I Never Was a Hippie
In August of 1969, when my younger cousins never made it to Woodstock because they got stuck in all of the other traffic trying to get there, I was married and living in rural suburbia with a 7 year old daughter and a son several months from his birth. While I was into the music of the era, I had neither interest in nor access to weed. I can’t remember whether I cared or not.
Fast forward to the 80s. I am a divorced single working mother during the day and disco diva at night. I have access to weed through a colleague who grows it in his urban backyard and shares the dried leaves freely. Smoking before dancing keeps me from getting out of breath (the THC opens up airways) and loosens my inhibitions. I love the nightlife; I love to boogie.
Those were the nights,
tho she never did the coke
in the shadows behind the bar
where the blue-eyed bouncer,
strategically sun-bronzed and bleached
macho-hot in open shirt gleaming gold,
found new places for fast hands;
but she’d arrive already gone
from toking on the road,
primed for fast stepping,
skirt hiked high on thigh,
eyes that said “ready
to hustle me dizzy,”
spinning close and low
and bass-booming blood
binding her to the heat
of those gone dancing nights.
But I am not being a great parent. I am trying to survive. As I move into my 50s, disco starts to poop out and so do I. It’s a little too late to fix what I messed up as a parent, but I do the best I can.
Fast forward to today. I am almost 76, have oseoarthritis and really bad insomnia. I have tried just about every available prescription, OTC, and herbal concoction to alleviate symptoms. Some never work. Some work but stop. Massachusetts has legalized medical marijuana to use for those conditions, and I know enough about weed not to be afraid of it. So, I go and get an official Medical Marijuana card. I get online and try to figure out how to take it, how much to take, what kind to take. It’s information overload. I commandeer a friend to accompany me, and we drive up to Northampton to the only MMJ dispensary available to me. And so begins the inspiration for this Medical Marijuana Mystery Tour. Keep checking this site for more stops on the journey.
this was was good idea, the commandeered friend I look forward to more road trips and learning from your experiences. As you know, I think 3/4 of the over 70 crowd are awake during the night wondering why the hell they can’t sleep. If you can find a solution, you will be performing a public service.
I am not considering the weed, but was interested in your story. My life went in similar circles—early marriage, motherhood, divorce (and disco dancing!). What we did to survive! I am 76, and wonder about those years. Where did they go? Love your blog. Keep posting!
Me again. I just checked into “Blog Sisters”. The last post seems to be about two years ago. Is the blog still alive? Thanks!
Probably not, since Jeneane (who started it) and I haven’t been paying attention to it for years. I don’t think anyone took over for us. That is the way of many blogs.