They say if you can remember the sixties, you weren't there! After I left the Whitsuntide Singers I fell in with a bunch of no-account hippies. My best friend from grammar school, Wayne had just returned from the army and had brought back a Framus Banjo he had purchased at a PX in Germany. He also brought back some of Timothy Leary's "best". I was about to enter the world of sex, drugs and rock & roll. Well folk-rock anyway...
Now mind you, this nice Irish Catholic boy had never had anything stronger than Blatz beer, when my best friend dropped that little piece of paper into my Orange Crush soda at the Yogi Bear Chicken restaurant. My oh my...Anyway, so for a few years I searched for the meaning of life (which I don't have time to explain right now).
During this time warp I made many wondrous, need I say unforgettable friends (and lovers). But alas, one day I stepped into a steaming pile of something akin to responsibility. And I hate when that happens. It got worse! Next thing I knew there were steady jobs and semi-permanent relationships...Yuck! I had lost my immoral compass.
Guitar playing suffered the most (as if it weren't hurting already). My shallow musical skills digressed to a point where I only had a three song repertoire. Bull Shipping Time in Nebraska, Charlotte The Harlot, and The Good Ship Venus. Then the flashbacks started...KIDDING. No what really happened was I got up one day, looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the old guy looking back at me. Then I realized that...it was all good! My skin fit and somehow I had wiggled through six decades with the help of friends, family, a soul mate and of course a bunch of four-leggers. Someday I'll write my memoirs, I just can't show all the pictures...
No comments:
Post a Comment