closing of Winterland-Steve Parish,Skoop Misker, Bob Barsodi all the heierarchy of Dead Heads commenting on the last show with The Blues Brothers, New Riders, and the boys, and John Chipalina, and good old Bill Graham riding into the New Year with Mickey and Bobby recounting past Dead Shows. Yeah. Everybody loves a great Rock Show Story...HP & I were 25ish when we were married. Early on, we started volunteering for Rock Medicine with The Haight Ashbury Free Medical Clinic on an absolutely non-stop basis. Every show Bill wanted Rock Med on hand for, HP & I were there. Many nights a week every week, and we only missed shows if we were bona fide kick-ass ill. We worked hard and constantly. Winterland in the 70's was it's own reality, or resonable facsimile thereof. We were associates of the ruling class of San Francisco Rock. Magic. Exhausting. Everybody was friendly, crazy, and very much the movers and shakers of of the Bay Area concert production family. Such adventure all of the time! HP and I were always there, always together, until we fell apart. My sister flew out from Indiana to help me drive back home. I was a wreck in oh-so-many different ways mourning the death of our marriage, my life as I knew it, My other sissy had me move in with her and her husband out in the Hoosier countryside. There beagan the healing and there, I continued my downward spiral. Grabbed the first job I could find, working in a nursing home. Hard work, the night shift, those Indiana nights. Way too much alcohol. Reading Steinbeck. Reading when I wasn't working, crying, panicing, or drinking. Lots of reading while I did those things, as well, HP had forbidden me to read for pleasure and deep thought. I know know that he was threatened by the thrall that reading has always held for me. He always demanded center-stage, and I did what he yelled at me to do. But the drinking scared me as well as engulfed me. Again, I could see a love/hate relationship controlling my life, or rather, I allowing it to happen, again. And I wanted to go back to San Francisco to the lights, and the music, and the scene. The Dead. Indiana winters are very cold. One day while drinking, playing cards with a friendly buddy in a little house in the country, watching the sleet cover the yards, the phone rang. The manager of the ambulance company that I had worked for in Hayward,CA had tracked me down. He was worried about me. I could come back to California, live with him and his family, and have my old job back, if I wanted it. He knew I was hitting the bottle and unhappy in my homestate. All my old friends knew I missed the life on the Coast and I was welcome to come back and start my life all over again. I had sufferred beautifully in Indiana for a couple three years..My friendly drinking, card playing buddy just looked at me while I repeated Mike's offer and exclaimed "Hell yeah! I ain't gonna marry you! Get out of this Hell-hole and go back where you belong," he exclaimed! He meant it as encouragement in his own demeaning way. I never had considered marriage to this buddy, and to this day I don't know why he chose those words. It blared of another self-defeating, complicated relationship. My soul was aching. Could I leave my family behind yet again? Could I start yet again? Could I go back to the life I was so sure I was missing out on so very acutetly? Yep. I went for it. With $500 in my boot, I left Indiana again,and headed West where I had always believed that I belonged, for adventures in the sun. I left on December 22, drunk. I wanted to be alone for Christmas and just be busy and get through it as painlessly as possible. I had four flat tires in East Texas. My car wouldn't start again if I turned it off, so I rarely stopped to sleep. I was alone and I wasn't afraid to drink in a roadside bar with my car running in the parking lot as I couldn't chance it not starting again. Man, I was nuts.I guess I took the scenic route. Eventually, I got to my old neighborhood in the East Bay. Somehow. And I returned to old friends and habits, right where I thought that I belonged. One night after settling back in, I called an old friend from Rock Med and let her know I was back in town. I had heard Clapton was playing Oakland Arena, and if it was cool, could I come to the show for old time's sake? She says,"Are you kidding? You belong here! Yes, come to the show. Folks and friends would be so jazzed to see you again!" HP stopped coming to shows since I had left, she prompted. He wasn't going to be there. And it was Clapton! And Phil Collins was on drums! How could I not go? I went for it. The night of the show, before leaving the house to go to my first Bay Area show in more than three years, my brain was playing tricks on me. To see the old crowd again after all this time, and to be alone on my own when I saw them-man, this was a time of intense emotions. I came so close to woosing out