said, “don’t let it worry ya”.

mind-blowing who knows what      where…

i still needed to work.

* ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *

As the years go by, along with the changing capacity of a physical body comes a really good thing possible only with the passage of time and experience therein.  After all, I would say that it is an exchange for the potential of understanding for choices made, a perspective for things that came before, and the realization of the amazing harmony of life.

I wrote of a personal account of time forgotten for decades.  In 2010, an occurrence brought me back to a certain time of my childhood. The following is an excerpt of a story that I was compelled to write thereafter:

Two Little Girls

Chapter 1

As far as I was concerned, summer began with the day my father installed the screens in the windows. Early that morning, Mother would have taken the summer sheers from storage to the clothesline in our backyard. By the afternoon, she swooped up the freshened bundle and brought them back indoors to hang on the rods at the tops of the windows. When the transformation was complete, I’d run from room to room to see the curtains flying on the breeze that raced in through the windows of our big old house. Like a magical invitation to adventures possible only with summer, when one day melted into the next and no one asked about the time, I felt that I could fly too and that anything could happen.

There were 5 children in my family. My brother Lionel was the oldest; my sister Cecilia was next, followed by my sister Rose, then my brother Isaac, and me. We spent summertime totally absorbed in keeping pace with our friends as was our Mother in keeping up with us. She mended our scraped knees, our bruised egos, and the holes in my brothers’ dungarees. I remember lemonade and tuna sandwiches, cotton sun dresses and hair ribbons; the pennies I collected for the corner candy store, and my ankle socks that never stayed up. Summers seemed much longer then when hopscotch and jump rope, hide-and-seek and tag, dress-up and make-believe, with my bicycle, my dolls and friends filled the days until supper time. When August finally came around, among the five of us someone would be chosen to vacation with our grandparents in the country. It was in the year 1957 that I was to spend my first summer there.

I’d thought so often about my first trip to the farm. But like the landing of a cascading boulder, my mother’s cheerful delivery of this summer’s plan completely shattered my vision of it. Leaving little room for the way that reality alters things but similar to most events concerning “the children”, I was quite certain of my unvarying reverie. It was always the same.  My brothers and sisters are running through a country field with me, very happily and as usual, following close behind. But everything had been arranged and I alone would spend two weeks on the farm that year.

My family had gathered in the living room when Mother made the announcement. But my frustrating lack of enthusiasm was like a call to dinner in emptying the room of everyone and I found myself alone, save for the dog. While I struggled with the concept of being on my own, Spiky jumped onto the couch next to me. Placing his head upon my foot he kept a concerned and watchful eye over my disposition until we both fell asleep.

Later that day, I listened to Dad’s recollections of farm life adventures while Mother prepared supper. As she filled in with the finer points and particulars she’d taken note of my mixed feelings with her knowing smile that always took the sharp edges off of things. “Don’t forget that your cousin Joanna is just about your age and lives close to Grandpa‘s”, she nearly whispered. Then I thought of the pocket inside the little green suitcase as the place where my Jacks would find a perfect fit.

                                          ~~~~~~~ Truth is Beauty is Love ~~~~~~

 

Two Little Girls by Charon Dianehttp://booklocker.com/books/4718.html