Chapter August 8th, 1969

Next week is the Woodstock Festival in Bethel, New York.

In my first life I was too young to fully appreciate that event,including much of the other music from the so-called Hippie Era.

That was to be something that would only come later with time (In myfirst life, I had been more impressed by songs such as, ‘How much is thatdoggie in the window,’ and similar such fare that played the airwaves.).

My folks, on the other hand were…are too old to ever appreciateWoodstock.

My mother listens to a radio station that plays, for lack of a betterword, conservative music. And although I love that music as well, mainlybecause it fills me with a great sense of nostalgia, I often change the stationnow to what my father calls, ‘That long-haired racket rubbish.’ He often blamesit all on The Beatles. ‘It’s that flipping Limey band that started all thenonsense! Bell-bottoms and peace signs! And all that silly flower power stuff!’

God, what I wouldn’t do to be able to attend that Concert of the Century.

To actually witness all those great musicians in the flesh, and in theirprime.

I’m seriously considering running away from home!!!