and staying in, being a no-show. In the end, I knew I had to go as I was Maude and he was Clapton. BART to the Auditorium was surreal, forcing my emotions into check, regulating my deep breathing, one foot in front of the other and on to Rock. Charlie was in charge of Rock Med, then. Everyone was overjoyed to see me, ao glad that I had made it. Charley took me over to meet someone. I was taken aback but tried to keep my cool. It wasn't HP, but a male RN, named Sean with a face so similar to HP's I knew before introductions were completed exactly who he was. Working at the ambulance company that HP& I had worked at for 8 yrs or so, and where I worked on my own now, I had heard a lot about Sean. An enigmatic cool male RN working in a local Oakland Hosp ER who bore a stiking resemblance to HP. The crew talked a great deal about HP's long -lost twin. HP had met him when we were married, and had told me that there was no resemblance. Now, I knew that I was meeting him, and I saw the likeness right away. The moment was one of electricity. He made some small talk, but we had both felt a spark. Then Clapton started with " Layla", and he looked at me with rapture and asked if I wanted to go backstage with him? Was it cool for me to go dance backstage after being gone so long, I worried? I protested that maybe I should hang out and help in the clinc. Charley tells me that I'm not really needed to work at Rock Med my first night back-I should go have some fun. Sean says"Oh! Come on! It's "Layla!" So I go with him. Running past old friends who didn't know I was back in town, grinning, so happy to see me. but it was "Layla and we were running. And then, we were dancing, shouting with joy, twirling with abandon. I closed my eyes mid-twirl and when I opened tham again I was looking into the eyes of Carlos Santana. He too, was backstage dancing. He wore an unbelieveable turquiose soft leather jump suit, something only he could pull off and he was dancing with me! I looked at Sean and pointed to Carlos, mouthing Carlos's name to him. Sean nodded, and motioned for me to go on dancing with Carlos, and I'm really not the type to argue, and I didn't need to be told twice. I turned back to Carlos who laughed out loud, looked into my eyes with the joy of the musical miracle he knew that he was treating me to, and he just went right on dancing with me! Later, running around the Auditorium like kids in the the crowd, Sean & I were dancing in a balcony when someone in the nose-bleed section spewed chunks, and some of it rained down on me. I could only laugh. I wasn't seriously spewed on and in my Rock Med years I had been thru so much worse. Punched out, peed on,and so much more...Still later, Sean offered me a ride to the BART station. We laughed alot as he planned to tell that night's story as the Clapton show where Carlos Santana threw up on me. We talked about it and laughed over it for some years to come.

My life is good. I know that. I am blessed. I got lucky. I met Bubba on a blind date. He drank Diet Coke, I was drinking Margaritas, back then. When he walked into The Cozy I took a look at his blond pony-tail and said "I hope that's him." It was. We met, talked and quickly discovered that we were opposites. Me, a tye-tye Deadhead loving to free dance, he misunderstood and asked if I would like to go line-dancing with him. I long ago decided to view life as if I were Ruth Gordon's "Maude". Maude would not close the door on such a fine young man just because he liked cowboy bars.( Come to find out-he really does not like bars at all. But all that took some time.) Anyway, I agreed to go with him at a later time. The bar was noisy, he was soft-spoken and I couldn't clearly understand what he was saying. It was I, the brazen hussy who suggested we go sit in my car,"But we are not going to make love in the parking lot," I warned him. He looked shocked. It was truly not his intention. We talked, and I think I kissed him, but kept things cool. We made a date for later. It was a sweet adventure. I had not been on a date, by my own choice in three years or so. I was not really looking for love having given up on finding anyone meaningful at this late stage(forty-something). I thought that I was content to be alone. My life had been complicated with relationships, I liked myself too much to get bogged down again with complications. I had put myself through many levels of Hell in the past, I was happy having Maude-like adventures, seeing the beauty in everything, not "being too judgmental" as I could otherwise, "cheat myself out out of too much life "and "have nothing to talk about in the locker room." I went line dancing. I danced around him elated the band was playing "Little Miss Can't Do Wrong"-my good old rock n'roll. There was no line dancing. that or any other night. We took awhile , but soon quit going to bars altogether...it made no sense as he did not drink, Not at all. Ever. It took awhile, but I quit drinking. It only increased my headaches in frequency and intensity, and my behavior was less than dignified-something I was looking for in my middle age...a little dignity. Dylanesque-style. We have been together since we got together.It's been more than 10 yrs. less than 14...we disagree on the year we met, but it really does not matter. We have been very happy and hope to continue to be. His name is really "Larry", and as that is the name of my Grandfather, Father, and Brother, he agreed to a strange request. My adopted brother, Billy Jones had asked me to live with his family in South Carolina, promising that he would introduce me to a "Bubba." I called Billy in the first month of dating Larry to tell him that I had found my own country boy who lets me call him Bubba to alleviate any multiple Larry-confusion. He is very good to me. He never swears, and he respects me. He calls me "Dear"-never "Bitch", which is how my ex would refer to me. We laugh a lot, and rarely fight. And he built me a house! He bought an acre and built a house, from the foundation to the two garages to the roof. And he let me have 3 dogs-Peggy Sue ( a nod to Buddy Holly), Ramble On Rose, and Rex-my Mom's dog that she had to give up when she went into the nursing home, refusing to sit up, walk, or take care of herself. Bubba said we could take Rex in and add him to our happy crew. We lived in a little camper trailer while he built the house. It has all been golden. Sure the house is still a work-in-progress,I suppose like the rest of our life...we still do not have a kitchen sink. It will come in it's own time. We seem to have everything else going for us. We have the blessing of Billy Jones. As well as everyone else who knows us.

I find blogging good therapy, but some times I wonder if I'm just fooling myself. Am I just being self-indulgent? Narcissistic? I can't even spell that word correctly-why would I have any opinions that matter? Mine are so subject to change, I confuse myself. So. this is perhaps a way of sorting them out? And, as I am living proof that there is always room for improvement,I hope blogging will help. And get some of this writing jones that I have always entertained out of mys system. but not tonight...I NEED SOME QUALITY TIME WITH THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. I do find the computer addictive, and he just does not get it. I suppose he's in that middle-aged stubborn kind of space where all computer crappola is a waste. And as I cannot change him, I best compromise & side-step this addiction for the pleasure of his company. Such a deal!

I fled the Mid-West after high school. I wasn't scholarship material, had (and still suffer from) a huge problem with self-esteem and migraine headaches. The wanderlust and restless spirit after graduation was most likely hormonal, but nonetheless overpowering. Small town life was suffocating me. My family was going through their own dramas at the same time, and I just didn't want to be caught in the middle. I remember in my Senior year, lying on the floor reading the local paper and seeing the announcement that my Dad had filed for divorce. I screamed out loud. I had to call my Mom at work and tell her what I had read. She hadn't seen it coming and this was how she found out. My Dad never had the guts to tell her to her face that he wanted a divorce, but I imagine his lover (my Mom's best friend, of course) had demanded that he cease procrastinating and pussy-footing around the issue. I continued to panic and attempt to elude reality. I saw a TV commercial recruiting young ladies for the Marine Corp(I swear it was some blond waterskiing behind a speedboat waving & smiling at the camera-she looked like she was having fun. More fun than I was, and on impulse, I called the recruiter. The Navy recruiter answered the phone and told me the Marine was out getting drunk, and claimed I didn't really want to join the Marines, that the Navy was right for me. I didn't care-I just wanted out of Dodge. I had had a boyfriend for about a year, but he was always getting drunk and getting into fights with other drunk guys, and though he was sweet to me, I could picture my future , barefoot and perpetually pregnant, forever bailing him out of jail, as he fought his demons. I had to get out. I couldn't live my life like so many other girls in that small town. I had to leave and joining the Navy was just as good as any other way. It was 1970. I'd heard Viet Nam mentioned in the news a lot, but I was 18. I didn't get the connection at the time-wasn't even looking for it. Just looking for a way out. Bootcamp back then was lightweight compared to these days, but early on I realized that they were intent on heavy-duty hasseling me just to see if I could take it. I didn't like being yelled at for no good reason, but kept in mind that it was for a limited time only. Sometimes, when I could hear those authoratative high heels of some lady of higher rank clicking down the hall to give a ration of crapola to any poor recruit who was unfortunate enough to be seen by her- I hopped into my locker and closed the door behind me. I have since, always sung the praises of keeping a low profile. I spent 7 years enlisted in the service. Most of the time California dreaming and a few times pulling it off- getting stationed on Coronado Island outside of San Diego, and after hopping around through Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Great Lakes, Ill.,& Bethesda, Maryland, I went to Oak Knoll Naval Hospital working in one of the best jobs of my life-a Physical Therapy technician. It was a great time in my life-that job. I was good. I was the burn technician (debreiding burns in the hydrotherapy tanks, and assisting Docs grafting pig skin to try and regrow skin). I was the only one allowed to assist the docs, cause I could do what had to be done in spite of the screams. I could turn off while working, and suffer the emotional drain after the work was done. I was good. I was also the main pediatric technician. It was the ultimate in caring and it made my life so much worth living. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. I had so much going for me. And then I saw this guy...he didn't know I was alive-he looked right through me. He never saw me, always ignored me.I've never been pretty, but always have been adventurous. So I scored two tickets to an Arlo Guthrie concert and asked him to go. He was surprised-but had this quirk about the girl paying for the tickets, so he told me to sell the tickets and he would get us tickets, and we'd go to dinner afterwards. It was raining when he picked me up on his motorcycle, and he only had one helmet. He needed it to keep the rain out of his eyes so I just rolled with it, closed my eyes from Hayward to Berkeley, and arrived in a downpour, at a sold out show with a guy who thought he could get tickets at the door. Should have seen the signs. I married this guy after a 10-month courtship. I spent nearly a decade trying to show this guy that I was there, and worth his consideration. He had a low opinion of all women("they can't keep their legs closed"), and he meant that for all of them including his own mother. I knew he was wrong about all women. I thought I could help him. A psychologist who was helping me to re-learn how to breathe again guring the break up, asked me, "Cher-whatever made you think you could change him?" "Oh, I did not want to change him, I wanted to help-oh my God, helping is changing..." one of my earliest light-bulb moments that I had trouble seeing the forrest for the trees.Next entry, I hope to entitle something like, "I have seen me some rock 'n roll." Greatful Dead about 200 times, Carlos Santana (who I danced with back stage at an Eric Capton concert with Phil Collins on drums less than 10 feet away), my personal favorite about 60 times. Moody Blues, Neil Young, Jethro Tull, Joe Cocker, The Neville Bros., The Talking Heads, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stoness, Jerry Garcia Band, The Beach Boys, and more than I can remember or name... I was a medical volunteer with Rock Medicine of The Haight Ashbury Free Clinic, and concert producer Bill Graham took us with him all over California to take care of kids & crew having too much fun-or none at all. Not enough hours in the day,and now I lay me down to sleep. Later daze.

Ruth Gordon in " Harold & Maude"-I want my soul to be adventurous, idealistic, hopeful, wise, and full of stories. I do believe that "the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time," and hope to triumph and keep that outlook on life vivid and steadfast. In spite of the dearth of dues I have yet to pay. I like people, "they're my species." Some , I know, will never like, appreciate, or even notice me, except perhaps to degrade me as I am ,of course, just another face in the crowd. Middle aged,now, on a good day, I can pull off looking 40-something. Wearing make-up is just for special occasions, everyday is full and putting a false face forward just isn't important to me, anymore. I am what I am and that's all I am-and most of the time, I feel that that is not bad at all, considering." Once in a while, you get shown the light, in the strangest of places, if you look at it right." I've got to keep a bead on that elusive light. I have lost my way, so many times, on so many roads. It is not always easy to remember that I can be lost for so long before I find my way again. It may be a different way, but it will be my way. Everytging that I think I have learned has to be learned over and over again until the light just naturally comes to me and guides me on my way...I'm pretty sure about that. Just need to keep my mind working towards the lightshine...